She sighed and turned herface toward him. Her eyes went down the length of him, assessinghim. He certainly didn’t look like one of her father’s usualbrainless dolts. In fact nothing about him was familiar to them.Now, she knew that he was an outsider. She wanted to feel relief,but God only knows where her father dug him up. “Then you are mostlikely my new protection. Something I didn’t agree to.”
He saw that her left eyewas still slightly swollen, and there were fading bruises on herneck and the visible skin of her cheek. She also had a smallbandage on her left temple. He knew she had a busted cheek bone sothat eye would have been swollen shut when they found her. She wasactually healing nicely. The marks would be gone within a week. Thepsychological damage would take longer. “I am.” There was a slightlift of her chin. She still had her pride. They didn’t destroythat. Good.
She knew she lookedterrible, and he was doing his best to hide his surprise, but itstill made her feel horrible. She was determined not to show it.“He told me he was going to. With my father being who he is, Idon’t have a choice.”
“I wasinformed.”
“I’m not talking about hisseat on council,” she added with disgust.
“Me either.”
She paused and stared athim. “Are you a criminal?”
“No.” He knew why she wasasking. It was because of who her father was and the thugs he hadworking for him. No, he wasn’t like any of them, yet he still tookthe job.
“Have you ever beenarrested?”
“No.”
She looked confused. “Yet,you are still here despite that, and my disapproval.”
He never said anything thattime. There was some sarcasm in her tone, but again, he didn’tcare. She could be as unpleasant as she wanted, he wasn’tleaving.
Her eyes went over himagain. “You are not his usual hire then. Are youRussian?”
“Half,” he answeredtruthfully. He had black hair and grey eyes, but his mother wasFrench. His size came from his Russian father who was policedetective for twenty years, five of it in Moscow for the FSB,before he wanted a change, moved to the states, met his mother, andmarried. He was a good man even though a FSB operative had areputation of hiring everything but. Maybe his mother changed him,who knew.
“That would explain hisinterest in you. My father would only hire a Russian to watch me.He thinks there’s loyalty in that. How stupid. There are evilpeople in all cultures and races.” She adjusted her arm that was ina sling before standing up showing some difficulty at the change inposture. She was hurting but determined not to look weak in frontof him. She walked up to him, tilted her head up, and looked him inthe eyes. “Vy govorítepo-rússki?” Doyou speak Russian?
“Da. Beglo.” Yes.Fluently.
She stared at him a momentbefore she spoke again. She honestly didn’t expect that he knewRussian, but she did her best to keep the surprise out of herexpression. His dialect was flawless. This man wasdefinitely different.The more she stared at him, with him looking back at herunblinking, she knew, he was high end—expensive. Everything abouthim screamed professional—elite. It wasn’t just his demeanor, itwas the cut of his suit, his polished shoes and the arrogant jut ofhis jaw, but most importantly, his build. He took care of himself.He was also extremely self-assured, but had the poise of a man thatcould back it up. Not like her father’s men who were arrogantbecause of his empire and the fact they worked for him.Where the hell did papa find you?“Well, no matter how talented you are or how muchmoney he was paying you. No matter if there were cheaper moretalented men available. It’s his way of trying to get me to forgivehim. It won’t happen. I hope he rots in hell.”
He actually had to suppressa grin. Angry, didn’t seem to come close to the emotion she wasemitting towards her father. Right now, it was pure hatred. “I’mnot interested in getting you to forgive him. I’m here to protectyou.”
She wore a blue flowerprinted dress that came to mid-calf, and matching sandals. Her longdark hair was pulled back off her brow with a simple clip and had anatural wave to it. Her eyes, when she set them on him were a deepgreen. She was beautiful, even looking as battered as she was. “Isthis all for you?” He indicated to the suitcase, packed and layingon the bed. He purposely didn’t feed into her anger for her father.He was a professional, and would keep the conversation as such evenif he shared her views. He had one focus on this job and he wouldstick to it. He couldn’t complicate this.
She pinched her lipstogether and considered him for a moment before she answered.“Yes.” She put on a large pair of sunglasses to hide the conditionof her eye. It did little for the rest of the bruising on herface.
“My name is Ryan Casey MissNickolov.”
“Casey?” She tilted herhead. “Not Russian.”
“My father altered it whenhe moved from Moscow to Chicago. It used to be Kasianenko.” It wascommon for people to do that when they came from other countries sothey had a better chance at getting jobs. He lifted the suitcaseoff the bed while still studying her. She looked down at her feetfor a moment as if to regain some control. He could see it, if onlyfor a moment. She was definitely overwrought, not only physically,but emotionally as well.
When she initially walkedtoward him, speaking to him in Russian, he noticed the bruises onher neck started to look like hand prints. It had been several daysand they were still distinct. It looked like she tried to coverthem with makeup, but they were still quite visible.Jesus, she must’ve gone throughhell, he thought, feeling a tweak ofanger. “The car is parked around back. There are reporters waitingout front,” he said steadily.
“Thanks for that.” Shehonestly couldn’t face the public in her fragile state, especiallywith the media attention the incident
