“Did you know I was here?” he demanded. “Or did you just get lucky?”

“I wouldn’t call this lucky.”

Keira pulled emphatically on the rope around her arms, and in spite of himself, Graham winced.

“If you’re not going to answer my questions,” he said, “then I’m going to go back to our previous arrangement.”

“What previous arrangement was that?” she replied, just shy of sarcastic.

“The one where I don’t speak at all.”

He started to turn away, but she snorted, and he stopped, midturn, to face her again.

“More of the silent treatment? What are you?” she asked. “A ten-year-old boy?”

For some reason, the question annoyed him far more than her lack of candor. Graham strode toward her, and once again, she didn’t cower. She raised her eyes and opened her mouth, but whatever snarky comment had been about to roll off her tongue was cut off as Graham mashed his lips into hers messily. Uncontrollably. And when it ended, Keira was left gasping for air—gasping for more.

Trusting

a Stranger

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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As always, I owe the deepest gratitude to my family. Without them, I would never have been able to add the title of “writer” to my list.

MELINDA DI LORENZO is a Canadian author living on the West Coast of British Columbia. She is an avid reader and an avid writer. Her to-be-read and to-be-written lists are of equal overwhelming length and she plans on living to be 150 years old so she can complete them both. Melinda is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a full-time mum to three beautiful girls. When she is not detangling hair, fighting for her turn on iTunes or catching up on sleep, she can be found at the football pitch or on the running trail.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Copyright

Prologue

A sharp gust of wind grabbed the branches of the trees outside the window, sending them crashing and scratching against the glass with a screech.

From where she stood in front of the window, the impact came mere inches from Karina’s face. She didn’t even flinch. She had too many actual threats to fear to be so easily frightened by nothing.

As she had every day since her arrival, she stared out at the street in front of the building. She watched the passing cars, she scanned the pedestrians. She didn’t know why she kept her silent vigil. There was really nothing to see. If the danger she expected did come, it would hardly approach so boldly from the front. The answers she sought deep in her soul weren’t out there. Yet she simply didn’t know what else to do.

She’d arrived in the United States just over a month ago at the beginning of February. From what she’d seen through the building’s windows, it had been gray and cold ever since. Not so unlike Russia at this time of year. She almost wished she could look at the unremarkable city scene outside and pretend she was home. But she’d never managed to forget that she was not home, nor why.

“I am going out now.”

The booming voice behind her was too familiar to startle her. Or perhaps she was simply too numb to be startled.

Forcing some semblance of a smile, Karina turned to face her godfather. He stood halfway inside the room, already wearing his overcoat, pulling on his gloves. He was a big, robust man with a ruddy face automatically eased in a smile of his own. But she sensed the strain in his expression as much as she felt it in her own. He couldn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. Even though he’d said nothing about it, she knew how much trouble he’d gone to to bring her here. She hated that she’d brought her problems halfway around the world to his door, but she’d simply had nowhere else to go.

“You should come with me,” Sergei said. “Come see the city. You have not left this building since you arrived.”

“I am fine here.” Safe here.

“You are not fine,” he said, the reprimand slightly tempered. “You are hiding.”

“For good reason.”

He grimaced. “I brought you here to be safe, not to turn this building into your prison.”

“It is too nice to be a prison,” Karina said wearily. She cast an eye around the room. Beautifully decorated, it was as lovely as the rest of Sergei’s home. Much like the homes she used to decorate back in Moscow, when she’d had a job, a life that was not limited to four walls. How unfortunate that the plush surroundings were wasted on her.

She felt him watching her. “There are many kinds of prisons,” he said. “You know, the Americans like to say this is the land of the free.” He smiled, a trace of patronizing amusement in his voice.

Her lips quirked sadly. “But it is not my land. Perhaps I am right not to feel free here.”

“You are safe here,” he said, echoing her earlier thoughts. But hearing the words spoken aloud merely allowed a whisper of doubt to creep in.

Still she answered, “I know.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes.

Sergei stepped forward and took her hands. “We will not let him win.”

Dread pooled in her belly. He could say the words a thousand times and she didn’t think she would be able to believe them.

Lowering her head so he couldn’t see the doubt on her face, she could only nod tightly.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped away.

Karina listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, the soft click of the door shutting, letting the warmth of his words and his touch sink in as she tried to believe he was right. They failed to pierce the bone-deep cold filling her body.

She wrapped her arms around herself, even though the chill had nothing to do with the temperature, and slowly regained her position at the window. The wind had picked up again. The branches in the trees twisted and tangled like the frenzied writhing of tormented spirits.

Or the ever-present uneasiness she felt churning deep within her that not even Sergei’s assurances could calm.

KARINA HAD LONG SINCE retreated to the sofa, night having fallen hours earlier, when she heard the voices. The sound of them, their tone sharp and urgent, broke into her thoughts. She frowned, irritated by the distraction even if nothing she’d been thinking about had been particularly pleasant.

She slowly raised her head to look at the closed door, the one Sergei had shut when he left. The barrier was thick, solid. Yet the voices were loud enough, the intensity in them fierce enough, to be heard through the surface.

A familiar sense of foreboding fell over her. She tried to swallow, only to discover her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Something was wrong.

