“Not just his aunts but also a distant cousin.” The voice belonged to a stranger, a gorgeous woman with a wicked smile, a handsome guy dressed in all in black by her side.
“Dean. Natasha.” Lawrence greeted them. He glanced at Charlotte. “You might recall them as the folks who got married the night we met.”
“So this is she.” Natasha eyed her up and down. “She’s tinier than I would have expected.”
Charlotte bristled. “Small is mighty.”
“Indeed.” The other woman’s lips twitched, but her expression was anything but amused as she turned her gaze on Lada. “Naughty bear. Playing games again. Wait until my father hears.”
“The Medvedev have no argument with the Tigranov family.” Lada looked nervous.
“That’s not entirely true now, is it?” Natasha, coiffed and perfect, circled Lada, managing an air of menace that remained elegant as she murmured, “You messed with Lawrence, who is almost a brother to my husband. We are also fairly certain his father was my great-uncle’s get. Which makes her”—a manicured finger pointed at Charlotte—“my sister-in-law. By threatening them, you declared war.”
“My brother knows nothing of this,” Lada huffed.
“Then you better run home and tell him, little bear. Tell the Medvedev sleuth there won’t be a place the bears can waddle and hibernate that we won’t find. No honey we won’t take. No den we won’t crush. From here on out, the Medvedev name is to be spat on when spoken.”
“You can’t do this,” Lada exclaimed, looking a bit panicked. “I was just looking for the treasure. I didn’t know she was married to Lawrence. And she’s human. A human isn’t worth going to war over.”
Rather than reply, Natasha said, “I’m going to count down from ten. Nine. Eight.” By six, Lada’s ass was already through the door. At four, Natasha grinned. “Well, that was easier than expected.”
Lawrence snorted. “What happened to trying to shed the Tigranov family’s mob image?”
“My wife is finding her reputation useful in getting things to move more quickly than regular channels allow.” Dean stepped close and glanced at the body on the floor. “Another human. Just like all the guards on the property. What’s going on? Your aunts didn’t tell us much on the phone, only a set of moving coordinates.”
“I should have known they’d call you. I told them I didn’t need any help,” Lawrence grumbled.
“Stop your whining.” Lena flashed him a finger as she returned to the room. “The place is clean. No sign of any other humans.”
“Because they never had my brother,” Charlotte exclaimed. “It was all a ploy. They wanted to use me to draw him out.”
“And why do they need him?” Natasha asked.
That was a question they’d yet to get an answer to. As Charlotte was more properly introduced to Lawrence’s best friend and his wife, the aunts took care of the unconscious lady, who was apparently known as Dame Rouge. Given she was passed out, they locked her in a cell in the basement along with her guards. They planned to question her when she regained consciousness. If she ever woke.
Charlotte had hit her really hard.
It was kind of uncanny how at home Lawrence and the others appeared. They’d gone to exchange a key for her brother, been attacked, and now were drinking wine while lounging in the gaudiest room in existence. Red velvet drapes and overstuffed furniture edged with gold— tassels, leaf, even glossy gold knickknacks.
She paid little attention to the conversation. They passed the key around as if it would suddenly spit out a hologram with all the answers.
But it, like everything else since her arrival in Russia, ended up being another dead end. She still had no idea where her brother was.
Lawrence scooped her up suddenly, “Time for bed.”
“Okay.” She didn’t even argue as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Wake me when we get to the hotel.”
“Fuck the hotel. We’re staying here,” he said, bounding up the stairs to the second floor.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she whispered. “What if more bad guys come?”
“Then I’ll eat them.”
Her eyes widened.
He smiled. “Just kidding. The only person I plan to eat is you.”
And he did so, quite thoroughly.
Chapter Seventeen
Making love to Charlotte that night, then again in the morning, only temporarily forestalled the situation.
Eventually she asked, “When are we leaving?”
There was no point in staying. During the night the people they’d captured had somehow escaped. Apparently, while they slept, Lada rescued them, meaning no answers and an excuse for his aunts to declare a war with the Medvedev family.
Their escape also meant no Peter.
And a mate who still refused to accept him. The only good thing new was her declaration that she was done with Russia.
“If Peter is hiding, then he can find me when he’s good and ready,” was her sour observation.
“And if he needs your help?”
She shrugged, and he knew it hurt her to say, but she admitted it anyhow. “I think it’s become crystal clear I don’t have the right kind of skills to do anything.”
“Then we’ll hire someone who can help.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“I can.”
She stared at him. “You know I can’t accept it.”
“You’re my—”
“Mate. Yeah.” She sighed. “I want to go home.”
“We can leave tonight.”
She blinked. “Even if I let you buy me a ticket, I have no passport.” She’d seen the ripped-up remains of it when they were going through the destroyed apartment.
“That won’t be a problem.” He’d pull some Pride strings and get her back to America.
“And what about when we do get back? What then?”
“I’m hoping you give me a chance to prove I can be someone you can count on. I want to get to know you, Charlotte. I think we could be great together.”
Had this been spoken in a movie, the heroine would declare her love and they’d kiss and live happily ever after. This was Charlotte.
“I need to think about it.”
He didn’t dare ask how long it would take her to decide. He made arrangements and got them aboard the Pride jet with others who’d come over to celebrate the wedding. Cousins. Aunts. More aunts. All staring at his Peanut.
Then him.
Then Peanut.
It was Mary-Ellen that finally voiced it. “I bet my candy bar they break up before we reach La Guardia.”
Which started the wagering. Through it all, Peanut said nothing, but she did hold his hand and, at one point, did naughtily whisper, “Think they’ll go sleep so we can join the mile-high club at one point?”
“No.” And he didn’t tell her they’d all heard her comment. Privacy didn’t exist in the Pride, but cockblockers did. They made sure the bathroom was kept occupied, meaning the closest he got to Charlotte was her drooling in his lap when she napped.