Page 7 of Hot Intent

He silently vowed to make sure her life was nothing like his. He’d spent his youth in a virtual boot camp being turned into a future master spy by Roman Koronov. He prayed Dawn would never learn to hate him the way he hated his father when he bothered to feel anything at all for the man.

Although after the past year, he was starting to wonder if Roman had been holding back more than Alex realized as a kid. Was it possible that his father wasn’t quite the villain he’d always painted him to be in his own mind?

He reached into the stroller and adjusted Dawn’s jacket a little higher around her ears. She smiled up at him and his heart melted at the trust in her dark eyes. He smiled back at her.

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. The unidentified caller’s number was long and began with a foreign exit code and the country code number for the United States. His jaw clenched. Only one person could be calling him from overseas. He knew better than to ignore the call.

“Hello, Roman,” he said grimly.

“Son. How are you doing after your training?”

“Fine. Why are you calling me?”

“To thank you at long last.”

“For what?” Alex asked with long-suffering patience. He’d learned long ago that the best way to get rid of Roman was to play along and not fight him. Roman made people pay when they pushed back against him.

“I was able to warn the foreign minister and President of our country to expect that call from the American President last spring.”

Ourcountry? Russia was nothiscountry. But Roman steadfastly refused to acknowledge that. The man was convincedthat one day, the prodigal son would come home to Mother Russia.Never, Alex silently swore to himself.

Alex turned the rest of his father’s comment over in his mind. His father must have won a lot of political points for being first to warn the Russian leadership that the Americans had discovered the Russian shenanigans in Zaghastan last year. Competition was fierce between the FSB, military intelligence, and assorted other secret agencies in Russia to see who brought in the best information first.

“The prime minister asked me to pass on his thanks to you, my son.”

Roman had givenhimcredit for delivering that intel? What the hell? Was his father pretending to his bosses that Alex was an active FSB asset?

Deep unease rippled down his spine, an unpleasant reminder of how dangerous a man his father was. What game was Roman playing at, now?

His father was speaking again. “I hear you have accepted long-term employment with Doctors Unlimited.”

Alex looked around the park in panic. How in the world did his father know that? He’d only officially been assigned to the aid organization a few days ago, and he’d been in various CIA training facilities and out of sight before that.

Not that it should surprise him to find out there were moles inside the CIA. But still. It was alarming to receive incontrovertible proof of it. Was Roman telling him subtly that Doctors Unlimited itself was penetrated by Russian spies? Or was his father’s comment meant as a warning that any intel Alex passed on to his father would be vetted against intel from the other mole in the organization?

It would be a neat way to trap him. Make sure he had no choice but to pass on real information if he passed on any intel at all. Which would constitute treason. Which would make himdead meat if the U.S. government found out. Which would force Alex to throw in his hat with the FSB and accept his father’s protection and patronage.

Roman must be desperate if he was showing his cards this openly.

In the millisecond it took all of this to pass through his mind, the sun passed behind a cloud, casting the park in abruptly shadowed light. “Your intel is correct, father. I did take a job with Doctors Unlimited.”

“You will get me that list of employee names and where the organization’s members are posted abroad, yes?”

He thought fast.Was it worth endangering the lives of dozens of doctors, nurses, and translators to throw his old man off the scent?He answered smoothly, “Of course. Because of all my training, I haven’t had an opportunity to get the list. But now that I’m an employee, I should be able to get you the list quite easily.”

Who in D.U. was the mole? To whom did he dare talk about his dilemma? If he gave a false list of staffers and their postings to hot spots around the world—ostensibly to render medical aid and unofficially to observe and gather intelligence—his father would know him for the traitor to Mother Russia that he was.

Not that the United States of America trusted him any further than Uncle Sam could throw him.

But if he gave away the real list, his colleague’s lives could be in terrible danger.

“I shall await the list with great eagerness, Alexei.”

He’d bet. The damned list potentially represented his first step down the slippery slope to treason. And the bastard couldn’t wait to push him the rest of the way down that hill.

He disconnected the phone call, careful not to show any physical or facial reaction to the call. Knowing his old man, Roman was watching him on a satellite this very minute for areaction. Too tense to sit still for long, though, he stood and pushed the pram a lap around the paved path outlining the park. He nodded and smiled at a few mothers with strollers and an elderly man with a pair of hairy little dogs that looked like mops.

Leisurely, he headed back toward the condo.

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