Part of her longed to stay where she was, safely insulated from whatever lay on the other side of that door.

The rest of her already knew what it was, what it had to be. What she’d feared would happen from the moment Sergei had brought her here, even more than the idea of something happening to her.

She barely realized she was rising from her seat until her feet hit the floor. As if in a trance, she forced herself to cross the room and open the door.

One of the household staff stood a short distance down the hallway. At the sight of her, Karina’s heart fell into her stomach. The woman’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her expression locked in grief and horror and shock.

And Karina knew she’d been right.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, the voice seeming to come from far away rather than from her own mouth.

The woman jerked her head up and just stared at her for a long moment. It didn’t seem possible, but the horror on her face deepened at the sight of Karina standing there.

“Mr. Yevchenko—He…is dead.”

Expecting it did nothing to protect her from the sharp pain that ripped through her at hearing the words spoken. She realized some small part had hoped that it would not be true, or that if something had to have happened, he would only be hurt, not killed.

“How?” she asked, that strange, distant voice coming out as a barely audible rasp.

“A shooting. He was leaving his vehicle and a car drove by. Someone inside shot at him.”

Of course, she thought faintly. That was how they would do it. She didn’t ask if the shooter had been caught. She knew better than to think they would choose a way that would lead to them being captured.

She stood frozen, unable to move, unable to react, unable to do anything but stare at the horror on the woman’s face, knowing it was mirrored on her own.

The woman started to say something else. Karina didn’t hear her, the sound drowned out by Sergei’s final words to her, the reassurances now painfully mocking, echoing in her ears.

You are safe here.

We will not let him win.

And another voice, one she usually only heard in her nightmares, now as vivid as though the speaker were standing beside her, whispering cruelly in her ear.

I always win.

Chapter One

Karina stared at the closed door in front of her and did her best to calm her racing heart. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

She felt the man beside her look down at her. “Do you have any other ideas?” Viktor asked.

“No.” If she had she would have said so before now. Heaven knew she had spent enough time thinking about it in the past week. How Sergei’s death was her fault, and how would she survive.

It was Viktor, Sergei’s son, who had come up with this option, this man. The one person who might be able to help her.

Her entire life. Her hope of survival. All in the hands of a stranger.

Trying not to shift nervously from one foot to the other like a child, she glanced up at Viktor. “Do you think he will even agree to this?”

“I do not know,” he said simply. “But it is a chance.”

Yes, it is, she agreed silently. One so extreme she wasn’t sure she could go through with it, even if the man did agree.

But first he needed to answer the door and let them in. She sent an uneasy glance behind her, feeling entirely too exposed standing on the front stoop of this house. Even as she did, she sensed Viktor doing the same. It was impossible not to remember what had happened to Sergei and feel just how vulnerable they were out in the open.

The door finally opened in response to Viktor’s earlier knock.

Viktor had told her several things about the man they’d driven to Baltimore from Washington, D.C., to see. What he looked like had not been one of them. She hadn’t asked, the subject seeming unimportant compared to everything else. So she could only stare blankly at the man who’d answered the door, his expression solemn, and wait for either man’s reaction.

“Viktor,” the man at the door said finally, his mouth curving slightly at one corner. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Viktor agreed with a shadow of the charming smile she’d seen him wield since childhood.

As the two men shook hands, Karina carefully studied the man who’d answered the door. So this must be Luke Hubbard, Viktor’s old friend. Her best chance.

She’d tried to picture what he might look like, but nothing she’d imagined had come close to the man himself. He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed casually in a white polo shirt and dark slacks. His was a handsome face, but there was a hardness to it, with so many sharp angles and hard planes, that gave him more of an edge than she’d expected. He most likely was the same age as Viktor, which would make him thirty-three.

Viktor said he was an attorney. Corporate law or something to do with business. Yes, she could imagine this man being a formidable opponent in a business negotiation. Perhaps he would be for Solokov, as well.

He would need to be.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Luke Hubbard said.

“Thank you.” Viktor nodded shortly, his expression tensing with grief.

It had been only a week, and Karina knew only too well that the pain of his father’s death remained fresh. She felt the sorrow of it, too, combined with a guilt that was hers alone.

Her godfather was dead for one reason only: because he’d tried to help her.

And now she’d come to ask this man for his help. To put himself in danger for her. Guilt stabbed at her again. It didn’t seem right to involve, to risk, anyone else. But then, what choice did she have?

“And thank you for agreeing to see us,” Viktor was saying. At the obvious cue, he reached over and prodded her forward slightly with the press of his hand against the small of her back. “Allow me to introduce Karina Andreevna Fedorova. Our families have long been good friends. My father was her godfather.”

She forced a smile onto her face as the man finally turned his attention to her.

The smile nearly died. She’d seen from the moment he opened the door that his eyes were blue. She just hadn’t noticed how the hardness of his face extended to his eyes. They stared back at her, utterly emotionless, revealing nothing.

Cold, she thought distantly as a sudden chill shuddered through her. So cold.

She peered into those eyes, desperately searching for some reassuring sign this was the type of man who might be willing to help her. Some flicker of warmth. Some hint of kindness.

