Page 15 of Wicked Ambition

Her feet were hurting before he brought her into a ramshackle neighborhood. He turned up the sidewalk that led to a house where the first level was painted pink and the second level was butter yellow. Overgrown plants encroached on the walkway.

Oz didn’t take her to the front door. They went around to the kitchen entrance. He released her hand to punch in a code, and Ayla immediately missed the warmth of his skin.

He gestured for her to enter and closed the door behind them. She stared at the kitchen. It was…horrible. A shoddy patching job couldn’t hide the dirt and cracks on the walls. Two mismatched shades of green clashed on the cabinets, and a tiny bistro table dominated an entire corner.

The tiles of the backsplash looked as if they were about to fall off the wall if anyone so much as breathed heavily. Dishes were sitting in a drainer, so at least someone had attempted to clean. Sort of.

Ayla looked up at Oz. “This place is—” She stopped short, gestured helplessly, and struggled to come up with a word to describe it.

“It looks worse than it is,” Oz said. “The important thing is that it’s safe.”

She cast him a dubious look. “Maybe. If you don’t eat anything cooked in this kitchen.”

Oz shook his head, opened his mouth, and then shut it again. When he spoke, it was on a different topic. “Do you know who those men were who entered your room today?”

Ayla shook her head. “I have no idea, but you know who they are. Tell me.”

She watched him debate, and when he answered, Oz kept a close watch on her face. “They work for Yaromir Ivanov.”

“Who is that?”

He grimaced. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Since they tried to grab you…” He let his voice drift off. She waited and after a moment Oz said, “Ivanov is a Russian crime boss.”

Ayla felt the blood drain from her face. She forced herself to breathe deeply until the fear passed.

“You know why they’re interested in you, don’t you?” Oz’s gaze was intent.

“Sort of.”

“Pollita—” Oz growled.

She interrupted him. “One of the men called me Iona.”

“Your sister. They want your twin.”

Chapter 7

Oz stood frozen as the ramifications rippled through him. Fuck. That meant Ayla wouldn’t be safe because there was no way Ivanov’s men were going to believe she wasn’t her sister. Depending on what was going on, even sending Ayla back to the States wouldn’t guarantee her safety. The Russian mobster operated in the US, too.

“What the hell is your sister involved in?” he growled.

Ayla stiffened. “My sister is not a criminal.” Her voice was as tight as her body. “My guess is she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Frowning, Oz set down her suitcase near the table, pushed his hair out of his face, and thought things through. It’s possible the sister overheard a conversation. Or took a picture of something the Russians didn’t want out there. Maybe?—

He cut off the speculation. The why didn’t matter. What mattered was Ayla was at risk.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of the kitchen and sit down while we talk.”

Without waiting for agreement, he led her into the next room. Oz didn’t need to hear the small sound of dismay Aylamade to know what she thought. The dining room looked worse than the kitchen. Horrible, peeling, dark red paint covered the floor. Paint flaked from the walls. Then there was the table. There were scrapes and scars all over the top. It was large enough for the entire team to use simultaneously, but there were only two chairs—one at the head and the other at the foot—with benches providing the rest of the seating.

Oz steered her to one of the benches and sat in the chair, turning it to face her. She looked tired and her face was pale, but it had been one hell of a day for her. More strands of hair escaped from where she’d fastened it on the top of her head, and he had to curl his hands into fists to control the urge to nudge it out of her face. The gesture was too intimate, which seemed odd considering the night they’d spent together.

After taking a deep breath, she leaned toward him. “Do you think this Ivanov person is holding my sister hostage? Like the drug lord who imprisoned the archaeologist you told me about earlier?”

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