Ian looked grim. “I’m sorry, John. That’s why I debated telling you. I don’t know what you can do. It’s a tricky situation.”
Mendez held up the papers. “I can start here. I don’t have any assets in Vladivostok. And I couldn’t send them after him even if I did. My rules are different.”
Ian nodded. “Yes, they are. You’re a military officer and your organization is funded by the taxpayers. You can’t use them for personal reasons. But I’m a mercenary. I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“I envy you that sometimes.”
“You could always go into private contracting. Retire, hand HOT over to Ghost, and join me over at BDI. Or start your own firm.”
Mendez shook his head. “Don’t think I’d enjoy that, Ian. HOT is what I need and what I’m good at. I’ll leave the private contracting to you.”
“Your choice.”
He frowned. “I can’t go after this kid—but you can. I want to hire you. Get Kazimir Rybakov to DC if you can. If not, I’ll go to him. I need to meet him.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is usually pretty damned good.”
Ian grinned. “I aim to please.”
6
Kat had more Braxton-Hicks throughout the day, but they weren’t regular so she didn’t worry. She’d been through this before, even if it was over twenty years ago. She called Evie Girard and talked to her for a while, then started working on dinner. Johnny called to say he’d be home early, so she peeled potatoes and carrots and sang along with the carols on the radio. Then she put the vegetables in with the roast she’d seasoned, covered the pan, and slipped everything into the oven.
Three hours later, the house smelled divine and Johnny came striding through the door, looking handsome and fierce in his military camouflage. She smiled at the stars on his shoulders. One star for brigadier general. Her general.
“Baby, what did you cook?” he asked as he set down his briefcase and came over to wrap her in a hug.
“Roast beef with potatoes and carrots. And onions. I’ve made gravy as well.”
“You shouldn’t work so hard at this stage of pregnancy.”
She smacked his arm lightly. “Stop it. I should do whatever I want to do.”
“I worry about you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. This isn’t my first pregnancy and I’m not fragile.”
She met his gaze. Something flickered in those eyes. Something that was bothering him. But before she could ask, he lowered his head and kissed her. By the time he stopped kissing her, she couldn’t form a coherent thought in her head.
He led her to the big island in the kitchen, seated her on one of the comfy barstools they had there, and got to work putting dinner on the plates. There was French bread and butter too. He set those out, poured drinks—water for them both—and joined her at the bar.
“Any more contractions today?” he asked.
“A few,” she admitted as she buttered a slice of bread.
He frowned.
“They aren’t regular. It’s not time yet.”
“But you have your bag packed and ready, right?”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Johnny. You know I do. You’ve asked me every day for the past two weeks if I was ready. And I am.”
“It’s a habit. Sorry.”
“You’re used to running a huge organization and you like to make sure the details are correct. I get it. But you don’t have to manage me. I’m a grown woman who survived for years on my own. I’m fine. If I’d never been through this before, I’d be jumpier about it, but everything is normal. Promise.”
He looked troubled again. But he dropped his gaze before she could study him. “You’re right. But I love you and I can’t live without you ever again—so I worry more than I should.”
Kat settled her hand over his. He clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back of it. She reached over and palmed his cheek with her other hand. “I love you too, Johnny. I can’t live without you either, so I’m planning to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy and comfortable. If I think I’m in labor, I’ll tell you. So stop worrying, okay?”
He breathed a sigh. “I’ll try. It’s not in my nature not to obsess over details though.”
“I know.” She picked up her fork again. “Now tell me about your day. What kind of interesting things happened at HOT?”
Was he frowning? Maybe so. She knew there were things he couldn’t always tell her, so she didn’t push.
“Not a lot. The world is quieter than I expected right now. Thank God.”
“But there is something you can’t tell me.” His gaze snapped to hers. She smiled. “I understand, Johnny. I’m not a part of the organization. You aren’t allowed to share all you know. Don’t you think I understand that better than anyone?”
She’d been an FSB agent for heaven’s sake. She understood keeping secrets. She understood duty to country as well, though this was her country now. She’d been betrayed by her own and she wasn’t looking back. She was as American as apple pie now.
“I know you do. There is something. And I want to tell you, but I can’t yet. I will when I can.”
She couldn’t help the prickle of unease that flared inside. “You’re not in danger, are you?”
He laughed, and relief washed through her. “No, I’m not.”
Kat stabbed a potato. “That’s all that matters to me. That my family is safe—you, our baby, and me. I can deal with anything so long as I have that.”
“I know, honey. You don’t have to worry. You just work on bringing Elena into the world. I’ll do the rest.”
Kat lifted an eyebrow. “For now. I’m not the kind of woman who intends to sit still for long.”
Johnny snorted. “Don’t I know it. Now tell me what you want to do tonight. Watch a Christmas movie? Do some more decorating?”
“How about both?”
“Both it is then.”
They finished dinner and Kat sat at the island while Johnny cleaned everything up. He put the leftovers in the fridge, did dishes—washing and drying and putting away—and cleaned the stove. Kat sipped the cranberry mocktail he’d made for her and enjoyed the sight of her big bad husband doing chores. It was sexy, and she found herself squirming on her seat as she imagined him doing it in the buff. There was nothing sexier than Johnny Mendez naked. Unless it was Johnny Mendez naked and sliding his cock deep inside her body.
“Kat?”
She looked up to find him frowning at her, but in an amused way. “Yes, my dear?”
“Dare I ask what you’re thinking about?”
She grinned. “What do you think it is?”
He leaned against the counter, dish towel in his hand—so hot—and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m thinking it has something to do with sex.”
“What makes you think that, Johnny?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could be the glazed look in your eyes, the way you keep squirming on the chair, or maybe it’s the way you keep biting your bottom lip as you stare at me.”