Trusting A Stranger

“Did you know I was here?” he demanded. “Or did you just get lucky?”

“I wouldn’t call this lucky.”

Keira pulled emphatically on the rope around her arms, and in spite of himself, Graham winced.

“If you’re not going to answer my questions,” he said, “then I’m going to go back to our previous arrangement.”

“What previous arrangement was that?” she replied, just shy of sarcastic.

“The one where I don’t speak at all.”

He started to turn away, but she snorted, and he stopped, midturn, to face her again.

“More of the silent treatment? What are you?” she asked. “A ten-year-old boy?”

For some reason, the question annoyed him far more than her lack of candor. Graham strode toward her, and once again, she didn’t cower. She raised her eyes and opened her mouth, but whatever snarky comment had been about to roll off her tongue was cut off as Graham mashed his lips into hers messily. Uncontrollably. And when it ended, Keira was left gasping for air—gasping for more.

Trusting

a Stranger

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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As always, I owe the deepest gratitude to my family. Without them, I would never have been able to add the title of “writer” to my list.

MELINDA DI LORENZO is a Canadian author living on the West Coast of British Columbia. She is an avid reader and an avid writer. Her to-be-read and to-be-written lists are of equal overwhelming length and she plans on living to be 150 years old so she can complete them both. Melinda is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a full-time mum to three beautiful girls. When she is not detangling hair, fighting for her turn on iTunes or catching up on sleep, she can be found at the football pitch or on the running trail.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Copyright

Prologue

A sharp gust of wind grabbed the branches of the trees outside the window, sending them crashing and scratching against the glass with a screech.

From where she stood in front of the window, the impact came mere inches from Karina’s face. She didn’t even flinch. She had too many actual threats to fear to be so easily frightened by nothing.

As she had every day since her arrival, she stared out at the street in front of the building. She watched the passing cars, she scanned the pedestrians. She didn’t know why she kept her silent vigil. There was really nothing to see. If the danger she expected did come, it would hardly approach so boldly from the front. The answers she sought deep in her soul weren’t out there. Yet she simply didn’t know what else to do.

She’d arrived in the United States just over a month ago at the beginning of February. From what she’d seen through the building’s windows, it had been gray and cold ever since. Not so unlike Russia at this time of year. She almost wished she could look at the unremarkable city scene outside and pretend she was home. But she’d never managed to forget that she was not home, nor why.

“I am going out now.”

The booming voice behind her was too familiar to startle her. Or perhaps she was simply too numb to be startled.

Forcing some semblance of a smile, Karina turned to face her godfather. He stood halfway inside the room, already wearing his overcoat, pulling on his gloves. He was a big, robust man with a ruddy face automatically eased in a smile of his own. But she sensed the strain in his expression as much as she felt it in her own. He couldn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. Even though he’d said nothing about it, she knew how much trouble he’d gone to to bring her here. She hated that she’d brought her problems halfway around the world to his door, but she’d simply had nowhere else to go.

“You should come with me,” Sergei said. “Come see the city. You have not left this building since you arrived.”

“I am fine here.” Safe here.

“You are not fine,” he said, the reprimand slightly tempered. “You are hiding.”

“For good reason.”

He grimaced. “I brought you here to be safe, not to turn this building into your prison.”

“It is too nice to be a prison,” Karina said wearily. She cast an eye around the room. Beautifully decorated, it was as lovely as the rest of Sergei’s home. Much like the homes she used to decorate back in Moscow, when she’d had a job, a life that was not limited to four walls. How unfortunate that the plush surroundings were wasted on her.

She felt him watching her. “There are many kinds of prisons,” he said. “You know, the Americans like to say this is the land of the free.” He smiled, a trace of patronizing amusement in his voice.

Her lips quirked sadly. “But it is not my land. Perhaps I am right not to feel free here.”

“You are safe here,” he said, echoing her earlier thoughts. But hearing the words spoken aloud merely allowed a whisper of doubt to creep in.

Still she answered, “I know.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes.

Sergei stepped forward and took her hands. “We will not let him win.”

Dread pooled in her belly. He could say the words a thousand times and she didn’t think she would be able to believe them.

Lowering her head so he couldn’t see the doubt on her face, she could only nod tightly.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped away.

Karina listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, the soft click of the door shutting, letting the warmth of his words and his touch sink in as she tried to believe he was right. They failed to pierce the bone-deep cold filling her body.

