“Sea Haven,” Uri murmured aloud. “An unusual name, and yet I feel as if I’ve heard of this place before.” He frowned as he held the door open for her to another room. Over her head he looked to his father as if the silent communication would yield him the reason why he remembered the name.
“It’s very small,” Lissa volunteered, preceding father and son into the room. That meant turning her back on them and she felt a shiver of fear skitter down her spine. She continued into the center of the room, shoulders straight, walking with confidence.
This was clearly a conference room, designed to make anyone feel as if they had the world at their fingertips. A long table at one end of the room held several dishes with various foods. Bottles of champagne were in ice buckets. Clearly the room was set for celebration. They hadn’t struck a deal yet, but they counted on her being eager to make a sale, so they probably hoped she would be distracted.
She walked straight across the room to the window, checking out the view, keeping her back to them, although there was a distinct itch between her shoulder blades.
“Isn’t Sea Haven where our dear friend resides?” Kostya asked, sounding as if he’d just thought of it. Casual. Almost bored even, as if the conversation was taking a turn he wasn’t in the least interested in.
They were good. Smooth. Both of them. She hadn’t expected them to be so charming or charismatic. She turned toward Kostya, her back to the window. “A friend lives there? The town is very small, and I do a lot of business there.”
“Ilya Prakenskii moved there, Uri,” Kostya said. “Some time ago. A good man. He was an Interpol agent and he retired from that business and went into private security. I hear from him from time to time, although not often.”
“Of course,” Uri said. “Ilya.” He quirked an eyebrow at Lissa as he pulled one of the champagne bottles from the bucket. “Do you know him?”
The champagne was the real deal. The bottle was iced and Uri expertly wrapped the neck with a cloth and popped the cork.
“I think everyone knows of Ilya Prakenskii, not just in Sea Haven, but everywhere. He married one of the Drake sisters, Jolie. She’s a very famous musician and performs all over the world. In our town, the Drakes are considered royalty of sorts.”
“Have you met him?” Uri asked as he poured the champagne into three flutes.
Lissa didn’t take her eyes from the man. She didn’t want him slipping anything into her drink. She was very aware the two men had cleverly orchestrated their charming interrogation of her. There were few witnesses to her entry into the hotel. Only a few of the construction crew had actually seen her. The Sorbacovs could make her disappear with very few questions asked.
“Yes, I have. He’s very good friends with the local sheriff, Jonas Harrington. Jolie, his wife, is related to a friend of mine, Blythe Daniels, so I’ve been introduced a time or two. We don’t run in the same circles. His wife is on tour a lot, but he seemed…” Deliberately she hesitated as if searching for the right word. “Protective, I think is the best way to describe him. He doesn’t take his eyes off his wife.”
Kostya let out a hoot of laughter. “Scary,” he corrected. “The big son of a bitch is scary. Even to me, and I’m his friend.”
Good manners dictated she turn toward him when he was speaking, but that meant taking her eyes off of Uri. She had no choice but to take the chance, looking at Uri’s father, the monster who had ordered the murder of so many people simply because they opposed his politics. He’d taken their children and forced them into becoming weapons for him, or he killed them. After they had served him and their country for years, he ordered their deaths as if they weren’t human beings, but trash he could dispose of.
“I am far too polite to ever say such a thing,” Lissa said primly, smiling at him.
He laughed and took the flute of champagne Uri handed him. Then Uri was in front of her. Close. She’d taken time to study every aspect of his personality before she’d ever left the States on this mission. He was photographed often with various women. He liked beautiful women with figures. He wasn’t into thin models. He’d dated an actress a time or two, but it wasn’t at all about fame. He just liked women with figures. She played up her curves when she dressed. She’d worn a skirt that clung to her hips and emphasized her small waist. The blouse was almost see-through, but wasn’t, just hinting at the generous breasts beneath the thin material. Her jacket was short and fitted, tight over her breasts, narrow along her rib cage, tucked into her waist and then flaring over her hips. The outfit was very feminine, a beautiful shade of dark, forest green. Her legs were shown off by the very sexy heels she wore, designer, with lots of straps going up her ankles.