TIRASPOL BEST CHOICE MOTEL
TRANSNISTRIA UNRECOGNIZED TERRITORY
“THIS IS SOOO A DATE.” Eddie stood in the doorway between their adjoining motel rooms, arms crossed.
“Business meeting.” Talia bent close to the bathroom mirror, trying to even out her eye shadow.
“Nope. It’s a date.”
They had been jabbing at each other like that since the previous afternoon. Their second day at Avantec had been more productive than Talia could have hoped, with Ivanov allowing her access to Bazin’s security staff and the compound’s utility grid. The day had also given her a reprieve from Tyler, who had chosen to follow Eddie when he split off with Bazin to get a look at the server farm and the perimeter surveillance system.
If all went well that evening, Talia could wrap things up the following day. Ivanov had blocked off his afternoon to let her make a few final assessments and present her findings. She had a growing list, but nothing Ivanov couldn’t handle with his resources. Avantec’s US interests were safe. With any luck, she and Eddie would catch the first flight out of there on Monday.
Talia stepped back from the counter and assessed her makeup. “For the last time, Eddie, this is a business meeting.”
This was so totally a date. It was also a key component of a business transaction, and Tyler was getting a cut. What did that say about their professional relationship? Talia cringed and stepped up to the counter again to remove some of the eye shadow.
“Well,” she said, emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later. She did a quick twirl for Eddie. The LBD, or little black dress, was considered mandatory equipment for a CIA officer. Embassy parties and fancy dinners were a common hazard in the field. “How do I look?”
“I always said you clean up nice.” Eddie leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Where’s your Glock?”
“Thigh holster.”
His shoulder slipped and he dropped an arm to catch himself. “Uh . . . right.”
THE MANDARIN BOASTED the only restaurant in Tiraspol worthy of a man like Ivanov—the Red Dragon. Talia arrived separately, and the valet accepted the keys to the Opel as if they were a used banana peel. A sad knowing darkened his features. The tip later that night would likely match the car.
Talia had come early to scope out the place. A pair of Chinese lions greeted her at the door, and again in the Mandarin’s main lobby, where black and gold banners of serpentine dragons hung from marble arches. The restaurant stood to her left, a darkened space lit by red silk lanterns. She saw no threats among the patrons, until her eyes found the bar.
“Mr. Tyler,” she said with a sigh, taking the stool next to him. “What are you doing here?”
Tyler sipped a white, frothy drink through a tiny straw, smacked his lips, and gave her a sardonic look. “I live here.”
“I mean what are you doing here, in the Red Dragon? You know this is where I’m meeting Dr. Ivanov.”
“I’m having a drink, Miss Wright. Is that a crime?” Tyler shifted his eyes to the great brass gong hanging behind the bar and took another drink, wincing. “Did you know many Eastern European bars use vodka instead of rum in their piña coladas? They say you can taste the difference.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. Which did they use in yours?”
“Neither. I’m not much of a drinker.” He took another sip and winced again. “But this one is remarkably cold.”
One day Talia would make Brennan suffer for forcing her to work with this guy. She checked her watch, then checked the door. Ivanov could arrive at any second. “Please go away.”
“Not until I finish my drink. I’m taking it slow. I can’t handle brain freeze.”
“Ugh.” Talia spun on her stool and laid her elbows on the bar. At the far end, a young woman sat alone, dressed to kill in a red sequined dress.
“Look.” Talia nudged Tyler. “That girl down there is practically screaming for a sugar daddy to pick her up. Why don’t you take her and the drink upstairs? Isn’t that what rich guys do?”
Tyler kept working on his icy virgin piña colada. His eyes darkened. “That’s not who I am.”
“I guess that’s the point. I don’t know who you are, Mr. Tyler. And I don’t want to know.”
“Then what do you want?”
“For you. To go. Away!” She pounded the bar with each phrase.
The girl in the red dress gave her an accusing look that said, You must be sooo desperate for attention. Talia dropped her forehead into her hand.
The slurping sound of the last few drops of a cold virgin piña colada roused her from her frustration. Tyler set down his glass with an exaggerated “Ahhh” and patted her bare shoulder. “That’s it for me.” He slid off the stool and tossed a pair of bills onto the bar. “And don’t look now, but your date’s here.”
