The Spy With The Silver Lining. Wendy Rosnau

glanced at the files in the seat beside him, still skeptical about the job. Bodyguard with a twist… This was a twisted mess, all right. Merrick hadn’t been kidding when he detailed the plan that he and Polax had come up with. He was supposed to keep Balasi hip-huggingly close until Petrov took the bait.

      He wanted to put off his face-to-face meeting with her as long as he could, so he’d called Lazie to talk over the situation. Even though he was in New Orleans and could have picked up his cargo at the airport, he had persuaded his old friend to do the honors.

      Besides, he had some catching up to do. There was someone he wanted to see in Le Mystère first. It had been four years since he’d seen sweet, generous Linet at the Ginger Root.

      Lazie said she still worked behind the bar, serving beer with a smile. Keeping that picture in his mind, he headed south, bypassed Chalmette and followed the river.

      He took Highway 39 to Scarsdale, then Stella. Thirty minutes later he cruised into Le Mystère. The main street was quiet, as usual, with two cars parked in front of Pete’s Grocery, one in front of Wanda’s Catfish Lounge and nine in front of the Ginger Root Bar.

      Linet must be working, Pierce thought as he swung into the bar’s dirt-packed parking lot and hopped out. He hoped that Linet would be happy to see him. It would make his stay in Le Mystère more enjoyable if he had a little diversion from time to time. A small black-haired distraction with green eyes, and a set of wanna-touch-me breasts that had kept the bar stools at the Root covered from dawn until dusk for the past twelve years.

      It was a known fact that some of the boys staked out a bar stool early and stayed all day and all night just to be on the receiving end of one of Linet’s boob-a-licious smiles.

      Today Pierce planned to be one of the boys. He needed to get into the right frame of mind to face hell in heels.

      It would take at least a dozen beers, maybe more.

      It was said a man’s worth was measured by degrees of talent, skill and determination. Yurii Petrov had been born with a full glass of all three.

      Once a simple Caucasian peasant from the mountains of Armenia, he’d first found his calling with the Russian Mafia. As a member of the family he’d fit the mold like a well-made shoe.

      His penchant for detail and his gut-driven loyalty had sent him climbing the ladder quickly. And for his efforts he’d become a very rich man. No, a stinking, filthy rich man.

      Over the years he’d perfected his skills, put his money where so many men put their mouths and quickly learned the advantages of becoming number one at everything he attempted.

      Laundering money was a worldwide business, a lucrative business. But to do it flawlessly, without a trace, was an art form.

      Yurii was an artist.

      It had taken years to develop his faultless system, years to capitalize on the weaknesses of foolish businessmen and the greed that often followed misguided power. But he’d been patient and true to his calling. He’d watched and learned, and made his move time and again, until he’d turned millions into billions.

      It had set him apart from the ordinary criminals who daily shuffled a few thousand in and out of banks and nightclubs. He was now considered the kingpin in the world of turning dirty money into street currency.

      His life had been a wild ride to the top. There had been women along the way. Nights of hot sex and excess. But he’d always woken up empty.

      When you least expect a miracle, it comes riding on the back of something wonderful. His mother used to say that to him and his brothers when they were kids.

      He’d never expected Kisa to be that something wonderful the day he’d seen her lying on the beach on the Riviera. But suddenly, at forty-nine, with money falling out of his pockets, respected by his peers, and a thriving empire, he had found what was missing in his life—he’d fallen in love.

      Power and wealth paled in comparison when a man had found his soul mate. And for a short four months he had been happy beyond his wildest dreams.

      Kisa was perfection, her scent like a smothering flower, her voice the long-awaited aphrodisiac to the road of serenity. And when he first kissed her venomous lips, he’d been eager to be stung by her poison, willing it to infect his soul.

      It had all been so perfect, and then he’d learned the truth about the woman he’d seen as his destiny.

      For months, he’d lain awake at night in his prison cell thinking about how he would kill her. He had planned for it, dreamed of it. And then he’d seen his ring on her finger in Bratislava.

      Why was she still wearing his ring?

      Maybe the idea of snuffing her out of his life would grow on him again, but for now killing Kisa was the furthest thing from his mind.

      Yurii closed his eyes and tried to imagine his hands around her neck, choking the life out of her.

      He fed his muse, but it was no use. He wanted his life back. The life she had given him.

      He wanted his Kisa back.

      And maybe, after a time, his feelings for her would grow cold, and once his heart had become a chunk of ice, the idea of killing her would bring more comfort than torment.

      He would think on it, but first there was business to attend to. It wouldn’t take long. He wasn’t crazy about a rendezvous in the middle of the Mediterranean with the Chameleon, but he was more than simply a good customer.

      The Chameleon was a man much like himself. He was a man of honor and power. A family man with a wife and a son. He valued his home, and his privacy in the Greek Isles.

      He had no need to know exactly where. And likewise, there was no need for anyone to know where he sought refuge away from the eyes of the world.

      Da, a rendezvous at sea with the Chameleon, a few words exchanged. Dates and times agreed upon. A price settled. The deal sealed over a drink and a handshake. Then he would be free to focus on Kisa.

      He understood now why a powerful man bitten by love broke the rules. Nyet, he was not weak. He was a realist. Or maybe a better word was a fatalist.

      Kisa was his fate.

      And he, hers.

      Yurii smiled as he thought about their meeting at the Kelt in Bratislava. He could have killed her easily. He could have slit her throat as Nicky had done to the brunette with the big tits. But he had wanted to hear her sultry voice once more, and touch her satin-smooth skin. Smell her sweet scent and taste her perfect lips.

      And then he’d seen her finger weighted down by his gift.

      He remembered the day he’d given her the ring. Afterward they had made love. The memory aroused him and he laid his hand against his cock and pressed hard as he pulsed to life.

      He felt himself stretch as his blood began to hum through his veins. He worked his hand up then down, envisioned Kisa undoing his pants and taking him in her hands. His fingers would get lost in her hair as she knelt to cover him with her mouth.

      He groaned, felt himself on the verge of ejaculation. He let it come where he stood on the balcony outside his lavish bedroom overlooking the lagoon.

      Confident no eyes were watching him, he succumbed to his fate. The fate of a woman who had tricked him. A woman he should hate.

      A woman he still loved.

      The phone rang minutes later, and Yurii glanced down to see which button had lit up. It was Nicky, and he hit the intercom.

      “What news do you have for me?”

      “She flies across the Atlantic. Recovery will require a trip to the U.S.”

      “Where exactly?”

      “I will have the location very soon.”

      “Spasibo, Nicky. You know what to do.”

      “Your