She wrapped her arms around herself, even though the chill had nothing to do with the temperature, and slowly regained her position at the window. The wind had picked up again. The branches in the trees twisted and tangled like the frenzied writhing of tormented spirits.

Or the ever-present uneasiness she felt churning deep within her that not even Sergei’s assurances could calm.

KARINA HAD LONG SINCE retreated to the sofa, night having fallen hours earlier, when she heard the voices. The sound of them, their tone sharp and urgent, broke into her thoughts. She frowned, irritated by the distraction even if nothing she’d been thinking about had been particularly pleasant.

She slowly raised her head to look at the closed door, the one Sergei had shut when he left. The barrier was thick, solid. Yet the voices were loud enough, the intensity in them fierce enough, to be heard through the surface.

A familiar sense of foreboding fell over her. She tried to swallow, only to discover her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Something was wrong.

Part of her longed to stay where she was, safely insulated from whatever lay on the other side of that door.

The rest of her already knew what it was, what it had to be. What she’d feared would happen from the moment Sergei had brought her here, even more than the idea of something happening to her.

She barely realized she was rising from her seat until her feet hit the floor. As if in a trance, she forced herself to cross the room and open the door.

One of the household staff stood a short distance down the hallway. At the sight of her, Karina’s heart fell into her stomach. The woman’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her expression locked in grief and horror and shock.

And Karina knew she’d been right.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, the voice seeming to come from far away rather than from her own mouth.

The woman jerked her head up and just stared at her for a long moment. It didn’t seem possible, but the horror on her face deepened at the sight of Karina standing there.

“Mr. Yevchenko—He…is dead.”

Expecting it did nothing to protect her from the sharp pain that ripped through her at hearing the words spoken. She realized some small part had hoped that it would not be true, or that if something had to have happened, he would only be hurt, not killed.

“How?” she asked, that strange, distant voice coming out as a barely audible rasp.

“A shooting. He was leaving his vehicle and a car drove by. Someone inside shot at him.”

Of course, she thought faintly. That was how they would do it. She didn’t ask if the shooter had been caught. She knew better than to think they would choose a way that would lead to them being captured.

She stood frozen, unable to move, unable to react, unable to do anything but stare at the horror on the woman’s face, knowing it was mirrored on her own.

The woman started to say something else. Karina didn’t hear her, the sound drowned out by Sergei’s final words to her, the reassurances now painfully mocking, echoing in her ears.

You are safe here.

We will not let him win.

And another voice, one she usually only heard in her nightmares, now as vivid as though the speaker were standing beside her, whispering cruelly in her ear.

I always win.

Chapter One

Karina stared at the closed door in front of her and did her best to calm her racing heart. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

She felt the man beside her look down at her. “Do you have any other ideas?” Viktor asked.

“No.” If she had she would have said so before now. Heaven knew she had spent enough time thinking about it in the past week. How Sergei’s death was her fault, and how would she survive.

It was Viktor, Sergei’s son, who had come up with this option, this man. The one person who might be able to help her.

Her entire life. Her hope of survival. All in the hands of a stranger.

Trying not to shift nervously from one foot to the other like a child, she glanced up at Viktor. “Do you think he will even agree to this?”

“I do not know,” he said simply. “But it is a chance.”

Yes, it is, she agreed silently. One so extreme she wasn’t sure she could go through with it, even if the man did agree.

But first he needed to answer the door and let them in. She sent an uneasy glance behind her, feeling entirely too exposed standing on the front stoop of this house. Even as she did, she sensed Viktor doing the same. It was impossible not to remember what had happened to Sergei and feel just how vulnerable they were out in the open.

The door finally opened in response to Viktor’s earlier knock.

Viktor had told her several things about the man they’d driven to Baltimore from Washington, D.C., to see. What he looked like had not been one of them. She hadn’t asked, the subject seeming unimportant compared to everything else. So she could only stare blankly at the man who’d answered the door, his expression solemn, and wait for either man’s reaction.

“Viktor,” the man at the door said finally, his mouth curving slightly at one corner. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Viktor agreed with a shadow of the charming smile she’d seen him wield since childhood.

As the two men shook hands, Karina carefully studied the man who’d answered the door. So this must be Luke Hubbard, Viktor’s old friend. Her best chance.

She’d tried to picture what he might look like, but nothing she’d imagined had come close to the man himself. He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed casually in a white polo shirt and dark slacks. His was a handsome face, but there was a hardness to it, with so many sharp angles and hard planes, that gave him more of an edge than she’d expected. He most likely was the same age as Viktor, which would make him thirty-three.

