The Volkov Affair Read online

  As Grayson walked out he winked at her, a silent vote of confidence. Caleb squeezed her hand as he went by and whispered, “You can have my back any time, hotstuff, as long as you give me all your knives ahead of time.”

  She gave him a grateful smile and took a deep breath. She wanted to believe that because Rafe included her in the high level discussion that he would put her on probation, not fire her.

  Rafe motioned for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, then moved to sit behind his desk. He took a moment to light one of his aromatic cigarettes then met her gaze through the haze of azure smoke. She swallowed hard but it was difficult to get by the lump in her throat. Knowing that she was yet again breaking protocol, she determined that she would speak first.

  “I…I know that you told me no more killings unless…you…gave me a direct order, but…

  Rafe held up his hand, stopping her in mid-sentence.

  “That’s not why I asked you to stay behind, Nicki. You acted appropriately and well. Your knife skills are impressive.”

  Nicki was so surprised she could only stammer… “But, if I had taken him alive, we could have questioned him. There’s more to this, Rafe. He has higher ups that we can’t get because I…I killed him.”

  Rafe shrugged. “There’s always more, Nicki. The more you are in this business at the level ISA works, you will be astonished by the connections among the various missions we undertake.”

  Nicki’s heart raced. If someone took her pulse at this moment she was sure they would order her hospitalized for tachycardia. Did he…did he mean that she wasn’t fired? She sucked in a deep breath, willing herself to be quiet. Not blurt out her questions.

  Rafe smiled at her. Her heart rate jumped another ten percent and her stomach did a back somersault. The way it always did when this devilishly handsome man smiled at her.

  Rafe took a drag on his cigarette then nodded thoughtfully.

  “Occasionally, I expect my agents to disobey an order—if it is a matter of life and death. It’s about judgment, Nicki. On this latest killing of yours, your judgment was sound. You saved Cynthia’s life and your own. I’m proud of you.”

  Nicki was stunned by what he said, but more so by her reaction. Her relief was so profound it was all she could do to keep from bursting in tears. She tried to swallow but the lump in her throat was now golf ball sized, virtually impassable.

  Grasping for a dignified response, she whispered. “Thank you.”

  When she got enough courage to look at him, he was smiling again. This time he even had a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Tell me, Nicki, did you bring an outrageously beautiful gown with you? Or at least the prerequisite little black dress?”

  Shocked, but determined not to let him throw her any more off balance, she said with an impudent smile, “I manage to look good, Rafe, no matter what I wear. And, yes, I do have a little black dress or two with me.”

  Rafe laughed. “That’s good. The real reason I asked you to stay behind is that I want you to have dinner with me tonight. I am interviewing a potential client. Another Senator. But this time, it’s a U.S. Senator, who happens to be considering a run for the presidency. If I decide to accept the engagement, I want you to work on it with me. I foresee the need for a smart operator who as you said ‘looks good no matter what you wear’.”

  Nicki felt her face heat, but for the second time in as many minutes she was stunned, speechless.

  Rafe seemed amused by her confusion, which confused her more.

  “This will be a different kind of operation, Nicki. We’ll be working in the more ‘civilized’ world of high level politics. No guns, no knives, just the usual: sexual peccadilloes, blackmail, selling their souls for a vote.” He grinned and added, “I would say you won’t be killing anyone on this mission. But, given your track record…”

  Rafe stood and ground out his cigarette, signifying the meeting was over.

  “Come, I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Nicki struggled to regain her composure. She always felt off balance with Rafe, as though he could see though her—at a level she didn’t want to be seen. But this was beyond anything that had happened before.

  At the doorway, he reached out and touched her necklace.

  She flinched, unable to hide her reaction to his physical presence, his nearness.

  “I’m intrigued by this necklace. I’ve seen you wear it often.”

  She stammered. “Yes…yes it is important to me. My father gave it to me. It is the Boomslang snake.”

  Rafe raised a questioning brow.

  Nervous, she bit her bottom lip, and then rushed on spilling out the story that no doubt would amuse him.

