Bedded by Her Bodyguard(2)

Sliding up the oval shade, she glanced out the window. Sheets of snow created a whiteout, and she couldn’t see a thing. She figured the northern swath of the country stayed chilly throughout the year, but squalls? “How can it be snowing in the middle of October?”

He checked his gold watch. “We’re flying over a mountain range right now. Should be in the clear soon, landing in an hour.”

Skeptical of his accuracy, she eyed him. “How can you tell the time when Russia has like ten time zones?”

“Eleven. And I’ve made this trip once or twice,” he said dryly.

Of course. From what she remembered in passing conversation, his parents had emigrated from Russia, though his inflection held no trace of an accent. “When did you come to the States?”

“My family moved to the U.S. when I was six.” That explained his lack of an accent. “We were the last of the relatives to make the trek. My aunts and uncles and cousins had already established themselves in Las Vegas by the time we joined them.”

Established was a serious understatement of his large family’s vast wealth. There were enough Atlases to form their own genetic map. They owned three mammoth casinos and numerous other businesses in Sin City. The immigrant work ethic had paid off for them, since they made the average concept of the American Dream look like checkers while they’d mastered chess.

Isaac’s familiarity with his motherland and his impressive salesmanship made him the perfect candidate to pitch Soren Security’s bodyguard services to their first international client. She, on the other hand, had zero experience in this realm.

She twisted her hands in her lap. “I’m nervous about the dinner meeting.”

Compassion softened his intense black eyes. “Don’t be. Cade Soren has faith in you. So do I.”

A nervous swallow stuck in her throat. “I wish I had your talent. You could sell swampland to an alligator. And then make a pair of boots out of him.”

He gave a low, sexy laugh. “Let’s hope the Markovs are as easy as alligators. Because their teeth are just as sharp and their bite of the precious metals market is impressive.”

That didn’t bode well for her lack of experience. What did she know about precious metals? Or how personal security bodyguards could help their bottom line or peace of mind? The only item she knew enough about to discuss was the prototype of their new SOS technology. Her shoulders sank as she tried to picture the sort of businessmen they’d encounter based on Isaac’s analogy.

Not the type of person who handled cutthroat situations very well, she tended to panic or babble incessantly or simply shut down in the face of confrontation. Those were the times she wished she’d inherited Helen’s toughness and guts, instead of her father’s mild-mannered repute. Helen Sanders thrived when tensions were at their highest. Her mother hadn’t received the moniker Helen “Slanders” for no reason. Some days, Mindy wished she could be half the woman her mother was.

As the plane descended and then thumped onto its landing gear, a swirl of apprehension became a tornado of doubt inside her. By the time they entered the long line for customs, worry became a constant companion.

There in the customs line, her worst case scenario—the nightmare she feared—came true.

Singled out from the crowd, she watched with growing concern as two unfriendly looking men in uniforms approached her. She tugged on the sleeve of Isaac’s suit coat. “Isaac…”

Dragging his attention from the pamphlet in his hand, he leaned into her, bent his head and pressed his left palm against her back. “What is it?”

Neither his touch nor his attentiveness could warm the frigidness coalescing inside her. “This doesn’t look good. They’re coming for me.”

He blinked. “I can’t think of anything they’d hold you for—”

“Ms. Sanders.”

Oh, God. The wintry tundra of Siberia could rival the frozen marrow in her bones. At their stony greeting, she reluctantly peered up at them. “Yes?”

In a smooth voice Isaac asked, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

They ignored him and the taller of the two addressed her. “Are you Ms. Sanders?”

I swear if this has anything to do with my mother, I’m finally going to tell her how much she’s ruined my life. But that might require a novel. These men clearly wanted quick, concise answers. “I’m Ms. Sanders.”

“Then you will come with us.”

“Wait.” Isaac appeared stunned. “There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake,” the pale-eyed guard said. “We will take the lady for questioning.”