She found none. There was nothing but that cold hardness.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, his tone polite and nothing more.

She made some sound of agreement, unable to do anything else but nod.

“Please come in,” he said, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing with his arm.

Ducking her head to hide the sudden misgivings she was certain were written all over her face, Karina entered the house, Viktor following close behind.

Luke Hubbard led them into a living room located to the left of the entryway. The room was stylishly furnished, with sleek modern furniture and high-grade electronics, but it was as cold as the man who lived there. She saw no personal items, no photographs anywhere. There were not even any books or newspapers lying about, no sign that anyone had done any actual living here. It appeared to be as sterile as a hotel room.

As they took seats, she and Viktor on the couch across from Luke Hubbard, she tried to remember everything Viktor had told her about this man. He was an attorney, a successful one if his home was any indication. She would have expected as much. He and Viktor had met at Yale, where Sergei had sent Viktor to study. He was a widower, Viktor had said.

As the thought crossed her mind, she automatically lowered her gaze to his hand. His ring finger was bare. It made sense. Viktor hadn’t said when the man’s wife had died, but Karina had assumed it had been some time ago. It seemed unlikely he would approach a recent widower with his plan, no matter the circumstances. No, the man must have lost his wife at least several years ago, long enough that it was no longer appropriate for him to wear a ring.

Of course, her husband had been dead less than two months, yet she no longer wore his ring. It had seemed wrong to once she’d learned the truth about the kind of man he’d been and discovered just how much trouble he’d left her with. Even if she hadn’t, she likely would have had little difficulty removing the ring.

“So what brings you to Baltimore?” Luke Hubbard asked.

Viktor sighed. “We need your help.”

“What is it?”

“First I need your word that you will not tell anyone about what we are about to discuss.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, as a true friend would. Karina took some small comfort from the gesture.

Viktor drew in a breath. “In January Karina’s husband, Dmitri, was murdered. He worked for a man named Anton Solokov. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the name.”

Luke Hubbard frowned, his forehead briefly furrowing as he appeared to consider the name. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s one of the wealthiest men in Russia. Like so many others, he moved in swiftly after the fall of the Soviet Union and made his fortune, first with an oil company, then diversifying into minerals.”

“Is that where your husband was murdered?” Luke Hubbard asked, turning that cold gaze on Karina. “Russia?”

“Moscow,” she confirmed.

“Solokov was responsible,” Viktor said.

Luke Hubbard’s eyebrows rose the slightest bit. “Responsible,” he echoed. “You’re saying he had your husband murdered?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Two men came to our house one night,” she said, trying not to shudder at the memory. “I was in the kitchen. Dmitri had just come home when they knocked on the door. He answered. From what I could hear, it was two men. They said that Solokov wanted to see him immediately. He tried to tell them he had just gotten home and they insisted he would have to come with them. The way the man said it made it clear he was threatening Dmitri. Dmitri became very quiet and said, ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ One of the men said, ‘That you’ve been stealing from him? Yes, he knows.’ There was nothing for a second, then a sound like Dmitri trying to slam the door shut. I heard it crash against the wall, then Dmitri cried out, like he had been hit. I came out of the kitchen to see what had happened. Dmitri was on the floor. His face was bloody and one of the men was trying to pull him up. He saw me and told the other man, ‘Take care of her.’ The second man started to come toward me. He was reaching into his coat and I thought he might have a gun.” She swallowed hard. “I ran before he could catch me and went out the back door. I got away.” Leaving Dmitri behind, she thought guiltily.

“Two days later Dmitri was found dead outside the city,” Viktor said. “He’d been tortured.”

“Did you know your husband was stealing from his boss?” Luke Hubbard asked. It sounded like an accusation.

“No,” Karina said firmly. His expression didn’t change. She couldn’t tell if he believed her.

“There’s more,” Viktor said. “There have been rumors for a long time that Solokov has connections to organized crime. The mafia. They have never been proven, but most likely only because he has connections with the police, as well.”

“You think the Russian mafia is involved?”

“It is possible. If Solokov was laundering money for the mafia, then some of the money he stole might be theirs.”

“Do you even have any evidence beyond the comment she overheard that Solokov was involved?”

“Everything else that happened is my evidence.”

“What else?”

“My father’s death, for one thing,” Viktor interjected.

“According to the news, your father fell victim to a drive-by shooting, most likely by gang members who were shooting at someone else.”

“A lie,” Viktor said, anger darkening his face. “A cover-up to conceal the truth.”

“What makes you think this Solokov was involved?”

“Karina contacted my father after Dmitri’s death. She has no other family. She knew how powerful Solokov is and didn’t know who to trust. Using his diplomatic status, my father arranged for her visa through the embassy and for her to travel to the United States via private jet. He suspected she wasn’t safe there. Solokov’s reach is too great. But now that my father is dead, her situation has changed.”

“How so?”

“Yesterday my visa was revoked,” she said. “Without my godfather to intervene, I am being sent home.”

“It is Solokov’s doing,” Viktor said harshly. “He has political connections, as well. Her visa was revoked too quickly to be a coincidence.”

“You believe Solokov had your father killed?”