  “When I was a little girl, learning to fight, I despaired that I would ever be big enough or strong enough to fight like a man. My father told me the legend of the Boomslang snake. He said I reminded him of it. It is a beautiful brightly colored African snake. People… always underestimate it because of its small size. Its venom is five times as potent as the Black Mamba.”

  Rafe looked at the necklace and contemplated her through half closed eyes, his lips twitching as though holding back a smile.

  “That’s a nice legend. I can see why it reminds your father of you.”

  Nicki took a deep breath. She was sure he could hear her heart pounding. He was so close. The rich fragrance of his expensive cologne and imported cigarettes washed over her. She needed to say something, anything to regain her composure. Not let him see how he’d rattled her.

  She sniffed, then stepped back, putting a couple of inches between them. She raised her chin at a saucy angle. “Thank you. I like it so much that I had the snake tattooed on my body because there are times I can’t wear my necklace.”

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed. His dark eyes spiked with interest. A wicked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hmm. That is even more intriguing. Tell me, Nicki, where is the tattoo?”

  Certain that her face was as red as her hair, she managed to whisper without stammering, “It’s a secret.”

  His voice was a husky drawl. “Any one learned that secret yet?”

  Nicki smiled at him, her courage inflamed by his blatant teasing.

  “It’s like… kinda like the men who call me honey. Many have tried. At their peril. None have succeeded.”

  He moved in closer and put his hands on either side of her head pinning her between them and stared deep in her eyes.

  “Yet.”

  When she gasped, he added with an outright grin.

  “Yet. Honey.”

  He chucked her under her chin and winked at her.

  “See you at dinner, Nicki.”

  He walked away, his wicked laugh echoing down the hallway.

  Chapter 5

  Austrian Alps

  Yuri Petrakov dragged his hands through thick gray hair, willing his heart to stop pounding, his rasping breaths to ease. He sucked in deep gasps of air, anything to stop the trembling in his legs, strong legs that might nevertheless buckle at any minute. Standing on the balcony surrounding his palatial refuge in the high reaches of the Austrian Alps, he struggled against the fear that awakened him from a sound sleep. Wrapping his robe tighter around his burly body to ward off the 30 degree winds, he knew a harder, truly bone-deep chill. Staring unseeing at the majestic mountains, he replayed Nicki’s chirpy message.

  “Papa, darling. Rafe told me you were worrying about me. Silly Papa! You know me. You know I can take care of myself. You would be proud of me, Papa. I used my Butterfly blade. Right between his fourth and fifth ribs. Just the way you taught me, Papa.” Her sparkling laugh tinkled, a cascade of frothy bubbles, light, lovely. A tiny note of regret crept into her purposefully light tone. “I’m sorry if you were worried, Papa. Rafe shouldn’t have bothered you.” Her voice tightened. He could almost see the annoyed frown creasing her smooth brow, heard the exasperation in her voice. “What a tattletale. But then, you know what a drama king Rafe is, so prone to
exaggeration.”

  Yuri allowed a tight smile to curl his lips. He shook his head. It was hard not to be amused by his outrageous daughter. They both knew the deadly calm Rafe Boudin was as far from a drama king as she was the queen of drama. He agonized over his age old questions, wondering if he had made a mistake training her to be a warrior, a fighter. He grimaced. As if he’d had a choice.

  He knew it was a lost cause when he’d come home from an international buying trip and found her at his shooting range. Her array of weapons laid out on the practice table was impressive. They ranged from a 9 mm Glock to a no frills added Sig Sauer, to a terrifying M16 with a strip of bullets that could take out the side of a house in the right hands. The paper targets across the range showed a surprising number of hits on or close to the kill shot. Particularly impressive given that she could barely lift most of the weapons. She was, after all, nine years old.

