Free The Blood Code by Misty Evans

Grams, she would face the monster and win.
    Fighting the urge to throw her champagne in Ivanov’s face, Anya instead raised her chin and smiled back at him, Ryan’s steady presence reassuring her.

Chapter Eight
    He’d finally gotten a smile out of the princess. More, she’d laughed.
    A small thing, but it made Ryan’s chest warm with a sense of accomplishment.
    Even though he couldn’t hear the laugh, the effect had been mesmerizing, transforming her face like it had back at the cabin, and his imagination had happily filled in the sound. Before the night was over, he wanted to see if the real thing matched the soft, sexy resonance his brain had conjured.
    The laugh made her body language do a complete one-eighty. From the curve of her lips, the change rose up her cheekbones to her eyes. The rigid determination he’d seen in them earlier disappeared, and in its place, a conspiratorial look of appreciation. The chain effect then slid down her body. Her tense shoulders relaxed and she took another deep breath.
    While the entire metamorphosis took less than a heartbeat, Ryan registered every component.
    But then Ivanov spoke to her and the satisfaction brewing in Ryan’s chest had dissipated. Irritation took its place.
    Luckily Truman had been sitting on his left, carrying on the conversation without him, and asking questions as if they were indeed new friends. Before Ivanov could follow Anya’s gaze, Ryan had answered one of Truman’s benign questions. When he dared look back, she was talking to Ivanov.
    A dangerous emotion took root in Ryan’s gut.
    Anger.
    Anger was generally born out of fear, sometimes out of revenge. This anger, however, came from jealousy.
    Emotions, good or bad, made an operative vulnerable, and a vulnerable operative was a dead operative.
    Ryan shoved the jealousy behind a steel door in his mind and slammed it shut. Jealousy, mission or no mission, had no place in his life.
    He couldn’t, however, pull his focus away from Anya.
    The change he’d affected was still present. The smile she gave Ivanov was reserved, almost demure, and yet there was an edge to it. A sharp edge. As if she’d realized something that renewed her self-confidence.
    While the Russian president didn’t seem to notice, Ryan saw it in every expression on her face, every move she made over the next few minutes.
    Waiters served an apple tart along with coffee. Anya dug into her dessert with an odd gusto lacking during the previous courses, and once again, a sense of satisfaction took hold inside him.
    Truman spoke around a mouthful of tart. “You really think Ivanov’s new plaything is a credible asset for the US?”
    Ryan sipped his coffee, ignoring the way his gut rebelled at plaything . “If I say no, you going to proposition her?”
    “I wish. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with an internal affair.” Truman cut his eyes toward the female British diplomat at the nearby table. From the way he emphasized “affair,” Ryan figured the woman was probably selling or sharing national security secrets with a lover.
    He made a mental note to put his own eyes and ears in London on her in case she was jeopardizing US security as well. “You staying in the Palace?”
    “No. You?”
    “That’s the plan. Pennington wants me at his beck and call. Not sure why, other than he’s completely out of his safe zone here.”
    “I assume Michael Stone planted a bug in his ear. Gave you a gold star and all that.”
    “The deputy director wouldn’t tell the president that I’m a spy, even if he is his brother-in-law. Lutz has his suspicions, but he’s been around a long time. Seen a lot of spies posing as various aides and advisors. I think I’ve convinced him I’m not, but if he tips my hand, he can kiss his ambassador title good-bye.”
    Polishing off the last of his tart, Truman followed Ryan’s gaze to Anya. “Anything you want me to pass on to Langley about her?”
    After seeing firsthand the extent of Ivanov’s