“It certainly makes more sense than him being mistakenly targeted in a drive-by shooting by a random gang member, as your country is suggesting. And he had no other enemies, no reason why anyone else would deliberately kill him. There is only Solokov. As long as Karina was in his home, she was safe from Solokov. He’s trying to force her back to Russia, where there is nowhere she can run where he cannot find her.”

“For what purpose?”

“He must believe she was aware of what Dmitri was doing. If Dmitri didn’t tell him where the money was, then she is his only means of getting it back.”

Luke Hubbard nodded. “So you’re looking for legal advice? Help with how to stay in the country? That’s really not my expertise, but I can certainly recommend some good attorneys who specialize in immigration matters.”

Her gaze flicked to Viktor’s, reading the same touch of embarrassment in his eyes that she felt rising in her cheeks. It had been his idea, yet now that the moment was here he seemed unwilling to voice it.

“No,” Viktor said simply. “That’s not why we are here.”

In the silence that followed, Luke Hubbard’s eyes narrowed, shifting from Viktor to her and back again.

“What exactly are you here for?”

So be it, she thought. If anyone should make the request of this complete stranger it should be her. It was her life. She shouldn’t rely on anyone else to beg for it.

“Viktor believes the best way for me to remain in this country is to marry a United States citizen.”

She lifted her chin and met his cold stare.

“We are here to ask you to marry me.”

LUKE HAD YEARS OF EXPERIENCE at schooling his expression to reveal absolutely nothing, but the woman’s ridiculous statement nearly managed to crack his composure. It was sheer strength of will that kept him from flinching at her words.

Marriage. Even the idea sent a jolt of pain through him, the heat of it searing his insides until it felt like he was being burned alive.

Instantly, Melanie’s face rose in his mind, the same image that always did. The way she’d looked at her happiest, her head thrown back in laughter, her smile wide, her eyes fixed unerringly, so lovingly, on him and him alone.

The way she’d looked just before she died.

Another sharp pain, harder than the first, shafted through him. He swallowed slowly and blinked the image away, entirely too aware of the two people sitting across from him, watching him intently.

There was only one woman he’d ever wanted to marry, and in the years since her death he’d never once considered taking that step with another. Hell, he’d never been tempted to do so much as let a woman leave a toothbrush in his home. If he had been tempted to take another walk down the aisle, it certainly wouldn’t have been with some woman he’d met less than five minutes earlier.

She was pretty in a pale, delicate way. Chin-length black hair. Finely carved features, perhaps sharper than they should have been thanks to what he suspected was an unnatural thinness. Looking closely, he finally noticed the weariness in her eyes. She was young, most likely in her late twenties. Her voice carried a trace of an accent he would have pegged as Eastern European even had he not known where she was from, though her English was impeccable.

“You’re proposing a marriage for green-card purposes?” he said coolly.

“It is the best way to keep Karina in the country,” Viktor said.

“Surely there are less drastic measures available.”

“If there were, we would pursue them. As you said, we have no real evidence that Solokov is responsible for the deaths of Dmitri and my father. And even if we were to pursue other avenues, if we failed and then resorted to marriage it would look suspicious. Better to do it now.”

“So you’re going straight to the nuclear option?”

“As I said, it is the best way.”

“I took an oath to uphold the law. What you’re suggesting is illegal.”

“So is murder,” Viktor shot back. “And the crime is much greater. That is what will happen if Solokov captures her. Once he realizes she knows nothing, he will not hesitate to dispose of her. But that realization will only come after he’s done everything he can to learn what he believes she knows.”

Even without the raw emotion in the man’s voice, there was no missing the implication.

A slight motion at the edge of his vision drew Luke’s eye to the woman. She must have shuddered at Viktor’s words. Even now she clasped her hands in her lap, her grip so tight her knuckles were white, her head bowed slightly. He could still see her eyes, staring straight in front of her, looking slightly glassy.

He would have liked to believe she’d feigned the reaction. He knew how to read people’s expressions well enough to know she had not. The woman was afraid.

Fortunately he’d long since hardened himself against such displays of emotion, whether hers or Viktor’s. He turned his attention back to his supposed friend.

Viktor continued, “Surely a little fraud is minor in comparison to what Solokov intends for her.”

“I’m not certain the United States government will see it that way.”

“There is no reason it has to know.”

“They’ll likely want to investigate the validity of the marriage, especially if you’re right and someone is pushing to have her deported in the first place. Do you really think two people who’ve never met would be able to pull that off?”

“You were always quick to learn and Karina is motivated. She cannot go back to Russia. There is no one left we can trust, not fully. There is no family, and Solokov has enough money to be able to buy anyone. At least here in the United States, there is a chance I can protect her.”

“You mean I can protect her,” Luke said. “To make a marriage believable for immigration purposes, we would have to live together, she and I.” He turned to find Karina staring at him. If possible, she seemed to have gone even paler. “Are you comfortable with that idea?”

She swallowed, a flicker of emotion he couldn’t quite read passing over her eyes. Nervousness? Fear?

But she never blinked, never looked away from his gaze. “I don’t want to die.”

