Double Dealing(93)

That left me, Francois, and one other who would cover the path that led along the Dnieper River. It was the path that Felix ran on most often according to our spies, one he ran almost every day. It was also the easiest point for us to get to, so we had plenty of time before the other teams were in place. As we waited, I tried to calm my nerves. I looked over at Francois, who was giving me a small grin. “Why are you smiling?”

“Heady, isn't it?” he asked, becoming the man that I'd fallen in love with one more time. He was cocky, he was certain, and he was enjoying the thrill of the moment. “The adrenalin rush right before doing a job.”

“Is that why you love it?” I asked, not contradicting his comment. “The rush of it all?”

“Some,” he agreed. “Although the reputation and the money were good reasons too. But that's over now.”

“You don't have to,” I whispered. “You can still do your jobs on your own, you know.”

Francois shook his head, then stopped. “I won't say I’m not tempted. But the love of reputation and money is what took it all away from me. I don’t want to go down that path again.”

“Shut up, I hear something!” the Romani above us whispered. I had at least picked up enough Romani in the past weeks that I could understand that, and I got behind a tree, while the man flattened himself onto the ground and Francois knelt behind a bush.

I heard it next, the sound of footsteps jogging down the road. As they did, I heard two people talking.

“It is a fine morning, Spartak.” The voice was certainly female, and with a Russian accent.

The next voice I heard both thrilled and chilled my heart as I heard Felix reply, his voice happy and sounding enamored with the woman. “I agree, Mistress. But I’m surprised that you asked to come running with me today.”

The woman laughed, and my hands tightened on my rifle. Bitch. “Oh Spartak, I’m more than just a homebody, you know. Besides, us Russian women, we get aroused from the cold.”

I saw them coming, three people. The woman was stunning, taller than me and with a ballet dancer's body, the type I'd longed for when I was younger and thought I was chubby. She was wearing a jogging suit, her long blond hair tied back into a ponytail as she bounced along lightly.

Felix was beside her, wearing just a tank top with long running pants, his muscles rippling and fuller than I'd ever seen him. Still, there was something different with his face, something that told me that despite the similarities in his voice, and the identical nature of his appearance, the man I was looking at wasn't quite the same as my Felix.

The third man was a hulking brute, easily taller than Felix by two or three inches, with a face that only a mother could love. He was about twenty meters back, clearly pacing them and providing security for the other two. I glanced at Francois, who nodded. It was time.

Francois reached for the radio on the lapel of the coat he was wearing, keying the microphone twice. It was the signal to the other groups that we had encountered Felix, and that they were to hold tight. If we needed a distraction or assistance, we could call in later.

“Now,” Francois whispered, standing up from behind his bush, his Kalashnikov at the ready while at the same time I stepped from behind the tree, my own rifle ready. Our ally would stay down, and provide us cover if needed.

“Lovely morning for a run, isn't it?” I asked, stepping onto the road. I kept my rifle leveled at the woman, my finger on the trigger. “But I think you have someone that belongs to me.”

Felix and the woman stopped, both of them shocked. I was dismayed when Felix immediately pulled the woman behind him, his face confused and protective at the same time. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“Felix . . .” I said, lowering my rifle as Francois came out onto the road. “It's me, Jordan. I'm here to get you out of here, to set you free.”

“Felix. . . .?” he said, his voice trembling and unsure. “Jordan . . .? Felix is dead, that's the life before Svetlana found me.”

“No, that was the life that you were taken from a month ago,” Francois said in French. “It’s me. We're here to take you home.”

“This is my home,” Felix stammered, his eyes clearly widening as he took in the sight of his near twin. “Svetlana is my Mistress. No . . . you must go. Whatever was in my past life, is my past life. I have a new life now. One with love.”

“You have love, Felix,” I said, my voice choking. The brute had approached, his hands going to his waist when a soft cough from our ally in the bushes stopped him, and he put his hands up. “Me. Your Jordan, remember?”