Viktor said he was an attorney. Corporate law or something to do with business. Yes, she could imagine this man being a formidable opponent in a business negotiation. Perhaps he would be for Solokov, as well.

He would need to be.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” Luke Hubbard said.

“Thank you.” Viktor nodded shortly, his expression tensing with grief.

It had been only a week, and Karina knew only too well that the pain of his father’s death remained fresh. She felt the sorrow of it, too, combined with a guilt that was hers alone.

Her godfather was dead for one reason only: because he’d tried to help her.

And now she’d come to ask this man for his help. To put himself in danger for her. Guilt stabbed at her again. It didn’t seem right to involve, to risk, anyone else. But then, what choice did she have?

“And thank you for agreeing to see us,” Viktor was saying. At the obvious cue, he reached over and prodded her forward slightly with the press of his hand against the small of her back. “Allow me to introduce Karina Andreevna Fedorova. Our families have long been good friends. My father was her godfather.”

She forced a smile onto her face as the man finally turned his attention to her.

The smile nearly died. She’d seen from the moment he opened the door that his eyes were blue. She just hadn’t noticed how the hardness of his face extended to his eyes. They stared back at her, utterly emotionless, revealing nothing.

Cold, she thought distantly as a sudden chill shuddered through her. So cold.

She peered into those eyes, desperately searching for some reassuring sign this was the type of man who might be willing to help her. Some flicker of warmth. Some hint of kindness.

She found none. There was nothing but that cold hardness.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, his tone polite and nothing more.

She made some sound of agreement, unable to do anything else but nod.

“Please come in,” he said, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing with his arm.

Ducking her head to hide the sudden misgivings she was certain were written all over her face, Karina entered the house, Viktor following close behind.

Luke Hubbard led them into a living room located to the left of the entryway. The room was stylishly furnished, with sleek modern furniture and high-grade electronics, but it was as cold as the man who lived there. She saw no personal items, no photographs anywhere. There were not even any books or newspapers lying about, no sign that anyone had done any actual living here. It appeared to be as sterile as a hotel room.

As they took seats, she and Viktor on the couch across from Luke Hubbard, she tried to remember everything Viktor had told her about this man. He was an attorney, a successful one if his home was any indication. She would have expected as much. He and Viktor had met at Yale, where Sergei had sent Viktor to study. He was a widower, Viktor had said.

As the thought crossed her mind, she automatically lowered her gaze to his hand. His ring finger was bare. It made sense. Viktor hadn’t said when the man’s wife had died, but Karina had assumed it had been some time ago. It seemed unlikely he would approach a recent widower with his plan, no matter the circumstances. No, the man must have lost his wife at least several years ago, long enough that it was no longer appropriate for him to wear a ring.

Of course, her husband had been dead less than two months, yet she no longer wore his ring. It had seemed wrong to once she’d learned the truth about the kind of man he’d been and discovered just how much trouble he’d left her with. Even if she hadn’t, she likely would have had little difficulty removing the ring.

“So what brings you to Baltimore?” Luke Hubbard asked.

Viktor sighed. “We need your help.”

“What is it?”

“First I need your word that you will not tell anyone about what we are about to discuss.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, as a true friend would. Karina took some small comfort from the gesture.

Viktor drew in a breath. “In January Karina’s husband, Dmitri, was murdered. He worked for a man named Anton Solokov. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the name.”

Luke Hubbard frowned, his forehead briefly furrowing as he appeared to consider the name. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s one of the wealthiest men in Russia. Like so many others, he moved in swiftly after the fall of the Soviet Union and made his fortune, first with an oil company, then diversifying into minerals.”

“Is that where your husband was murdered?” Luke Hubbard asked, turning that cold gaze on Karina. “Russia?”

“Moscow,” she confirmed.

“Solokov was responsible,” Viktor said.

Luke Hubbard’s eyebrows rose the slightest bit. “Responsible,” he echoed. “You’re saying he had your husband murdered?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Two men came to our house one night,” she said, trying not to shudder at the memory. “I was in the kitchen. Dmitri had just come home when they knocked on the door. He answered. From what I could hear, it was two men. They said that Solokov wanted to see him immediately. He tried to tell them he had just gotten home and they insisted he would have to come with them. The way the man said it made it clear he was threatening Dmitri. Dmitri became very quiet and said, ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ One of the men said, ‘That you’ve been stealing from him? Yes, he knows.’ There was nothing for a second, then a sound like Dmitri trying to slam the door shut. I heard it crash against the wall, then Dmitri cried out, like he had been hit. I came out of the kitchen to see what had happened. Dmitri was on the floor. His face was bloody and one of the men was trying to pull him up. He saw me and told the other man, ‘Take care of her.’ The second man started to come toward me. He was reaching into his coat and I thought he might have a gun.” She swallowed hard. “I ran before he could catch me and went out the back door. I got away.” Leaving Dmitri behind, she thought guiltily.

