Page 21 of Victor's Lethal Desire
Not that anyone here cares who I am, however.
Except for the drunk men downing absinthe for the first time, stumbling out of bars at two in the afternoon, slurring pickup lines in broken English, trying to fuck, but I can handle those idiots. A cold stare usually does it. If not, my knee works just as well.
I cross the square, weaving between tour groups following raised umbrellas and numbered signs. The smell of food from the stalls wafts in my direction, and my stomach aches, but I ignore it. I ate this morning, I think.
Prague is supposed to be my mindless place. The city where I don't think about work. Where I don't replay missions in my head or obsess over tactical mistakes.
But it's not working this time.
Because for some stupid, infuriating reason, Victor Ionescu has decided to take up permanent residence in my brain rent free as they say.
He pops up at the most annoying times, too. Like when I was sitting on a bench this morning, watching the swans glide across the water of the Vltava River. Or last night, in the shower, when my hand slipped between my thighs and I was just about to make myself come.
His face flickers behind my eyelids. That smug, arrogant smile. The weight of his body pinning me to the floor in Bogdan's office. His breath against my lips.
It's not that I desire him sexually.
At least, I don't think I do. Okay, well maybe I do. Maybe it would be nice to find out how someone like him is in bed. But it's more.
It's just, there's something about him I can't figure out. Beyond the good looks and dark eyes, there's a presence to him that I've never felt before.
And I hate that I can't place him.
The simple explanation is that women like intriguing men. That's all this is. He's a puzzle I haven't solved yet, and my brain won't let it go until I do.
I shake my head, exhaling hard through my nose.
But why do I even need to figure him out anyway?
Maybe I need more than just separating myself from him and Romania. Maybe I need more than Prague. Like another job. Something to give me focus, clear my head.
Another hour passes as I wander aimlessly through the narrow streets. Tourists crowd around the entrance to Charles Bridge, taking selfies with the castle in the background. I circle around them, heading back toward my hotel.
By the time I push through the lobby doors, my feet ache and my mood has soured a bit from the sun.
I take the stairs to the third floor, unlock my room, and kick off my shoes. The room is small but clean, with white walls, hardwood floors, and a large bed with crisp white sheets.
I make my way over to the mini-fridge and pour myself a glass of chilled white wine, the condensation wet against my palm as I take a sip.
It's clean and refreshing, and it's the same white I always have here in Prague, so it relaxes me.
Just as I'm about to plop down in a cushy chair, I hear two buzzes vibrate from the table.
I glance over and see my encrypted phone screen glowing.
I walk over, pick it up, and unlock it.
Three missed calls. All from Ivan, and a text. I tap it open and read it.
??????? ??? ??????.
Call me now.My jaw tightens. Why the urgency?
Ivan doesn't panic. He doesn't urgently summon me in the middle of the day unless something is very, very wrong.
I take a sip of wine to settle my nerves, but it does nothing to remove the uneasy feeling in my stomach.
Then I hit the call button.
