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Two: Naked Chick was a distraction to engage his attention while the ambush moved in on him. The come-and-get-me way she’d presented her body for him in the pool house was one mother of a distraction. A sexual spell. The way her skin gleamed when he’d dragged her up, the jewel-like reflections on the disturbed water. It was magic.
Yeah. Sudden death could be so magical.
He guided her through the door and into the main house. Nice and easy. He didn’t need to be aggressive. She wasn’t fighting him. In one swift move he cuffed her slender wrists together behind her back, hooking them to the banister of the spiral staircase. He hadn’t lost his touch.
He stepped back, ran his eyes over her body. Wow. Whoever sent her must have a big budget. The girl was fucking amazing. He forced his mouth to close and went back to his situation analysis.Concentrate.
Three: Naked Chick was an expendable sex worker with no clue, and this was a perverse test from the big boss to see how Arkady behaved. Just the kind of game Zhoglo might play with a new guy to get a feel for his weaknesses.
Which would mean he was being watched. All the more reason not to lose his cool. And if he was careful, he might even get the upper hand. Worth trying.
“Who sent you?” he asked softly in Ukrainian.
She blinked, big-eyed. “Huh?”
She sounded American. Not likely, not for a job like this, Nick thought. “Who sent you? Tell me who sent you here,” he asked, in Russian this time.
No response.
He tried again, in Chechen, Estonian, Romanian, Georgian, in case she was a ticking bomb sent by one of Zhoglo’s business rivals. He tried Hungarian and Romanian too, just in case. The big Z might have pissed off Daddy Novak. These psycho dudes were not known for their loyalty when billions of dollars were at stake.
Not so much as a spark of comprehension on her face. Just the appearance of shivering terror. But she was a professional, after all.
They’d picked their bait well, if bait she was. Stop-your-heart pretty, with all those pale, soft curves, huge green eyes. Just how Nick liked them. Not too skinny. Old world, Eastern European type of gorgeous, not a stringy Malibu beach babe.
He especially loved the mouth. The plump, parted, quivering lips made him speculate briefly about what her sexual specialty must be. She must be stellar at giving head.
He felt sort of honored. If he rated a top-of-the-line call girl to lure him to his doom, he must have hit the big-time when he wasn’t paying attention.
He wondered how old she was. He guessed twenty-three, twenty-five, max. Couldn’t have been in her current profession for long. That radiant-innocence vibe couldn’t be faked. Innocence faded real fast.
The visuals were perfect. She was still gleaming with water that trickled from her hair and ran down her body. Drops of water clinging to the dark fuzz between her thighs. Full tits, shown to advantage. Tight nipples. Helpless whimpers.
Nick dragged himself back to reality. Like hell she was helpless. She probably had a coil of wire fastened into her hair to garrote him the second he turned his back.
“Who are you? And who sent you?” he asked in English.
“I’m, ah, Becca Cattrell,” she quavered, her voice high and thin.
“Becca Cattrell,” he repeated. “Who the fuck is Becca Cattrell?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “Ah…me?”
“Not funny.” He tipped her chin up. “This isn’t a game. Who sent you?”
“M-m-marla sent me,” she gasped out.
“Yeah? Did she? Who’s Marla?”
“My b-boss,” she stammered out. “At the club.”
So Marla was a madam. OK. That was part of the puzzle, but not the part that interested him. “Why did this Marla send you to me?”
“Look, all she said was I could use the pool,” the girl quavered. “She told me th-th-that you werenice!”
Nice? She sounded betrayed. He chewed on that for a moment, staring at her. “I don’t know anyone named Marla,” he said. “And guess what? I’m not nice.”
“Oh.” She blinked like a trapped bunny.
