Kholodov's Last Mistress

She swallowed the panic that had started in her stomach and was now steadily working its way up her throat. She wasn’t completely lost. She had a little money in the bank, enough to give her some time—

And then?

‘There you are.’

Hannah blinked, focused in the oncoming dusk, and then stared in surprise as the man from Red Square strode towards her, his leather coat billowing blackly out behind him, a scowl on his face. He looked like an avenging angel, his blue eyes blazing determination and maybe a little irritation as well. Still, she could not stem the unreasonable tide of relief and gratitude that washed over her at the sight of him. A familiar face.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to make sure you’d sorted out your papers.’

‘That was very kind of you,’ she said, cautiously, because three months of travel had taught her to be, if not cynical, then at least sensible. ‘And unnecessary.’

‘I know.’ The corner of his mouth quirked very slightly, so slightly that it couldn’t be called a smile in the least. Yet still the sight of it made Hannah feel safer, and stronger, even as she felt a shiver of awareness. He was, she acknowledged, a very attractive man. ‘Did you get your passport sorted?’ he asked and she shook her head.

‘No. I got a form.’ She waved the paper half-heartedly. ‘Apparently I’m to go to the police department and file a report there.’

‘They’re all disorganised.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Or corrupt. Usually both. It could take hours.’

‘Wonderful.’ Her plane left in three hours. Clearly she wasn’t going to be on it.

‘Do you have any money at all?’ the man asked abruptly and Hannah shrugged, not wanting to admit just how much trouble she was in. ‘A little,’ she said. ‘In the bank.’ But not enough to pay the passport fee, and a hotel, and meals and other expenses besides. Not nearly enough.

‘A credit card?’

He must have been speaking to the woman in the embassy. Or maybe he just knew everything. ‘Um … no.’

He shook his head with that rather contemptuous incredulity she was coming to know so well. ‘You embark on international travel, to Russia of all places, without even a credit card, and clearly no savings?’

‘Put like that, it does sound pretty stupid, doesn’t it?’ Hannah agreed. She wasn’t about to explain how she hadn’t wanted this trip to send her into debt, or why she was wary of credit cards. ‘It was just,’ she explained quietly, ‘this trip was kind of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

He looked sceptical. Of course. ‘Really.’

‘Yes, really. You have that disdain thing down pat, by the way. I don’t think I’ve been lectured to so much since I was in elementary school.’

He let out a little bark of laughter that surprised her, it was so unexpected. She smiled, glad that he seemed to possess a sense of humour after all. ‘I am simply surprised,’ he said, his expression turning stern once more. ‘Have you been travelling long?’

‘Three months.’

‘And you have not encountered problems before this?’

‘Not as big as this. I was charged double at a restaurant in Italy, and a train conductor was really rude—’

‘That is all?’

‘I guess I’m lucky. Or at least I was.’

‘I suppose,’ the man said, ‘I shouldn’t even ask if you have travel insurance.’

Now that hadn’t even crossed her mind. Hannah managed a grin. ‘Nope.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Nope, I shouldn’t ask, or nope, you don’t?’

‘Take your pick.’

One tiny corner of his mouth quirked up again, and Hannah felt her heart skip a silly beat. He was intimidating and stern and even a little scary, but he was also incredibly good-looking. Sexy, even, especially when he smiled.

‘Were you planning to stay in this country long?’

‘Actually, my plane leaves—’ she checked her watch ‘—in two hours.’

He stared at her, eyebrows arched in incredulity. ‘Today is your last day?’

‘Apparently not. Mother Russia is insisting I stay a little longer. I need an entry visa as well as a passport.’

The man shook his head, clearly rendered speechless by her predicament. Hannah could hardly resent his incredulity. She’d really been rather foolish. And she could have so easily prevented this, as this man had pointed out. A credit card, a zipped pocket, a little more savoir faire.

‘You must,’ he finally said, ‘at least have some friends who could wire you some money.’

‘Well, not exactly.’ He arched one eyebrow, the gesture saturnine and unbearably eloquent. ‘I live in a small town,’ Hannah explained. ‘And it would be difficult to wire—’

‘No one can help you out when you are desperate? I thought small American towns were full of do-gooders. Everyone knows everyone and is willing to help each other out.’

‘I think you’re thinking of Mayberry,’ she said, naming a fictional town in a 1960s television programme where the sun always shone and people ambled down to the drug store for an ice-cream soda.

‘So your town isn’t like that?’

Hannah didn’t like what he was implying. What did he have against her, anyway? Just that she’d been phenomenally stupid and left her passport in her pocket? He seemed bent on a mission to discredit and disillusion her. ‘I just have to think about it,’ she said evenly. ‘And who to call.’ Who could and would drive the distance, both literally and figuratively. Ashley, maybe, but with her move and new job she was just getting on her feet financially.

‘And while you’re thinking …?’ He glanced around at the darkening streets, the steady traffic.

‘I’ll figure something out.’ She could fetch her bag from the hotel, find some place cheaper. It was a start, at least. ‘Why do you care, anyway?’ Hannah eyed him, his close-cut hair, his icy eyes, the overwhelming breadth of his shoulders under all that black leather.

The man’s eyes narrowed even as his lips twitched. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her dryly. ‘I have no intention of enacting any of the options that are undoubtedly racing through your terrified mind. Let me introduce myself properly.’ He slid a wallet from the inside pocket of his coat—of course he’d keep it there—and from it extracted a crisp white business card.

Hannah took the card warily, for, although she wasn’t generally a suspicious person, she still had sense. No matter what this man thought. She wasn’t going to trust him. Yet, anyway. She glanced down at the card, her eyes widening slightly at the words printed on it in stark black ink. Sergei Kholodov, CEO, Kholodov Enterprises, and an address of an office building in Moscow’s centre. She handed the card back to him.

‘Impressive.’ Of course anyone could print up a fake business card, even an expensive-looking one like that. This man could still be a drug dealer or a slave trader or who knew what else. She folded her arms across her chest, conscious of the chilly wind ruffling her hair and cutting through her parka.

‘I can see you’re not convinced.’

‘I’m not sure why you’re here.’

‘At least you’re finally showing some common sense,’ he remarked dryly. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel a bit responsible for the theft of your things.’

‘Why? I was the one who forced you to let that little boy go.’

‘You didn’t force anything,’ he told her a bit sharply, and Hannah suppressed a small smile that she’d actually pricked his pride. It made him seem more approachable, if such a thing were possible. She wasn’t sure it was.