Wendy Rosnau
Author Book List

Known as a cool seductress with a taste for couture, chic superspy Casmir Balasi had played her role too well this time — getting love-struck master criminal Yuri Petrov to propose on bended knee...and fall into her trap. But it wasn't long before Yuri caught on — and when he escaped prison, he vowed to enforce "'til death do us part."

Now Casmir was saddled with an arrogant if irresistible bodyguard, sent by an agency that didn't have her best interests at heart. Would her protector's secret agenda place her in the hands of her worst enemy? Or would she fall into her defender's arms instead? One thing was certain — surviving this deadly game required the performance of a lifetime....

Excerpt

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.

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