“Not so fast. Itcould all be a ploy to get our guard down. Maybe she didn’t runwhen she had the perfect open door to make us believe she wasn’tever going to run. I don’t know, but listen to me. You keep thatgirl in your sights, and don’t let anything like this happen again.Am I making myself clear? You’re responsible for her in the field.Everything she does is on you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, Iunderstand. But I think you’re wrong—uh, I mean with all duerespect—you may be incorrect about her. I don’t think she’sgoing to run.”
“You better hope shedoesn’t.”
Gwynn laid her phoneback on the arm of the sofa and turned to see Anya standing behindher. “You and Agent White thought I was not coming back, no?”
“No, not exactly. Hethought you’d come back to get your things and then disappearagain, but he doesn’t know you like I do.”
Anya cocked her head.“And what did Special Agent Guinevere Davis think?”
“Junior Special AgentDavis was scared, and she thought her boss might be right, but yourfriend, Gwynn, knew you wouldn’t do that to her.”
Anya glanced at thehandcuffs on the kitchen counter. “So, it was Special Agent Daviswho was going to handcuff me?”
Gwynn smiled. “Yeah,I guess it was. But, hey, I’m really glad you came back, and I’msorry for any doubt I had.”
Anya checked the time.“I was never really gone unless you call Bergdorf Goodman a place arunaway former Russian spy would go to hide.”
“You went toBergdorf’s and didn’t take me? You should be ashamed.”
“I have confession,”Anya said. “I did not want you to go. Shopping with you isexhausting.”
Gwynn stuck out herlower lip. “You just need to learn how to properly shop. That’sall.”
Anya lifted the dressfrom the back of a chair. “I think I can properly shop, and thisdress agrees with me. Now, help me put it on. I have date withhandsome Russian jeweler, and it is black-tie date.”
17
DRUGAYAANYA
(ANOTHER ANYA)
The apartmenttelephone rang, and Gwynn snatched the handset. Hello.”
“The car has arrivedfor Miss Anya,” came the doorman’s pleasant tone.
Gwynn gave her friendand partner the once-over. “She’ll be down shortly.”
Anya looked as if shejust stepped from a runway in Paris in the Alexander McQueen dress.“Please do not worry. I will be back.”
“I believe you, but Iwon’t expect you until after breakfast. If you’re not home bynoon, though, I’m calling out the cavalry.”
The Russian frowned. “Iwill not go home with Volkov.”
Gwynn blushed. “Iwould . . . if he asked.”
“I must go. I will behome after dinner.”
“No!” Gwynndemanded. “You can’t go down yet. Make him wait.”
“Why would I dothis?”
“Because trust me,girl. You and that dress are worth waiting for.”
Anya stepped from theapartment and into the hallway, and Gwynn locked the door behind thedeadliest woman in Manhattan.
As the elevator doorsopened, Viktor Volkov stood in a bespoke tuxedo, looking every bitthe dashing millionaire he was, but his stone-faced demeanor meltedwhen the Eastern European beauty stepped from the elevator like anangel with a brand-new pair of wings. Volkov’s mouth dropped open,and his eyes turned to saucers. Without a word, Anya crossed thefloor as if floating and laced her hand inside his offered arm.
In his native Russian,he said, “You look more beautiful than any diamond.”
Anya offered a tinysmile and answered in formal Russian. “You know all too well thatRussian women are the most beautiful in the world.”
“True, but if angelsexist, tonight, I have their queen on my arm.”
Volkov installed Anyain the left rear seat of the black Bentley Flying Spur and took hisseat beside her. After a long, admiring look, he asked, “So, howmuch did that dress cost me?”
Anya lifted his handfrom the seat and placed it on her thigh. “Do you really care howmuch it cost?”
“Touché”
They pulled away fromthe curb, and Anya stared through the moonroof. “It is sometimesdifficult to know where city lights end and stars begin.”
Volkov reclined hisseat and joined her in stargazing. “Indeed, it is, but tonight youwill see the brightest star in the city dance with all of her heart.”
Anya gave him a look.“Perhaps I should be jealous of this ballerina.”
Volkov let out a roarof laughter. “Perhaps you should, my dear.”
The driver brought theBentley to a stop in front of Lincoln Center and stepped out, openingAnya’s door. Every head turned as she stepped from thequarter-million-dollar luxury car in her designer evening gownshowing a perfectly toned leg. Hardly anyone noticed the stunningblonde had only nine toes . . . Well, hardly anyone.
Volkov seemed to bedrawn to the wound. “I hope you will share that story with mesoon.”
Anya glanced down,remembering the night off the beach in Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas,when she’d pinned the American operative, Chase Fulton, to thesandy bottom of the shallow water in an effort to subdue andultimately interrogate him. The operative had other plans and got offa shot from his Makarov pistol from inside his dry bag. The irony ofhaving her toe shot off by a weapon made by her Russian countrymenhad never been lost on her, but that was a story Volkov could neverhear. Instead, she said, “Is part of reason I am now American girl.I do not wish to relive the pain of incident that took my toe.”
Volkov offered his arm.“In that case, I’ll never ask again. Shall we go inside?”
Her hand landed insidehis elbow, and they climbed the steps to the stares of onlookers whoweren’t wearing ten-thousand-dollar dresses and custom-madetuxedos.
Volkov pulled thegilded invitation from his inside pocket and presented it to thehostess.
“Thank you, Mr.Volkov. Please enjoy the ballet.”
They rode the elevatorto his private box overlooking the stage, and Anya took in thesurroundings. “These are wonderful seats.”
“They certainlyshould be,” he said. “I am a platinum-level sponsor of theBolshoi.”
Anya raised an eyebrow.“The Bolshoi?”
Volkov, pleased hisself-aggrandizement had not gone unnoticed, nodded once. “Yes, mydear. You are in for quite an evening.”
When the dancers tookthe stage, Anya leaned forward, completely mesmerized by theirstrength and grace. Accomplished dancers are athletes of the highestorder with unrivaled stamina and control of their bodies. Memories ofhours upon hours in the bitter cold training to hone her body intothe perfect killing machine