“Two days later Dmitri was found dead outside the city,” Viktor said. “He’d been tortured.”

“Did you know your husband was stealing from his boss?” Luke Hubbard asked. It sounded like an accusation.

“No,” Karina said firmly. His expression didn’t change. She couldn’t tell if he believed her.

“There’s more,” Viktor said. “There have been rumors for a long time that Solokov has connections to organized crime. The mafia. They have never been proven, but most likely only because he has connections with the police, as well.”

“You think the Russian mafia is involved?”

“It is possible. If Solokov was laundering money for the mafia, then some of the money he stole might be theirs.”

“Do you even have any evidence beyond the comment she overheard that Solokov was involved?”

“Everything else that happened is my evidence.”

“What else?”

“My father’s death, for one thing,” Viktor interjected.

“According to the news, your father fell victim to a drive-by shooting, most likely by gang members who were shooting at someone else.”

“A lie,” Viktor said, anger darkening his face. “A cover-up to conceal the truth.”

“What makes you think this Solokov was involved?”

“Karina contacted my father after Dmitri’s death. She has no other family. She knew how powerful Solokov is and didn’t know who to trust. Using his diplomatic status, my father arranged for her visa through the embassy and for her to travel to the United States via private jet. He suspected she wasn’t safe there. Solokov’s reach is too great. But now that my father is dead, her situation has changed.”

“How so?”

“Yesterday my visa was revoked,” she said. “Without my godfather to intervene, I am being sent home.”

“It is Solokov’s doing,” Viktor said harshly. “He has political connections, as well. Her visa was revoked too quickly to be a coincidence.”

“You believe Solokov had your father killed?”

“It certainly makes more sense than him being mistakenly targeted in a drive-by shooting by a random gang member, as your country is suggesting. And he had no other enemies, no reason why anyone else would deliberately kill him. There is only Solokov. As long as Karina was in his home, she was safe from Solokov. He’s trying to force her back to Russia, where there is nowhere she can run where he cannot find her.”

“For what purpose?”

“He must believe she was aware of what Dmitri was doing. If Dmitri didn’t tell him where the money was, then she is his only means of getting it back.”

Luke Hubbard nodded. “So you’re looking for legal advice? Help with how to stay in the country? That’s really not my expertise, but I can certainly recommend some good attorneys who specialize in immigration matters.”

Her gaze flicked to Viktor’s, reading the same touch of embarrassment in his eyes that she felt rising in her cheeks. It had been his idea, yet now that the moment was here he seemed unwilling to voice it.

“No,” Viktor said simply. “That’s not why we are here.”

In the silence that followed, Luke Hubbard’s eyes narrowed, shifting from Viktor to her and back again.

“What exactly are you here for?”

So be it, she thought. If anyone should make the request of this complete stranger it should be her. It was her life. She shouldn’t rely on anyone else to beg for it.

“Viktor believes the best way for me to remain in this country is to marry a United States citizen.”

She lifted her chin and met his cold stare.

“We are here to ask you to marry me.”

LUKE HAD YEARS OF EXPERIENCE at schooling his expression to reveal absolutely nothing, but the woman’s ridiculous statement nearly managed to crack his composure. It was sheer strength of will that kept him from flinching at her words.

Marriage. Even the idea sent a jolt of pain through him, the heat of it searing his insides until it felt like he was being burned alive.

Instantly, Melanie’s face rose in his mind, the same image that always did. The way she’d looked at her happiest, her head thrown back in laughter, her smile wide, her eyes fixed unerringly, so lovingly, on him and him alone.

The way she’d looked just before she died.

Another sharp pain, harder than the first, shafted through him. He swallowed slowly and blinked the image away, entirely too aware of the two people sitting across from him, watching him intently.

There was only one woman he’d ever wanted to marry, and in the years since her death he’d never once considered taking that step with another. Hell, he’d never been tempted to do so much as let a woman leave a toothbrush in his home. If he had been tempted to take another walk down the aisle, it certainly wouldn’t have been with some woman he’d met less than five minutes earlier.