The world is a stage, Cassie. Play to your audience and
get them to love you. Life is an investment. It's like
buying a satin suit and fabulous shoes. You get what you
pay for.
Head up, shoulders straight, and remember, never buy
cheap.
For twenty-eight years Casmir Balasi had lived by her
mother's words, as well as her motto: quality, not
quantity. She'd been a trendsetter in her youth, a runway
model by age nineteen, and for the past five years Ruza's
teachings had turned the blonde with attitude into one of
the most valued femmes fatales at EURO-Quest.
Her model figure and fashion sense, along with her catlike
ability to land on her feet, had allowed her to infiltrate
some of the most dangerous criminal circles in the world.
Code-named "the actress," she had recovered precious gems,
exposed the most cunning criminals, foiled terrorists and
carried top-secret documents across enemy lines, while
entertaining evil in the process. And each time she had
managed to keep her identity a secret to play the game
another day.
She'd been as elusive as a grain of sand in a sand-storm.
Her top-notch skills allowed her to haul her butt out of
tighter spots than a Gucci leather skirt.
Until tonight.
Tonight, the black wide-brimmed Tularo shielding her green
eyes and the silver Devicca suit outlining her curves had
fallen short. Nasty Nicky was seated at the bar and he was
looking straight at her.
Normally that wouldn't have drawn a red flag, but the smug
look on his face warned Casmir that he wasn't just
enjoying the sight of an attractive woman in a crowd.
There was something else in that look. It was a look of
recognition, and something more. As if he knew the secret
life behind her secret life.
Casmir scanned the beautiful club, and the throngs of
beautiful people who had ventured out tonight to play at
the Kelt. If Nicky was here,Yurii Petrov must be somewhere
close by. Which meant the Russian had escaped the maximum
security prison in Prague where he'd been eating and
sleeping, and dreaming of freedom, for the past seven
months.
And if that was true, it meant Yurii knew every-thing —
who, what and why.
Even more damning, it meant he knew that she was
responsible for his recent address change, his dismal room
with no view and, no doubt, his weight loss due to crappy
prison rations.
She wasn't fool enough to believe that he'd suffered
beyond what was bearable. Yurii Petrov had risen to the
ranks of soldato early in life. He was a hardened criminal
who had grown up in the company of hardened criminals.
He'd reached Don status to become the most notorious blood-
seeking mobster in the Red Mafia.
An iron-tough son of a bitch topped the list on his
profile. A detail man who was used to getting what he
wanted and holding on to it. A man who didn't blink when
it came to following the laws of the cartel.
Had she underestimated Yurii? If he was here, then, yes,
she had.
A year ago her assignment had been specific. Trip up Yurii
Petrov. Find his weakness and get close to him. So close
she knew what brand of toothpaste he used, what made him
laugh and what turned him on.
During her research she'd learned why she'd been picked
for the job. Yurii had only two weaknesses — apricots from
his homeland in Armenia and long-legged blondes.
She'd turned his head within a week, and literally brought
him to his knees two months later.
The vision of Yurii on bended knee, pulling a velvet box
from his pocket, flashed in Casmir's mind and she glanced
down at her left hand. She should never have kept the
ring, but it really was beautiful — a ten-carat marquise
diamond set in a circle of flawless rubies.
"Never take your eyes off your target. That's what I
promised myself that day on the Riviera. Remember, Kisa?
You were sunbathing topless when I first laid eyes on your
lovelies."
It was Yurii. His Russian accent was thick, his breath
spiked with the familiar brandy-soaked cigars he favored.
His lips brushed the side of her neck, reminding her that
they were a little too thin for her taste. Still, he knew
how to use them; after all, he was the detail man and
appreciated perfection in all things.
Yurii captured her hand, spun her quickly, and suddenly
Casmir was looking into a pair of deep-set earthy brown
eyes. He raised her hand and kissed it, his penetrating
eyes locking on the ring he'd given her months ago.
There was an awkward moment of silence, as if he'd
forgotten what he was going to say. Then he recovered. "I
should be furious with you. But how can I be angry, my
love?" His thumb slowly passed over the diamond engagement
ring on her finger. "You're still wearing my gift. So just
maybe I'll have to rethink killing you."
"Kill your fiancée? Why would you want to? I thought you
loved me, Yurii."
