Hardy nodded at the two men standing guard outside the Premier’s bedroom before reaching for the doorknob to his own bedroom. He stopped, his hand hovering in the air. I’m not that tired. Even though Hardy had been at the mansion since nine o’clock this morning, working with the Secret Service Agents, scoping out the property, his body felt energized. Maybe it was the feel of Cruz’s soft skin, giving him a second wind. Whatever it was, he knew he would probably lose that energy in an hour or so. He did an about-face and strolled toward the stairs.
He made his way to the first-floor kitchen, hoping to find a beer in the refrigerator. Halfway to the kitchen, he glanced toward the fireplace and saw the right-side profile of Natasha. She was sitting in a straight-back chair with her legs crossed. Due to the curvature of the chair’s back, he could see only her face, right arm and hand—holding a wineglass—and her black knee boots.
Having heard footsteps, she turned and saw him. “What are you doing up? I thought you and Cruz were on your way to bed.”
Hardy sauntered into the fireplace room and stood, facing the fire. “She’s beat, but I’m not that tired…yet.” Observing the full glass of wine in her hand, he pointed with his chin. “Where can I get one of those?”
She stood and took a couple of steps toward him, the three-inch heels of her boots landing with soft ‘thuds’ on the heavy rug in front of the fireplace. She wore her form-fitting black cocktail dress from the party. The hem of the dress stopped three inches above her knee. Slightly clinging to her legs, the back part of the dress rose a little higher. She handed him the glass. “Here, I’ve already had one and should probably stop.” Returning to the chair, she slid her hands under her butt and thighs—straightening the dress—and sat. She crossed her right leg over her left leg and placed her folded hands in her lap.
“Thanks.” He sat in the other straight-back chair across from her. He regarded her for a few seconds. “It’s good to see you again. You look great.” He tipped the glass back and drank almost a quarter of the wine.
“Thank you.” She tugged on her dress and pretended to pick a piece of lint from it. “I can say the same about you.”
“So, you’re protecting the Premier, now?” Hardy crossed his right leg over his left leg.
“No, not exactly,” she refolded her hands in front of her belly, “I’m still an FSB agent. The Premier sometimes calls on me to be a part of his security detail. I think with all that’s happened he knows he has at least one person whom he can trust.” She smiled, her white teeth shining brightly in the room’s subdued lighting. “He has a great deal of respect for you, too.”
Hardy raised his eyebrows.
“We’ve talked about you a lot. He was extremely impressed when he learned of everything you had done, especially when you dragged me to safety.”
Hardy squirmed in his chair and stared at the fire.
Natasha put her hands on the armrests, re-crossed her legs and pulled on her dress. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of what you did. Our two countries have not been on the best of terms. Your actions went a long way toward repairing the communications between my Premier and your President. In fact, that’s why the Premier requested that you be at this summit. He trusts you and he trusts your judgment. I wouldn’t take that lightly.”
Hardy’s mind went to the business card in his pocket. He was sure the Premier did not give out his personal number to everyone he met; however, receiving accolades was not one of Hardy’s strong suits. His silence at such moments could be interpreted the wrong way.
Observing his discomfort, Natasha changed the subject. “Raychel seems to be a real sweetheart; smart and extremely personable, too.”
Hardy smiled, happy to have the conversation shift away from him. He saw Cruz in his mind. “Yes, she’s great.” He took a sip from the goblet. “I can’t tell you how much she means to me.” Watching the flames of the fire dance in the fireplace, his mind drifted. He thought of everything that had transpired since meeting her, especially losing his teammates. Her presence in his life had helped him cope with the most tragic event ever to happen to him. “I met her at a difficult time in my life.”
Natasha stared at him. She could see he was re-living the ordeal he had shared with her. Wanting to bring him back to the present, she steered the conversation toward Cruz. “And, like all intelligent and beautiful women do, she’s made you a better man.”
Hardy smiled and took a drink. “Most definitely; I never thought I’d find someone who was capable of understanding what I do for a living, and be okay with it.” He motioned toward Natasha. “I’m sure you know what that feels like, too.”
Natasha pressed her lips together and dropped her head.
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Hardy wished he could have retracted them. Grimacing, You idiot, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
In the spring, Natasha’s boyfriend, Sergei, had been killed in an explosion. For the longest time, she had been angry and blamed herself for his death. She had revisited the incident countless times in her mind, trying to figure out if she could have done something to change the outcome. To console her, Hardy had recanted the story of how he had lost his teammates; specifically, he told her what he did, and continues to do, to honor them. Hearing his story, she had begun to feel some semblance of peace.