The words were plain, simply stated. They carried more impact than if she’d accompanied them with tears or a choked sob. Such melodramatic embellishments would have been easily dismissed. But voiced without artifice or manipulation, the basic statement of an elemental human desire was harder to ignore.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t try. He turned away from those wide, vulnerable eyes.

“Why me?” he asked Viktor, more a demand than a question.

“Because I trust you. There are few people I could say that about.”

Luke said nothing, simply stared at the man he’d considered a friend and was no longer sure he should. Would a true friend make such an outlandish request knowing the great personal cost to him? Or was it the sign of a friend that the man would trust him to help this woman?

As expected, it didn’t take Viktor long to rush in to fill the silence. “Obviously I know you aren’t married and I doubted you would be involved in any kind of relationship that would prevent you from agreeing to help us.” He raised his brows, as though prompting Luke to prove him wrong.

Luke tipped his head in acknowledgment. It was hardly a secret he hadn’t been involved with anyone seriously since Melanie’s death.

“I also knew you would not be able to stand by and watch an innocent woman die when there is something you can do to prevent it.”

“Even if that were true, this hardly seems like a situation any sane person would get involved in. People who try to help her don’t seem to last long.”

“I know we are asking a great deal—” the woman said.

“Yes,” he returned coolly. “You are.”

She flinched and clamped her mouth shut.

“You’re asking me to commit an illegal act, place my entire life and career in jeopardy, and for what? What exactly am I supposed to get out of this?”

Her face flushed to a bright red, and he belatedly realized how that might have sounded. Did she think he was demanding full marital rights if he agreed to be her husband? He almost wondered how she would respond if he were that kind of man. Then again, if he were, he doubted Viktor would have brought her here in the first place.

Indeed, his purported friend hardly seemed to have noticed the possible implication. “You can help an old friend save what’s left of his family,” Viktor said fervently. “We may not share blood, but you know better than anyone that blood is not a requirement for family. My father thought so, too. He lost his life protecting hers. I can’t let his sacrifice be for nothing.”

The desperation in the voice of the typically charming, carefree Viktor Yevchenko left no doubt his friend meant every word. For just a moment, Luke felt a small part of himself relent ever so slightly.

The rest of him managed to hold fast. He wasn’t about to buy their story without checking into it. He couldn’t imagine why an old friend he’d known and trusted for years would come to him with this outlandish proposal unless it were true, but then, the whole situation had been thrown into his lap so suddenly and without warning that he hadn’t even had a chance to process it.

“I’ll need some time to think about it.”

“Think quickly,” Viktor said. “Time is one thing we don’t have much of.”

With a terse nod, Luke rose to his feet, more than ready to remove these two from his home and get to dealing with the troublesome issues they raised. If only he hadn’t invited them in to begin with.

Picking up his cue, Viktor and the woman stood, as well.

They made their way back to the door in silence. Luke pulled the door open and waited.

Viktor stopped first before passing through the doorway. “As I said, she is like family to me, Hubbard. You of all people know what it’s like to lose family. That’s another reason I came to you.”

Although he wasn’t about to let Viktor see it, the remark hit home, just like the man must have known it would, damn him. “I’ll be in touch,” Luke said stiffly.

Luke saw Viktor barely manage to tamp down his frustration. With a tight nod, his supposed friend stepped out the door.

And then there was one…

Karina started to follow Viktor, only to stop in front of Luke.

He braced himself for whatever emotional appeal she might offer. The tears. The sobs. None of which would work. He wasn’t about to be manipulated.

Instead, she simply met his eyes, her own bleak and tired. “Thank you for your time,” she said softly. With that, she moved to join Viktor.

Luke remained where he stood and watched them make their way to the vehicle parked in front of his home. The woman walked with her head up, but her shoulders still seemed to sag, her posture defeated. As though she’d given up. As though she already believed he’d made the decision he damn well should, but somehow hadn’t.

Suddenly realizing how long he’d been standing there, he forced himself to close the door. It didn’t rid him of the image of that look in her eyes, nor the slump of her shoulders as she walked away.

Troubled, he moved down the hall toward his office. He needed more information. Like it or not, it appeared he had a decision to make.

Even as part of him suspected he’d never had any choice in the matter at all.

Chapter Two

At 6:58 a.m., Luke placed an order for two coffees with the barista at the counter. Two minutes later, he was seated at a table at the front of the coffee shop, two paper cups in front of him, when Darren Jensen walked through the door, on time as always.

He must have spotted Luke through the front window, as intended, because he headed straight toward him without scanning the room first. Jensen was already reaching for one of the cups even before he started to pull out the open chair. “For me?”

“Of course. Thanks for meeting with me.”

“It’s the least I can do. Anybody who drives in from Baltimore first thing in the morning instead of making do with a phone call is pretty much asking for a face-to-face, don’t you think?”

“I had some business in Washington,” Luke said mildly. It was the truth. He would have business to attend to, one way or another, whatever Jensen told him.

He watched the man take a long swallow from his cup, pushing back a twinge of impatience. As would be expected for someone who worked for the government, Jensen’s suit was less expensive than Luke’s own, but the man was still as immaculately groomed as he’d been when they’d been colleagues at the same law firm years earlier. Pursuing an interest in public service, Jensen had later gone to work for the State Department, making him an excellent source for exactly the kind of answers Luke was looking for. They’d always been on friendly terms, if not outright friends, and remained cordial after Jensen’s career change. If it was a friendship, it was the best kind, one where the only favors asked were professional or informational.