  She had rigged up an old camera tripod to hold the guns in place once she’d hefted them up onto the perch. She wore a pair of his protective glasses, and her Walkman earphones smashed her rampant curls tight against her head. He watched her, fascinated, his chest contorted with a mix of horror and admiration. She twitched her skinny little bottom from side to side in time to the pounding beat of Sting, stopping only long enough to rake the slide then shoot off another bullet. He could handle the guns, at least they would protect her if anyone approached. What stopped him cold were the knives she’d pilfered from the locked case in his study. A ten-inch U.S. Army KA Bar lay alongside a Chinese crescent blade, next to his favored Butterfly. The vicious Butterfly housed a multifaceted blade that had drained the life blood from more of his adversaries than his arsenal of guns.

  He should have been shocked, even angry. But his only reaction to the precocious warrior snapping her gum in time to her music, was the certain knowledge of what he would give her for her tenth birthday, three weeks away. Not wanting to take a chance on getting shot, he silently backed out of the room trying not to startle her. He placed a call to his munitions expert in Switzerland and ordered a regulation size Butterfly. No sense getting one that a child could handle more easily. She’d only sneak back in to get his. No, if it was a warrior she wanted to be, he’d make her the best damned fighter this world had seen. Thinking back over the years, his heart thrummed with pride. If her gender and size kept her from being the ultimate martial artist she strived to be, there wasn’t a fighter he’d met who could throw a knife the way his Nikita could.

  The sound of her melodic voice, infused with its infectious peals of laughter, morphed into the memory of another recorded message, one that had driven him pale and shaking from his bed. He never knew when the nightmares would hit or what triggered them. He only knew they were as clear, as terrifying, twenty-five years later as they were that terrible afternoon.

  He heard the ragged wails of his wife crying for mercy. The ugly laughter and animal grunts of the brutal vengeful men who tortured her, then raped her. Punishing her for what he had refused to do. For what he had done instead. He heard her cry out his name, pitifully begging him to save her, to help her. He put his hands over his ears trying in vain to shut out the sounds of her terror, her pain. But nothing he did blocked out the acrid smell or the sight of the blood on her lovely face, her shattered body. As he did then, he felt the clotted clumps in her glorious fiery hair. Saw the stark terror in her long dead topaz eyes.

  He was as merciless exacting his revenge as they had been torturing her. To torment him further, it was as though some perverse devil had laid out Yuri’s handiwork from long ago on the floor of his balcony. He surveyed the hideously dismembered bodies, all branded with his insignia—the Volk—the Wolf. As then, he felt no relief, only grief, guilt. Not for the men he massacred, but for his beautiful wife whose death his actions had caused. Because he knew if he had a second chance, a chance to right the hideous wrong, he would do what he had done then. His honor demanded it. And above all, he was an honorable man.

  Choking back bitter tears, he remembered his promise to his infant daughter that bloody day. As he fled across the Volkov to Europe to the distant shores of America, he pledged they would never find her. He would hide her, protect her or die trying. The only semblance of peace he’d had in nearly twenty-six years was when he somehow convinced his protégé Rafe Boudin to take her on. If anyone could protect her, Rafe could. As long as the impossible happened and for once in her life his wildly tempestuous daughter did what she was told to do.

  Chapter 6

  Rafe chuckled to himself. He didn’t have to look at the doorway. All he had to see was the expression on his illustrious guest’s face to know that Nicki had arrived. The normally composed Senator known for his patrician aplomb was clearly snockered. How else to explain his flushed face, harsh gasp and surreptitious move to place his napkin more squarely on his lap as he gazed wide-eyed at the apparition in the doorway.

  Rafe rose to his feet, smiled at Nicki, and motioned her to enter. Striding the room, he held out his hand and caught hold of hers. Pulling her up close to him he kissed her cheek, a seemingly chaste meaningless gesture. But he didn’t miss her sharp gasp or the quick flush that stained her pale cheeks and chest. Fortunately, the United States Senator who’d tipped over his wineglass, spreading a widening stain of expensive pinot noir over the white tablecloth in his haste to leap to his feet, didn’t seem to notice Rafe’s audacious gesture. Or Nicki’s response. His aide stationed in the hallway almost ran Nicki over, rushing through the door looking for someone to respond to the hapless Senator’s faux pas. Clearly neither the Senator nor his aide were accustomed to the Senator losing his cool—over a woman no less.

