Page 5 of France Face-Off (Brotherhood Protectors International #6)

Alex had established several contacts on the Dark Web, who were still working on who owned the Swiss bank account.

She didn’t hold out much hope that it would lead to one individual.

Those accounts were carefully buried in a number of organizations that appeared legit on the surface.

In the meantime, she had to follow her own leads, thus her interest in Petrov and, potentially, Sergei Baranovsky, another cog in the government wheel and possibly part of the Russian mafia.

“I noticed you with Natalya earlier,” Alex said as they neared the reception hall. “Won’t she miss you and be a little concerned when you show up with another woman on your arm?”

“So, you were watching me?” he said with a smile.

Irritation burned in her chest. “It’s part of my job as a translator to read body language and to study the people around me.”

He cocked an eyebrow and stared down at her. “What did my body language say?”

“You were only there to be polite to the older woman, and you were also studying the people around you.”

“Natalya might be older than I am, but she’s still a beautiful and vital woman and in the same profession as you.”

Alex shot a glance in his direction. The way he’d emphasized the word profession made her blood boil.

She had suspected Natalya did more than translate.

She managed to be at every political rally, diplomatic reception, and government-sponsored event.

Where there were government officials of the Russian country, she could always be counted on to be there in beautiful, expensive dresses and jewelry.

Most translators didn’t get paid enough to afford that kind of couture.

Several options came to mind regarding how she’d attained the wealth needed to wear that kind of jewelry and clothing.

Natalya had received gifts of jewelry and enough money to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed.

She could have traded something other than her translation services for the items, or she had a source of income other than translation services.

“My services are limited to translation,” Alex stated firmly.

She’d been to many of the same political rallies and government functions as Natalya over the past year, where she’d been building her own reputation as a translator.

However, Alex had never traded her body for money or jewelry and had no intention of starting.

The self-defense lessons were for when she got into those situations where her clients or other people tried to take advantage of her. She then quickly reminded them that she was paid for her translation services, not for any other skills they assumed she possessed.

Daniel stopped short of the reception hall entrance and put his hand over hers on his elbow to keep her from withdrawing it. “What’s your story, Alexa?” he asked. “You speak fluent Russian, and yet, your English is purely American. Why are you really here?”

She smiled tightly up at him. “I am using my translation services to support myself. And you can call me Alex.”

“Alex, when you’re not in France, where do you live?”

“Wherever the work takes me,” she said. “London, Paris, Moscow, the United States.”

“You have no family, no children, no husband?”

Her smile faded into a tight line. “I have no family. It makes it easy for me to travel around the world. What about you?” She refocused attention on him, deflecting it from herself. “I take it you don’t speak Russian?”

“Guilty,” he said.

“Do you at least speak French, since you’re here in France?”

He shook his head. “I am relying strictly on my good looks, as you called it. The pay and accommodations are decent. I have no complaints.” He reached up and tugged at his tie. “Although I’m not a big fan of ties.”

She used that opportunity to slip her hand from the crook of his elbow. “And when your looks fade?” she asked.

“Then maybe I’ll go back to the States, buy a ranch, settle down and raise a few kids.”

She shook her head. “I can’t see that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“You seem too cocky and sure of yourself to be relaxed.”

“From what I understand, ranching is not a relaxing occupation. If I work during my good years and save enough money, maybe I can afford to have somebody else do the ranching for me. I can enjoy my time with my children and my wife.”

“And you already have these children and a wife?”

“No,” he said with a shrug. “But maybe someday.”

Her stomach fluttered. She could imagine being the wife of this man, who was cocky and sure of himself.

She wondered if he would be the same in the bedroom.

Heat coiled low in her belly. She stepped away from him as a natural reaction to keep from being burned.

“Well, Daniel, I wish you well on your ranch with your wife and children. It wasn’t a pleasure to meet you, but I do wish you luck in your profession ,” she said, emphasizing the word.

He chuckled. “And I wish you luck in yours, as long as it doesn’t include assassinating Russian diplomats.”

She kept a poker face and pasted a smile on her lips. “I’ll do my best not to…unless they deserve it.”

He laughed out loud. “In which case, perhaps we should warn the Russian government you’re on to them.”

She almost hated leaving the man. He tempted her and kept her on her toes.

She would do well to keep an eye on him during the course of the two-day event.

She still wasn’t convinced he was just an escort.

The man’s moves were fluid. He’d handled her like a trained combatant.

His big hands, firm on her wrists, and his broad, muscled shoulders were clear evidence of a life of discipline and training.

“I suspect we’ll meet again,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said, and moved away from him.

As she stepped out into the reception hall, she heard a scream. Alex automatically ducked.

Daniel grabbed her around the waist, pulled her behind a wide column and then leaned out to view the crowd on the reception hall floor.

Alex ducked beneath his arm so that she might see as well. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “They’re gathered around someone on the floor.”

“Well, we can’t find out who it is unless we get out there with them.” Alex pushed past Daniel.

Daniel gripped her hand and hurried into the melee with her.

Some guests scattered, while others gathered around. A couple of the security guards pushed their way through the diplomats. The crowd parted as the guards reached the center.

Alex’s breath caught when she identified the man lying on the floor.

Petrov lay with his hand clutched to his chest, blood oozing from between his fingers.

“Looks like someone got the job done,” Daniel said beside her.

“Apparently not,” Alex drawled. “He’s still alive.” She spotted Sergei Baranovsky and pushed her way through the crowd to him.

Daniel followed close behind.

When she reached the Russian, she spoke in his language. “What happened?”

“I was on my way out the door when I remembered I needed to talk to Anatoly. He was just coming in from the garden and headed toward the bar to get a drink when a group of people moved between us. A moment later, he was on the floor. Apparently, someone stabbed him.”

In that moment, Alex was glad Daniel had her knife in his pocket. If they’d found it on her, she would’ve been hauled off to some French police station and held for questioning throughout the rest of the Energy Summit.

“Look,” Sergei said, “he’s getting up.”

Petrov reached a hand up to one of the security guards.

The guard shook his head.

Petrov barked an order to him in French.

The security guard shrugged, gripped Petrov’s hand and helped him to his feet.

The Russian was still bleeding as he clutched the wound on his chest, but he nodded, smiled at the crowd and spoke in Russian. “I’m okay,” he said, “This incident will not keep me from my duties at this summit.”

At that moment, emergency medical technicians pushed through the crowd with a wheeled stretcher.

They urged Petrov to lie on the stretcher.

Petrov insisted on sitting up, refusing to lie down. He allowed them to wheel him out of the reception hall as he shouted over his shoulder in Russian, “I will be back.”

As they wheeled him toward the door, security guards had already set up a blockade, banning anyone from leaving the reception hall.

A French policeman arrived and stood in front of the onlookers, speaking to them in French and then in English. “Please remain calm,” he said. “Be patient as we investigate this incident. No one will be allowed to leave until we have interviewed everyone.”

Alex turned to Daniel, who was annoyingly close to her. “Good luck explaining that knife in your pocket.”

“What knife?” he said with a grin.

She frowned in his direction. “What did you do with it?”

“Let’s just say somebody else will have to explain why they have it in their pocket.”

“Whose pocket?” she asked.

“Sergei Baranovsky,” he said with a grin, “your Russian friend with whom you were just conversing.”