Free The Blood Code by Misty Evans Page B

continued to file by, each glowed under Anya’s praises. Ryan concentrated on listening to her softly spoken words, automatically analyzing the cadence, vocabulary, and accent. She’d been well-schooled in American English. Her Russian accent was so faint, only he would notice. Probably because he found it so damn sexy.
    Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The princess and her grandmother who’d disappeared from Russia in the 1990s had apparently made the United States their home. The CIA had no doubt orchestrated their relocation and assimilation into American culture.
    He made a mental note to check into that as well, but his gut told him another element of Anya’s story rang true.
    After the last child handed Anya his rose and received a hug, the woman in the yellow dress herded the children out the door. As they were leaving, the Russian prime minister, who had been absent during the concert, rushed in and approached Ivanov. He whispered something in Ivanov’s ear and drew him aside. Ryan’s instincts went on high alert.
    Barchai jumped up, hurried to the front of the group, and announced the evening’s entertainment was concluded. The dignitaries would be shown to their apartment suites inside the main building as soon as President Ivanov said his parting words. Then he turned to the piano player and motioned for him to play. The young man seemed caught off guard, but soft music soon filled the salon.
    Ivanov and his right hand man continued conversing in the corner. People stood and broke into smaller groups, both Pennington and Morrow gathering with the embassy dignitaries to discuss the next day’s meetings.
    The woman in the yellow dress returned and took the roses from Anya’s arms, said a few words to her, and hustled out the door with the flowers. Anya, now alone, glanced around the room, obviously unsure of what to do or who to talk to. She met Ryan’s gaze, gave him a small, sad smile, and walked to the arched window behind the piano to stare out into the snowy night.
    Without taking his eyes off her, Ryan nodded to Truman. “See you tomorrow.”
    He started to walk away, only to be stopped by Truman’s hand on his arm. “Surely you’re not about to chat up Ivanov’s new toy right in front of him.”
    Ryan slid his arm from Truman’s grasp. “Surely not.”
    Adjusting his bow tie as if he couldn’t wait to get it off, Truman smirked. “Right.”
    He abandoned Truman and skirted several of the talking groups, a plan already forming. Turning Barchai into an asset inside a week was a pipe dream. Anya, already close to Ivanov, and willing to spy on him, was at Ryan’s disposal. If he agreed to help her with her grandmother, she’d do anything he wanted.
    The window overlooked a courtyard filled with statues, trellises, and walkways, all carpeted in white. Anya’s face reflected in the glass as she stared out into the night, not seeming to see it. She leaned a shoulder against one side of the arch as if needing the support. Ryan edged closer, mindful of Ivanov, who continued to be engrossed in his conversation with the Russian prime minister. He was also mindful of the guards stationed around the room who kept a steady eye on the princess at all times.
    Up close, he could see how pale her skin was under the cover of makeup. How tired she looked. The curve of her bare shoulder was enticing, but the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her neck kept Ryan from enjoying it. Her fingers, folded together in front of her, twisted as she worried a ring on her left hand.
    For all her display of bravado at the cabin and during the evening’s proceedings, bottom line, she was scared.
    One last step and he faced the window, pretending not to stare at her reflection. “Beautiful night.”
    Her startled reaction confirmed she was indeed a million miles away in her thoughts. She turned from the window and gave him a weak smile before looking outside again. “Beautiful, if you like winter.”
    She was