Not incredibly personal, he thought, his mind returning to the subject that had occupied his thoughts for nearly twenty-four hours now.

No, he would quite happily do without those kinds of friends.

As soon as Jensen began to lower his cup to the table, Luke spoke. “What do you have for me?”

“Nothing good. Is your firm thinking of doing business with Solokov? Because if you are, I’d think again.”

“He’s that bad?”

“Men in today’s Russia don’t stay as rich as Solokov without help from friends in high places and ones in low ones. And these aren’t the kind of friends you’d want to get on the wrong side of.”

“So he has government connections.”

“And mafia ones. Nothing I can prove concretely, but that’s what the talk around him indicates, and there’s too much there to just be rumors. Like most of the oligarchs who made their fortunes after the fall of the Soviet Union, Solokov knew how to play dirty, and he played to win, with plenty of backing from those friends I mentioned. In today’s economy, especially Russia’s, many of those Russian billionaires who rose up in the past few decades have lost most, if not all, of their fortunes, especially if they fell out of favor with the government. Not Solokov. He might have taken a hit, but he’s still standing.”

And if he had taken a hit financially, he would be even more protective of what he had left, Luke deduced. “Which brings us to Dmitri Fedorov.”

Jensen nodded. “Formerly of Solokov’s employ, currently six feet under. Turned up about a month and a half ago. Murdered.”

“Any word who’s responsible?”

“None officially. But considering how badly he’d been tortured, it definitely wasn’t random. And when a high-level financial manager for a very rich man turns up dead in the condition he was found in, most people are going to be casting a suspicious eye in his boss’s direction.”

“Including the police?”

Jensen smiled wryly. “I said most people. Solokov has those friends I mentioned. Officially no connection has been made between Fedorov and his former employer. I’m sure the man hasn’t even been questioned, not even politely.”

“Are there any other reasonable possibilities for why someone would kill Fedorov?”

“There’s always the chance he was involved in something unrelated to Solokov, some shady side action that got him killed. There doesn’t appear to be any evidence of that, but he could have done that good of a job keeping it under wraps. It’s a pretty distant possibility though. The smart money says it was Solokov.”

“Why would Solokov have him killed?”

“Not just killed. Tortured. The way my contact described the photographs of Fedorov’s body, he had very specifically, very carefully been tortured in a way designed to elicit information, not simply cause pain. Whoever did it to him wanted something from him. Best guess is Fedorov took something he shouldn’t have, like large sums of money, which is the only thing he would likely have access to which would be worth taking, and worth getting that upset about.”

“What about a business competitor of Solokov? Someone trying to get some information about Solokov or his company by any means necessary.”

“From what I gather, they likely would have targeted someone far junior than Fedorov, someone whose death wouldn’t make such a splash. If Solokov wasn’t involved, then taking out someone so high up in his organization would be risking getting on his bad side, which would probably lead to him bringing in all those friends of his to find out who’s responsible. No, whoever did this did so with Solokov’s full knowledge and blessing.”

“So Fedorov probably managed to take a great deal of money, enough to be worth torturing him over, and Solokov wants it back.”

“That’s what it looks like. And there might be more to it than simply being pissed off about being taken by someone he trusted. From what my contact told me, the rumors of Solokov’s close ties with organized crime are no joke. There’s a chance Solokov was working with the mafia’s money.”

“And it could be the Russian mafia’s money that Fedorov stole,” Luke said, his unease growing. “No wonder Solokov wanted it back.”

“Especially because he wouldn’t have been able to tell the mafia he let one of his people steal their money. He would have had to quietly replace it, most likely from his own private fortune, completely separate from the company. That couldn’t have been fun.”

So far everything Viktor and Karina had told him was lining up, Luke thought, dread beginning to pool in his gut. He’d wanted nothing more than to have Jensen tell him otherwise. He didn’t know why Viktor would have lied, especially when the man knew he had the resources to check the story. That hadn’t stopped him from spending much of the past day trying to think of a reason. Anything to make it easier to turn down the ridiculous request made by Viktor.

And Karina.

Which brought them to the main topic. “What about Fedorov’s wife?”

“I assume you mean his current wife, Karina, since that’s the name you gave me on the phone. Karina Andreevna Fedorova. Nearly two decades his junior. They’d been married for five years before his death.”

“How old is she now?” Luke asked, the question rising automatically to his tongue. He immediately regretted it. It really wasn’t relevant.

“Twenty-eight.”

Five years, Luke thought. She’d been so young when she’d married, especially a man so much older. Or maybe that wasn’t so unusual in Russia. It was something else he didn’t know, which was why he really had no business getting involved in any of this.

Jensen continued, “She worked for an upscale interior designer in Moscow. She left Russia within days of her husband’s death, the timing of which probably isn’t a coincidence. Most likely she knew what her husband was doing and why he was killed, and knew it was time to get out of dodge. Lucky for her, she had a connection of her own, Sergei Yevchenko, a consul with the Russian embassy in D.C. He arranged to bring her here, and she was staying with him up until his sudden death a week ago.” Jensen stopped, his brows going up in silent question. “Which I’m guessing is what brings us here today.”

