“Your boyfriend was hard to put down, but those bullets in his chest will catch up to him eventually.” The man laughed at his own joke. Elena’s stomach turned.
No . . . Please no . . . Dimitri was hurt. Dying. And she was alone. The living nightmare had returned.
The man stalked toward her, and before she could run, he had her by the throat.
“What makes you so special?” he demanded again, tightening his grip on her throat and using his other hand to dig the barrel of his gun into her stomach.
Tears blurred her eyes as she tried to claw at his throat. “I’m not special,” she gasped. “I’m nobody.”
“Then why does my government want you dead?” He shook her like a rag doll, and her head smacked against the thick glass of the balcony door behind her. Pain exploded through the back of her skull, and white stars dotted her vision. It was getting harder to breathe. The man pointed the gun at her temple as he leaned over her. She gazed up at him, her body losing its strength. His eyes bored into hers but suddenly widened, his brows lifting.
“You look . . . No . . . That is impossible . . .”
Elena’s hands dropped and fell against her sides. When her fingers collided with the glass of the patio door, she had one last idea. She flipped the lock behind her and began to slide the door open.
For a moment, she and the Russian man were free-falling. Then he caught himself, but he had to release her to do so. She fell onto her back, the air rushing out of her lungs, and he loomed, glaring down at her.
“Stupid bitch,” he muttered as he raised his gun again.
“Actually, she’s rather clever,” someone said behind him. He started to turn, but then half a dozen bullets ripped through him, the sound deafening. Elena clutched her ears and curled into a ball.
A second later, the man stumbled and collapsed to the ground. His gun clattered to the floor, just out of reach. Elena scrambled to grab it and pick it up, afraid he might get up again. Dimitri emerged out of the shadows of her bedroom, a gun in his hand. His other hand gripped his side, and blood was trickling down the side of his face.
“Dimitri,” Elena gasped. He winced as he stepped over the dead man’s body to take the gun from her trembling hand. He tossed it onto the bed and then held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet.
“Did he hurt you?” Dimitri pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her in a fierce embrace while he kept his other hand ready to fire.
“Not much. But you . . . he shot you.”
Dimitri pulled back and opened the buttons on his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest underneath. “Yes, but I was prepared.”
“When did you—?”
“I will explain everything, kiska, but first we must clean the scene and go. Someone might have heard my gun firing.”
“Go?” She stared numbly at the body lying on the balcony floor. What would they do with him?
“Yes. Get dressed and put on your running shoes and some comfortable jeans. Pack your suitcase.” Dimitri released her and grabbed the man’s limp arms, dragging him through the room and into the hall.
“Kiska, now!” Dimitri’s tone jerked her focus back. Within fifteen minutes, she was dressed and packed, her bag standing up by the door. He came down the stairs ten minutes after her, his bloody face cleaned and his clothing changed.
“Where did you . . . ?”
“The basement.”
“But won’t someone . . . ?”
Dimitri shook his head. “I have friends who will take care of the matter.”
Elena cut herself off before she even tried to ask a question. He had friends who would dispose of a body and clean a crime scene?
“We must go.”
He ushered her out the door. She got into the car, feeling even more uncertain about her future than before. She heard the words that Russian man had spoken echoing in her head.
Why are you so special? Why does my government want you dead?
9
Dimitri’s hands shook as he gunned the engine of the Aston Martin. They would have to abandon it soon, but he needed to call a few people to help since he hadn’t planned on running like this.
Viktor Ivanoff was dead. That was the only good thing to come from all of this. Dimitri glanced over at Elena. She was quiet, her eyes focused on the road straight ahead. He clenched his fingers tight on the steering wheel as he saw the angry red marks of Viktor’s handiwork on her throat.
I almost lost her. The thought made him sick. She was supposed to be safe, and he had brought danger to her door.
“What did he mean?” she asked, finally turning to him.
“What?”
“He said, ‘Why does my government want you dead?’”
“What?” The man had told Elena his government wanted her dead? Shock ricocheted through him, but it explained so much. Dimitri had let the man think him mortally wounded after he’d unloaded two shots into his chest. Viktor should have tried to finish him off with a shot to the head, something Dimitri was ready for, but instead, he’d gone straight up the stairs. Dimitri had tried to break a few things to draw him back down, but Viktor had been focused on finding his target.
Dimitri turned down a darkened side street and stopped the car. “You were the target?”
“Yes. But why? Why would he . . .? I’m not . . . Is this because of Vadym? I knew he had friends in high places, but I didn’t think they would come after me here in the States.”
“It’s possible. Maybe the government assumes you overheard or saw something that could hurt them.”
“But I didn’t,” she insisted.
“It does not matter, so long as they believe you did. It would be safer for them to kill you.”
“Oh God . . . My parents! Are they in danger? They were coming to visit me in a