Two bellhops opened a pair of the Mandarin’s glass doors as Ivanov strolled through, a black SUV pulling away in his wake. Talia ditched Tyler without another word. She walked out to her date, doing her best to banish a sudden fear of stumbling in the unfamiliar heels.
“Where’s your Russian friend?” she asked as Ivanov shifted course to meet her.
“I left Mr. Bazin with the car. After all, I have you to protect me.” He bowed to kiss her hand, but stopped halfway, eyes shifting to the front desk, where Tyler had conveniently stopped to chat with the clerk. “Is that—?”
“Yes. He’s staying at this hotel.”
“And are you two—?”
“No.” She might have placed more emphasis on the word than necessary. Talia tugged Ivanov toward the restaurant, having never received that hand kiss. “Shall we sit down?”
Ivanov had the menu memorized. He ordered for them both, advising Talia that Nicolai, the not-so-Chinese chef of the Red Dragon, made only one dish well. He also inquired about a bottle of wine, but Talia refused. She was there on business, no matter how dashing her Moldovan date.
A rehash of her suggestions for Avantec’s security kept the business barrier raised through the first two courses. The more she interviewed Ivanov, the more Talia worried a kidnapping might be Lukon’s best option. And here she was, drawing the target out of his compound.
Her eyes flitted to the entrance and windows during transition movements—a bite of duck or a sip of water—whenever she managed to tear her gaze from his. Ivanov’s gray eyes were at once brilliant, passionate, and playful, especially when he spoke of the lab and his work there.
“I do my best work in my home lab,” he said, handing his plate to the waiter when he had finished. “That place is like a manifestation of my own mind.”
Talia had noticed. She had inspected his residence, across the lake from the main building. In some ways, Ivanov’s personal lab was more impressive than the clean room, and yet more overtly masculine, with polished concrete furnishings and random bundles of wire and steel.
“Are you sure you don’t want another look at it?” he asked, folding his arms on the table. “The house and the lab, I mean. We could go this evening.” There was that playfulness again.
Talia swallowed the boulder forming in her throat. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight.” She couldn’t believe she had added that last bit. To redirect the conversation, she broached new ground. “What about family, Dr. Ivanov?”
“Pavel.”
“Right.” She felt herself blush. “Pavel. Lukon could use your loved ones against you.” It occurred to Talia as she broached the subject that Ivanov’s file had not mentioned a marital status. Neither had he, as yet. A part of her cringed, waiting for his reply.
“Family is no issue.” Ivanov raised a hand, and the waiter rushed over with a dessert card. “I have no wife, and I no longer have ties with the children’s home that raised me.”
She nearly choked on the water she was drinking. “You’re an orphan?”
His eyes narrowed. “As . . . are you.”
“I . . .” What was she supposed to say? From one slip of genuine surprise, Ivanov had read her past. Talia kicked herself, dabbing the dribble from her chin. She had let her guard down too far. Now she had to own it. A lie would never work. “Yes. My mother died in childbirth. I lost my father at a young age.”
“I never knew my parents at all. I have always been an outsider. I suppose that is the reason I am so desperate for acceptance into the European aerospace community, not easy for any CEO from a city east of Vienna.” Ivanov eased his chair around to her side of the table. “In many ways next week’s expo is my coming-out party in polite society. Natalia,” he said, dropping the “Miss” for the first time and laying a hand on her wrist, “we have much in common. Perhaps this is why I asked you to dinner.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I hope you can forgive the impertinence, but—”
Glass shattered behind them.
Talia spun out of her chair, Glock up and ready, and a waitress backed away with hands raised, abandoning a pile of broken glasses and a fallen tray. The girl in the red dress, now seated with her young date, glanced at Talia and just shook her head.
Talia grabbed Ivanov’s wrist and dragged him to the doors. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“It was only a few glasses, Natalia.” Ivanov signaled the waiter over her shoulder, rubbing his fingers together in the cash sign.
The waiter answered with a we’ll take care of it later nod.
“For now, yes. But I drew my weapon, so if a real threat is out there, I’ve just shown my hand.” She let go of him out on the drive. “Call Bazin.”
Ivanov didn’t have to. The Russian pulled up as she spoke, looking none too pleased at their sudden appearance. Ivanov’s eyes turned playful again. “Does this mean you are coming with me? The night is young. There are still places in Tiraspol I could show you.”
“No.” Talia gave the valet the ticket for her Opel, ignoring the roll of the young man’s eyes. “You’re going home. Alone.”