Luke nodded.

“I’m still curious about your interest in this. Yevchenko’s murder was certainly highly publicized. A foreign diplomat, especially one from a high-profile country with an always delicate relationship with the U.S., being murdered is big news. But I’m pretty sure neither his goddaughter nor the connection to Solokov was mentioned in the press. Which makes me wonder how you knew about it.”

Luke took a slow, deep breath. And so it began. He’d been prepared for this moment, but had hoped to be able to avoid it. If only Jensen had been able to prove Viktor’s story a lie, or that what Karina Fedorova faced was not so dire. But here they were.

“I’m involved with her.” A lie, the first of many, laying the necessary groundwork if he actually went through with this.

For a moment, Jensen didn’t seem to understand, his brow furrowing. “Fedorov’s wife?” Luke nodded. “How involved?”

“Very.”

Jensen released a low whistle. “You might want to rethink that.”

A whisper of a smile played against Luke’s mouth. “I might. But some things aren’t quite so easy to say no to.”

Jensen frowned and gave a little shake of his head. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I don’t remember you ever being ‘very involved’ with a woman.”

That was because he hadn’t been, not as long as Jensen had known him. “What can I say? I was waiting for the right one. Karina’s something special.”

“Can’t argue with you there. I saw a few pictures. She’s quite attractive. But no woman is worth the kind of trouble this one brings with her.”

“Is there any evidence Solokov is coming after her, any proof Yevchenko’s death is connected to all of this?”

The look Jensen gave him was clearly pitying. “It’s not likely to be a coincidence.”

“And yet, they happen sometimes.”

“Not in this case, they don’t. A high-ranking Russian diplomat falling victim to a drive-by shooting is not something that simply happens. No, he was taken out. It takes a lot of hubris to pull something like that, and from what I hear, that’s one thing Solokov isn’t lacking.”

“So what will happen to her?”

“The way I hear it, she’s due to be sent back to Russia ASAP.”

“Which is what Solokov wants.”

“I imagine. He wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble if he didn’t. He must think she was involved with her husband’s theft, and either has the money or knows where it is. It makes sense, considering she knew to run.”

Or she was there when Solokov’s men came for her husband and barely managed to escape herself, Luke thought. But of course, there was no way for Jensen or anyone else to know that.

“Is there any chance she’ll be able to protect herself from Solokov if she’s sent back?”

A hint of sympathy flashed across Jensen’s face. “Doesn’t look like it. She may be a thief like her husband, but we’re not talking about someone with the background or the connections to go head-to-head with Solokov. She’s an interior decorator. She finds pretty things to fill the homes of rich people. Some of those rich people might be able to help her, but even if they could, what happened to her godfather would probably give them second thoughts.”

“There’s no chance our government will grant her some kind of asylum?”

“On what grounds? She’s not a target of political persecution, at least not in any way that would qualify. Besides, a Russian diplomat was murdered on American soil. The U.S. government is not about to interfere with anything the Russians want at the moment, and right now, they want her shipped back to Moscow.”

“Where she’ll be completely at Solokov’s mercy.”

Jensen’s eyes grew shrewd. “No doubt. Something I’m sure she knows, too. Which may be why she became involved with you. Maybe she’s looking for someone to marry her so she can stay in the country.”

“She’s not like that,” Luke said automatically, somehow managing to keep the irony out of his tone.

“She’s not, huh? Then why do I get the feeling you knew most of this before I told you? Was it because she told you? Maybe she already asked you to marry her to save her. Or is that an idea you came up with on your own because you want to save her since you’re so ‘very involved’?”

With practiced ease, Luke let the words bounce off him, not letting a single muscle twitch or blink of the eye give the slightest indication Jensen’s comments had hit home. Odd to think that Jensen was right, and yet hadn’t even managed to come up with the real way this had all come about. That was how outlandish it was.

Luke shot the man a wry smile. “Does that sound like something I would do?”

He waited to see how the man would respond, a test run of how someone who knew him would react to the idea.

For a long moment, Jensen simply looked at him, his eyes assessing, his expression considering.

Luke simply stared back.

Then Jensen’s expression eased, his lips working into a smile of his own. “No, I guess not. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t thought of it.”

“I told you, she’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Jensen said into his coffee cup, his disbelief coming across loud and clear despite the muffled sound. “But seriously, you need to rethink your involvement with this woman. No good can come of it. Trust me, you do not want to be involved in this.”

No, Luke agreed silently, his heart sinking, he didn’t. Unfortunately, he already was.

The biggest question was why. The world was full of sad stories and people in desperate situations. All he had to do was watch five minutes of the news to see them every day. He’d never been remotely inspired to come to the aid of any of them. But now he was faced with this woman, asking something that wasn’t in any way reasonable for one person to ask of another.

And the “no” that should rise to his tongue so easily failed to come.

Perhaps it was because the problem had been so directly laid at his feet. There wasn’t a question of what might happen or the possibility that someone else might pick up the ball and run with it if he failed to. Viktor had brought the situation to him and laid it out in a way that left him little choice.

