Hardy turned and his eyes widened. “Natasha? I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
Hardy and Russian FSB agent, Natasha Volkov, had worked together in July, bringing a bomb maker to justice. Their relationship had gotten off to a difficult start, but by the end of the mission, they had grown to like and respect each other.
Natasha ascended the last few steps and stood in front of him. “Knowing my involvement in our operation this past summer, the Premier wanted me here for this historic meeting.” She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on each cheek before taking a step backward and admiring how his five-feet, eleven-inch muscled body filled out the suit. “You look just as good as you did in St. Petersburg.”
Hardy was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and a red tie. His shoes were black. A gold collar bar kept the points of his shirt collar together, while a gold tie bar held his tie in place. A handkerchief, perfectly matching the tie, peeked out his jacket’s left breast pocket.
A twinge of envy rose to the forefront of Special Agent Cruz’s mind. She stood to the right of Hardy, lips pursed and muscles taut, staring at the woman, scrutinizing her every feature. Cruz’s face, neck, and ears burned, as she vacillated between jealousy and embarrassment. How could she not feel a touch of resentment? The woman was beautiful, and she had a special relationship with her boyfriend.
The twenty-seven-year-old Natasha had a slender figure and stood five-feet, seven-inches tall. She had long blonde hair that came to rest below her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and white. She had bright blue eyes. Her well-manicured eyebrows were thin. The inner portion of each eyebrow slanted sharply toward her narrow nose. Her complexion revealed no blemishes in the faint light from the mansion. If anything, the beam of light made it seem as if she was in a photographer’s studio, making her appearance more radiant.
Cruz cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but how do you know each other?”
With her right hand on Hardy’s left shoulder, Natasha smiled at Cruz. Her full lips parted and revealed a set of perfect white teeth.
Inwardly, Cruz groaned. Of course.
“No, it is I who should be sorry.” She touched her chest, “Where are my manners?” before holding out her hand. “I’m Natasha…Natasha Volkov.” Cruz took the hand. “I’m an agent with the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. I worked with Hardy a few months back. He helped me apprehend a man who had been terrorizing my people.” Natasha tilted her head. “Without his assistance, we may not have caught the man. Our country owes him a great debt.” She faced him. “And so do I.” She stepped alongside Cruz, never taking her eyes off Hardy. “He saved my life on two separate occasions.” Natasha stopped talking and whipped her head toward Cruz. “You must be…Special Agent Cruz…of the FBI. Raychel, I believe.”
Cruz nodded.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Cruz, bringing her hands together in front of her body.
“You are even more beautiful than Hardy described.”
The redness returned to Cruz’s cheeks.
“Actually…he didn’t describe you at all; however, judging from his eagerness to get back to you, I assumed you must have been very attractive. And, I see I was right.” She smiled before looking at Hardy. “We need to catch-up, but right now I have to get ready for this party tonight. Where am I staying?”
Hardy wheeled around. “Come with me and I’ll—”
Cruz stepped between them. “I’ll take her to her room.” She held her breath, hoping the act was not too overt. “It’ll give us a chance to talk,” she smiled, “just us girls.” Natasha repaid the gesture.
“All right, in that case,” he made the shape of two pistols with his hands and pointed toward the mansion, “I’m going to try to find those hors d’oeuvres the President mentioned. I’m starving.”