  It was no wonder the Senator was undone, Rafe thought, as he gazed at her. Hard to blame the clueless pol. Like Rafe, the Senator had access to an endless supply of gorgeous women. But Nicki was in a class by herself. As he’d suggested, she’d chosen the proverbial little black dress. But the trusty staple took on new meaning shimmering over Nicki’s luscious frame. Strapless and ending six inches below her ass, the scant sheathe of silky material was an engineering masterpiece.

  A few short yards of fabric showcased a body that defied physics. A twisted knot between her breasts strained to keep the lush mounds from overflowing. It raised the specter of what would happen if one chose to untie that knot. Nestled in the crevice between her breasts was her Boomslang necklace. Rafe grinned imagining how many men had envied that jewel encrusted serpent.

  The stretchy material hugged her slim waist before it flared over her curvy hips and a heart shaped ass that would test a monk’s vows. It didn’t help that the iridescent fabric trapped the light in a way that if one looked closely—and who the hell wouldn’t—the crack between those toned cheeks was visible.

  Her five inch high-heeled Manolo Blahnik stiletto sandals were a shoe fetishist’s wet dream. They gave new meaning to “fuck me shoes.” A slit up the front of her dress revealed sheer black stockings encasing her endless legs. While the lack of a panty line could signal that she was wearing pantyhose, Rafe’s educated guess was that a string thong and thigh-high lace topped stockings were a better bet. A glimpse of pale white flesh above the slit in her dress when she turned toward him confirmed his experienced guess and made him wish he’d brought his napkin with him.

  As stunning as it was, the show stopper was not her body. This night, as oftentimes with Nicki, it was her hair. A cloud of wild red curls was piled on top of her head, held in place by a single white orchid. But the elegant flower wasn’t 100% up to the task, as sexy tendrils of gold tinged curls hovered around her cheeks and neck. Rafe knew the first thing he would do were he foolish enough to touch her, would be to pluck out that lucky flower and toss it to the floor, letting that cloud of heavenly smelling fire hang loose.

  He shook his head marveling at her sensuous instincts. Was it experience that had her choose to constrain her wild curls? Or were those unmistakable flashes of innocence the cause? (He’d seen them too ofte
n to ignore.) As much as her wildness intrigued him, the thing that brought his dick to full staff without question was the shy wonder he saw in her eyes when she saw him. Or the flush on her cheeks when he touched her. Or that whispery gasp he’d heard when he buzzed her cheek. Oh yeah, combine spirited sassiness with untried innocence and he was a goner. Just one more reason: Nicki Powers was off limits. Rafe’s lips curled and his eyes twinkled as he led her over to meet the Senator.

  Nicki clung to Rafe’s hand to keep her balance afraid she might stumble if she let go. It wasn’t her outrageous high heels that threatened her composure, it was him. She was stunned when he strode toward her. He studied her like a panther on the prowl sizing up a potential meal. There was nothing hurried in his movements, nothing overtly sexual in his actions. Rather his eyes raked over her as though he was surveying an object he considered taking. Inherent in his sexy grin, the twinkle in his eyes, the ease with which he approached, was his overarching confidence. Confident that he could fluster her with a glance, take her breath away with a harmless socially acceptable kiss. Or make her legs shake when he pulled her close enough to breathe in his refined scent overlaid with the intoxicating smell of a strong man.

  And then there were his clothes. Rafe’s casually elegant dress made the U.S. Senator’s several thousand dollar suit look stuffy, pretentious. Because she was an admitted clothes horse, Nicki knew that Rafe’s black silk long sleeved collarless shirt, relaxed jacket and fitted dress pants likely cost as much as the Senator’s more predictable garb. And who but Rafe would sport a beard shadow and wear his hair stylishly long and tousled, more fitting of a GQ model than a hardened warrior. She thought she’d managed to regain her composure when he leaned over and whispered, “You look good enough to eat, Princess.”