"And I thought the feeling was mutual. But I heard a
disturbing rumor while I was living in my home away from
home."
"Rumors are so unreliable."
"Tell me you didn't set out to betray me, Kisa. Tell me it
wasn't all a lie. Tell me I didn't let an enemy into my
heart, then into my bed."
"I believe the bed came first," Casmir reminded him.
"I remember that night clearly. You were a one of a kind.
Da, it is why it hurts more than I can express."
If prison had been a hardship, Casmir couldn't tell. Yurii
looked fit and healthy at forty-nine, his wavy black hair
short, with a touch of gray at his temples just as she
remembered.
To go along with his dangerous good looks, he favored
black shirts beneath expensive black suits — and always a
bloodred silk tie. The picture he presented tonight was a
carbon copy of the old Yurii, right down to the scent of
his mordant cologne and an imported cigar pinched between
his fingers.
Although his five-foot-nine-inch height made him appear
more round than lean, his charisma was as powerful as his
high-ranked position in the criminal world.
A real sweet deal, is how Ruza would have described him at
a glance.
"Deny the betrayal. Let me hear the words from your hot
red lips. Lips that have haunted my dreams since we've
been apart. Tell me it's all a terrible mistake, my love.
Speak the truth."
"I'm wearing your ring. I haven't taken it off since you
gave it to me. That is the only truth I know, Yurii."
His hand closed around hers and squeezed. "Not exactly a
confession of innocence, my love. Come. We will discuss it
in private. My car is waiting."
She felt something hard dig into her side. Without needing
to look, she knew Yurii had drawn his Gyurza. The Russian
pistol was famous for its cored bullets and penetration
ability — a deadly weapon that could go through two sheets
of titanium at 100 meters.
Casmir didn't flinch. Instead she glanced left, then
right. The nightclub was packed wall to wall, but Pasha
had to be there somewhere. A little help from her contact
would be appreciated about now.
"If you're looking for your dark-haired friend, I'm afraid
she won't be coming. She's met with a tragic accident. A
lovely creature, but certainly not you."
If Pasha was dead, Yurii knew for certain that she was a
spy for EURO-Quest.
Casmir didn't react to the bad news. She was a
professional, after all. She hadn't earned her stripes by
wilting under pressure, or spilling tears in the face of
the enemy.
She would cry for Pasha later, after she escaped. Yurii
saw betrayal only one way — he would have to kill her.
She had never bought into the cliché that life's a bitch
and then you die. Her mother had always professed the
opposite — life's a ball, so let's party. Well dressed, of
course.
But Yurii wasn't in a mood to celebrate a reunion in the
backseat of his Rolls. She was headed for the Dumpster in
the alley, to be picked up with tomorrow morning's
garbage. Pasha was probably there waiting for her.
She saw Nasty Nicky slide off the bar stool. He was
grinning, his greasy slicked-back red hair bringing more
attention to his stubby nose and ruddy complexion.
Someone should suggest a new hairdo to him, and a new
wardrobe, too. Double-pleated pants were out, and the
cheap fabric had created deep wrinkle lines high on the
inside of his sawed-off short legs, making his crotch
pooch out like a deformity instead of an endowment.
Yurii's fingers locked around Casmir's wrist. He nudged
her with the Gyurza, incentive to head for the exit.
Nicky was now shouldering his way through the crowd to
join them. She was out of time. Blood was about to be
spilt. Hers, all over her expensive Devicca suit.
Casmir slid her hand into her jacket pocket to retrieve
her Makarov. Still playing her lover's game, she turned
slowly and poked the barrel of her weapon into Yurii's
stomach, just below the safety vest he always wore when he
went out in public.
"Feel that, darling? Shoot me, and I shoot you." He didn't
seem surprised by her counter move. Or worried, for that
matter.
His smile turned into a shark's smirk. "You really are a
bad girl, aren't you, Kisa? One of Quest's most valued she-
spies, I'm told."
"If you say so. Now slip your gun into my pocket, or we
both die here and now."
"Da, a bad bitch."
"A bitch with a gun aimed at your —" she slid the gun
lower " — big bad boy."
His grin parted his thin lips, exposing nice white teeth.
Yurii was famous for more than his Don status in the Red
Mafia; his endowment was as thick as his accent and as
penetrating as his Gyurza.