The Spy With The Silver Lining. Wendy Rosnau

      To Jen

      Wise beyond your years, my darling, here’s to endurance and owning who you’ve become—an amazing young woman. You’ve grown with such beauty and grace, and I’m so very proud.

      Love you,

      Mom

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Coming Next Month

      Chapter 1

      The world is a stage, Cassie. Play to your audience and get them to love you. Life is an investment. It’s like buying a satin suit and fabulous shoes. You get what you pay for.

      Head up, shoulders straight, and remember, never buy cheap.

      For twenty-eight years Casmir Balasi had lived by her mother’s words, as well as her motto: quality, not quantity. She’d been a trendsetter in her youth, a runway model by age nineteen, and for the past five years Ruza’s teachings had turned the blonde with attitude into one of the most valued femmes fatales at EURO-Quest.

      Her model figure and fashion sense, along with her catlike ability to land on her feet, had allowed her to infiltrate some of the most dangerous criminal circles in the world.

      Code-named “the actress,” she had recovered precious gems, exposed the most cunning criminals, foiled terrorists and carried top-secret documents across enemy lines, while entertaining evil in the process. And each time she had managed to keep her identity a secret to play the game another day.

      She’d been as elusive as a grain of sand in a sandstorm. Her top-notch skills allowed her to haul her butt out of tighter spots than a Gucci leather skirt.

      Until tonight.

      Tonight, the black wide-brimmed Tularo shielding her green eyes and the silver Devicca suit outlining her curves had fallen short. Nasty Nicky was seated at the bar and he was looking straight at her.

      Normally that wouldn’t have drawn a red flag, but the smug look on his face warned Casmir that he wasn’t just enjoying the sight of an attractive woman in a crowd.

      There was something else in that look.

      It was a look of recognition, and something more. As if he knew the secret life behind her secret life.

      Casmir scanned the beautiful club, and the throngs of beautiful people who had ventured out tonight to play at the Kelt. If Nicky was here, Yurii Petrov must be somewhere close by. Which meant the Russian had escaped the maximum security prison in Prague where he’d been eating and sleeping, and dreaming of freedom, for the past seven months.

      And if that was true, it meant Yurii knew everything—who, what and why.

      Even more damning, it meant he knew that she was responsible for his recent address change, his dismal room with no view and, no doubt, his weight loss due to crappy prison rations.

      She wasn’t fool enough to believe that he’d suffered beyond what was bearable. Yurii Petrov had risen to the ranks of soldato early in life. He was a hardened criminal who had grown up in the company of hardened criminals. He’d reached Don status to become the most notorious blood-seeking mobster in the Red Mafia.

      An iron-tough son of a bitch topped the list on his profile. A detail man who was used to getting what he wanted and holding on to it. A man who didn’t blink when it came to following the laws of the cartel.

      Had she underestimated Yurii? If he was here, then, yes, she had.

      A year ago her assignment had been specific. Trip up Yurii Petrov. Find his weakness and get close to him. So close she knew what brand of toothpaste he used, what made him laugh and what turned him on.

      During her research she’d learned why she’d been picked for the job. Yurii had only two weaknesses—apricots from his homeland in Armenia and long-legged blondes.

      She’d turned his head within a week, and literally brought him to his knees two months later.

      The vision of Yurii on bended knee, pulling a velvet box from his pocket, flashed in Casmir’s mind and she glanced down at her left hand. She should never have kept the ring, but it really was beautiful—a ten-carat marquise diamond set in a circle of flawless rubies.

      “Never take your eyes off your target. That’s what I promised myself that day on the Riviera. Remember, Kisa? You were sunbathing topless when I first laid eyes on your lovelies.”

      It was Yurii. His Russian accent was thick, his breath spiked with the familiar brandy-soaked cigars he favored. His lips brushed the side of her neck, reminding her that they were a little too thin for her taste. Still, he knew how to use them; after all, he was the detail man and appreciated perfection in all things.

      Yurii captured her hand, spun her quickly, and suddenly Casmir was looking into a pair of deep-set earthy brown eyes. He raised her hand and kissed it, his penetrating eyes locking on the ring he’d given her months ago.

      There was an awkward moment of silence, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. Then he recovered. “I should be furious with you. But how can I be angry, my love?” His thumb slowly passed over the diamond engagement ring on her finger. “You’re still wearing my gift. So just maybe I’ll have to rethink killing you.”

      “Kill your fiancée? Why would you want to? I thought you loved me, Yurii.”

      “And I thought the feeling was mutual. But I heard a disturbing rumor while I was living in my home away from home.”

      “Rumors are so unreliable.”

      “Tell me you didn’t set out to betray me, Kisa. Tell me it wasn’t all a lie. Tell me I didn’t let an enemy into my heart, then into my bed.”

      “I believe the bed came first,” Casmir reminded him.

      “I remember that night clearly. You were a one of a kind. Da, it is why it hurts more than I can express.”

      If prison had been a hardship, Casmir couldn’t tell. Yurii looked fit and healthy at forty-nine, his wavy black hair short, with a touch of gray at his temples just as she remembered.

      To go along with his dangerous good looks, he favored black shirts beneath expensive black suits—and always a bloodred silk tie. The picture he presented tonight was a carbon copy of the old Yurii, right down to the scent of his mordant cologne and an imported cigar pinched between his fingers.

      Although his five-foot-nine-inch height made him appear more round than lean, his charisma was as powerful as his high-ranked position in the criminal world.

      A real sweet deal, is how Ruza would have described him at a glance.

      “Deny