Targeted Risk (R.I.S.C. #7) - Anna Blakely
Prologue
Twenty-two months ago...
“We got him.”
“What?” Mike Bradshaw sat straight up. The three words his government handler had just spoken sent his heart racing.
“You heard me,” CIA Special Agent Benjamin Lopez answered. “It’s over, Bradshaw. You’re going home.”
Holy shit.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed—her bed—Mike glanced down the hallway toward the kitchen. Turning his voice to a hushed whisper, he asked Lopez, “Mikhail finally talked?”
“Something like that. Listen, are you with the sister?”
Mike looked toward the kitchen, again. He could hear Juliet moving around in there but didn’t see her. “Yeah. We’re at her place. But wait. The world thinks Mike Bradshaw died ten years ago.” An unfortunate necessity to do the job for which he’d been assigned. “How am I going to explain—”
“We’ll go over the details later. Just get out of there. Now.”
Alarm bells rang inside his head at the man’s curt tone. “Why? What’s going on?”
Before Lopez could answer, Juliet hollered from the other room. “Hey, Jay? Do you want bacon or sausage with your eggs?”
Jay Reynolds was his undercover name. One he’d grown to fucking hate.
Shit. “Uh...surprise me,” Mike answered with a casual tone. That tone changed when he spoke into the phone again, demanding his handler give him an answer. “Talk fast, Lopez. Why the sudden urgency for me to leave?”
“I’ll explain everything when you’re clear. For now, you need to listen to me and do what I say.”
Before Mike could argue further, he heard a knock coming from the front door. A man’s muffled voice immediately followed.
“Miss Volkov? This is the FBI. We need you to open the door.”
What the fuck?
A mass of dread grew into a fiery pit inside Mike’s stomach. “The Feds just showed up, Ben.” He hopped out of bed. Using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear, he quickly threw on the pair of boxers and jeans still crumpled on the wooden floor. “What the hell is going on?”
“Goddamn it,” Lopez cursed loudly. “I told them to stand down until I gave the order.”
“What order?” Mike started for the hallway at the same time Juliet exited the kitchen.
Wide-eyed, she looked to him for an answer he couldn’t give. “It’s the FBI. What should I do?”
“I gotta go.” Mike started to end the call but stopped when he heard Lopez holler at him to wait.
“Keep your cover, Bradshaw,” the other man commanded. “We can’t risk fucking this up because you’re thinking with your dick.”
“Fuck you.”
There was another knock. “I can hear you, Miss Volkov. Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”
“Jay?” Juliet urged him to guide her next move.
The first thought that came to Mike’s mind...how much he longed to hear his real name fall off those ruby red lips. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
“It’s okay, Jules,” he assured her. “I’m sure they’re just following up from the last time they were here.”
Clearly not buying his explanation, she hugged herself and shook her head. “It sounds like they’re here to do more than just talk.”
Swinging her gaze to the door then back to him, her long black hair fell over her shoulders and halfway down the snug white t-shirt she had on. Glancing at the phone in his hand, she asked, “Is that my Mikhail? Ask him if I should answer the door.”
No, baby. It’s not your brother.
“Just go with it, Mike,” Lopez instructed him through the phone. “Keep your cover while she’s within earshot. Stay calm and do as they say, and you’ll be headed back to Dallas by this time tomorrow. Who knows, you may even make it back in time for your sister’s wedding.”
Fuck.
“Jay?” Juliet looked to him again, her sapphire eyes filling with fear.
“Everything’s going to be fine.” Mike had no more uttered the lie when someone burst through the front door, its wooden frame splintering from the force.
Startled, Juliet screamed as a group of men stormed their way into her apartment. “What are you doing?” she asked. “This is my home. You can’t just barge in here like this.”
“We need you to come with us, Miss Volkov.” A man donning a navy-blue FBI jacket approached her. “We have a court order to take you in for questioning.”
Mike recognized him as FBI Special Agent Thomas Fuller. He’d been in on some of the meetings Mike had attended while on this assignment. The guy was a total dickhead with a major ego trip.
“Like hell you do.” Ending the call, Mike shoved his phone into his pocket, covering the distance