Still looking down, she fiddled with the hem of her dress. “It’s okay. You came into my life at a difficult time as well, and helped me move past the loss of Sergei...I’ll be forever grateful to you.” After a brief pause, she grinned. “That earns you the right to an occasional slip-up.”
Hardy pinched the stem of the wineglass and spun it between his fingers. Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded his head.
Natasha stood and walked to the fireplace. She leaned over and put her palms toward the fire, intermittently rubbing them together. Her hair slid over her shoulders, until half of it hung in front of her body. She shifted her weight back and forth for almost a full minute, while she warmed herself. In one fluid motion, she rose to her full height, slid her hands past her cheeks and threw her long hair back over her shoulders. Returning to her chair, she sat, “So,” and crossed her legs, “tell me more about her. Raychel, I mean.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they talked about all manner of things, including Cruz and the mission in St. Petersburg. Hardy inquired about Victor and his team, whom Hardy had met during the mission. Natasha smiled and laughed, while she told him a funny story about Victor. They were still snickering when an agent from the Premier’s security detail approached her, leaned over and whispered in her ear. The muscles in her face drew tight and she closed her eyes. She had a short verbal exchange with the man—in her native language—before he left.
“What was that all about?” Hardy brought the fluted glass to his lips.
Natasha took a deep breath and let the air slowly pass through her pursed lips. “One of our agents was found murdered in his home.”
Hardy lowered the glass. “What?”
“His name was Demitry. It appears he was the victim of a robbery or home invasion. He was shot in the chest just above his vest.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Any leads on who did it?”
“No, his body was found only an hour ago.” She stared at the flames in the fireplace. “He was a good agent. He didn’t have a wife or children.” Natasha recalled the short time she had spent working with him. “He was a good man…he was actually scheduled to be on this security detail. When he didn’t show up for work this morning, we tried contacting him, but there was no answer. I sent a team to his house, but no one answered the door. His car was not in the driveway, so…I was given the assignment of finding a replacement for him at the last minute.” Natasha shook her head and stood. Approaching Hardy, she reached for the wineglass. “I know I said I should stop, but this, changes things.”
As Natasha tipped the goblet back twice, Hardy thought about what she had said. The details were not making sense to him. Plus, the timing was troubling him. “Did this agent have a history of not showing up for work?”
She shook her head and swallowed. “Never…Why do you ask?”
“How do you know it was a robbery or home invasion?”
“The place was trashed. Demitry’s wallet, watch and firearm were missing. And, his car was not there. Investigators think someone, or some people, broke in and stole a few expensive items before stealing the car.”
Hardy watched the fire. The more he thought about the circumstances surrounding the agent’s death, and the implications the agent’s death could have on the summit, the more the alarm bells sounded in his mind. It was possible he was making more out of the situation than what it deserved; however, during his military service, he had learned it was better to be overly cautious than to dismiss something out of hand, no matter how slight. “What are the chances it was made to look like a robbery or home invasion?”
Setting the glass on the small table between the two chairs, Natasha stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Look at the facts, Natasha. A top tier agent on the Premier’s security team is killed in an apparent robbery right before he is scheduled to leave the country on an important mission. This forces you to bring in a replacement for him at the last minute.” Hardy wagged his finger at her. “Didn’t you also say the agent was shot,” he tapped his chest, “above his protective vest?”
She nodded.
“Untrained criminals will shoot for center-of-mass. And, they will shoot wildly. Only highly trained individuals, who suspect the target is wearing a vest, will know where to aim.” He pointed to his throat and chest area. “That’s a small target area above the vest.” Hardy eyed her, but the low light from the fire made it difficult to see her face. “You don’t find any of that suspicious?”
Natasha stared at the toe of her boot, mulling over his words.
“What do you know about the man who took the murdered agent’s place?”
Natasha let out the breath of air she had been holding. “It was last minute, so we didn’t take as much time as we normally do to vet someone.” She shifted her eyes toward Hardy. “Nothing in his file seemed out of place. He’s been an agent for several years and has a good record. He’s been in the military and received several medals. He served under Colonel Vasik’s—” she faced Hardy, but her eyes gaped past his shoulder, “command.”
Hardy noticed her distraction. He also saw the color drain from her cheeks.
She leaned forward and grabbed the hem of her dress. “Son-of-a—”