If you don’t do this, she will die.

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care about her. He still didn’t really. But that didn’t mean he could live with this woman’s death on his hands. Didn’t mean he could stand by and essentially kill the last member of Viktor’s family.

“You know better than anyone that blood is not a requirement for family.”

As much as he didn’t want to be involved, as much as he wanted to say no, as much as it would surprise anyone who thought they knew him, it seemed he wasn’t quite cold enough to allow that to happen.

THE SOUND OF THE DOORBELL came out of nowhere, the noise loud and jarring, scraping against Karina’s already-raw nerves. Seated on the couch in Viktor’s living room, she sent a nervous glance toward the hall to the entryway. She knew there was little chance Solokov’s people would come right up to the front door and ring the bell, but there were other threats that might. Threats that seemed even more imminent at the moment. Government officials. Immigration officers there to send her home.

To Russia.

To Solokov.

She waited nervously as Viktor made his way to the door, waited for his reaction to whatever he found there.

“It’s Luke,” he said, no doubt for her benefit, before she heard him open the door.

The announcement did nothing to reassure her. Instead, it only served to intensify the tension gripping her insides. She’d barely slept last night, the cold, unyielding face of a stranger looming too large in her mind. She and Viktor had both been waiting for a telephone call, expecting Luke Hubbard to deliver his answer that way. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d instead chosen to come here himself, a mere day after hearing their request. Did it mean he’d decided to do it, or that he’d simply come to deliver the bad news himself, having the courtesy of telling them in person? What did it mean that he’d chosen so fast? And what answer did she really want to hear?

Karina rose slowly from her seat, feeling not as though she were about to face an attorney, but a judge, one prepared to deliver his decision to her fate.

Luke Hubbard stepped into the room first, his eyes immediately finding hers. He said nothing, simply stared at her. She searched his expression for some sign of what had brought him here, what his decision was. He remained as unreadable as she remembered, his eyes cold as ever.

Viktor moved into the room behind him. “Well?” he prompted.

“I want to make a few things clear first.”

She frowned uncertainly. “Okay.”

“You have to agree that as soon as the danger to your life is over, we will terminate the marriage.”

He’s agreeing to the marriage, she thought, the shock so severe she merely felt numb from it. There was no room for relief, or unease, or anything else. The shock was too great.

“Of course,” Viktor said when she didn’t respond.

“I need to hear it from her,” Luke said, never taking his eyes off her.

“Yes,” she made herself say. “I agree.”

“You’ll sign a prenuptial agreement.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a large brown envelope. “Naturally you should read it first. It guarantees that when the marriage ends, we will each leave it with only what we brought into it.”

He held out the document to her. She accepted it, scanning over the words on the first page without really seeing them. It hardly mattered what it said. She was only bringing one thing to the marriage and it was all she wanted from it. Her life. To live.

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to move into my house immediately after the ceremony to make it believable.”

“I know.” It was as they’d discussed.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her again, saying nothing. She wondered if he was changing his mind. He hadn’t agreed yet, not really.

She held her breath, not certain what she wanted him to say next.

He nodded sharply. “Then let’s do this.”

Karina barely had time to react when Viktor clapped his hands. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we can’t waste any more time.”

“Agreed. We’ll need wedding rings.”

“Done,” Viktor said, surprising her. She watched him move to a nearby desk and retrieve two small boxes. He flipped them open, showing the contents to her and Luke. A plain gold band and another with a small but lovely diamond.

“Were you that positive I would agree or did you have someone else to ask if I didn’t?” Luke asked.

“I thought it best to be prepared for anything,” Viktor said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “We’ll do this today.”

“Today?” Karina echoed, eyes wide. Even Viktor seemed surprised.

Luke shot her a glance. “Is there a reason to wait?”

“No.” Of course there wasn’t. It was just happening so fast. Two minutes ago she hadn’t even known his answer. Now they would be married today, perhaps within hours.

“There’s no waiting period to be married in Virginia,” he said. “With any luck, we should be able to find a chapel where we can have the ceremony. I’ll call my assistant and have her find one. She can call us on the way with the information. It would look better if we did that rather than have it done at a courthouse or a justice of the peace. The marriage might seem more genuine if we went to all that trouble to be married in a religious setting.”

“Good idea,” Viktor said.

“Should we go?” Luke asked, looking solely at her. And it occurred to her that, in a way, he was now asking her to marry him.

Her earlier doubts about whether she could go through with this even if he agreed came back in a rush. If she wanted to stop this, now would be the time to do it.

Agreeing to this would mean placing her life in this man’s hands. She’d done it with Sergei, and to a lesser degree Viktor. But they were practically family. This man was a stranger. A man she knew nothing about but the little Viktor had told her. Including the fact that Viktor trusted him. Was that enough?

But it wasn’t as though she could turn back now. It was she who had asked him. And there were no other options available to her. This was her only chance. The stranger or certain death.

So why did the choices seem equally perilous?

She forced herself to swallow, to lift her head and keep every trace of doubt from her face.

“Yes,” she said.

And with that, her future was secure.

For now.

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