His Christmas Assignment. Lisa Childs
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it?
Or had she dreamed it all?
Garek Kozminski had her doubting herself all over again. She’d thought she’d known him so well. But maybe she did. Maybe that was why he’d pushed her away like he had. He didn’t want her too close.
Not because of Tori Chekov. Just like she hadn’t seen any memory of their night on his face, she hadn’t seen any love for that woman on his face. He had lied to Logan about his reason for working for Viktor Chekov again.
Why? What was he really doing for the gangster?
For the past year she’d been claiming he hadn’t changed—that he was still the criminal he’d once been. Of course she’d had no evidence to back up her suspicion. She wasn’t even sure why she’d been so desperate to believe the worst of him. Because he’d irritated and frustrated her? Because she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge or give in to the attraction she’d felt for him?
But maybe she had been right about him after all. Had he gone back to his old life in every way?
She stepped off the sidewalk to pass through the alley to where her car was parked on the other side—on another street. The snow was deeper between the buildings as were the shadows. Her boots slipped on the snow-covered asphalt, but she regained her balance, catching herself before she fell.
She uttered a little gasp of surprise and relief, grateful she hadn’t fallen. Despite her jacket and boots, she wasn’t dressed warmly enough to take a tumble in the snow. So she slowed her steps, moving more carefully as she continued into the alley.
Maybe the person behind her was moving just as carefully or maybe the snow had cushioned his footsteps—because she didn’t hear him until his shadow fell across her. She barely had a moment to reach for her purse, to fumble for her gun, before he attacked.
Her purse fell from her shoulder, dropping—with the gun still inside—into the snow. She couldn’t use it to protect herself. And with her limbs numb from the cold, she wasn’t certain she could move quickly enough to fight off her attacker. He was big, his hands strong—as they wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t see his face, though. He wore a ski mask, but it wasn’t in deference to the cold. It was as a disguise. So she couldn’t identify him.
Why had he bothered? It was apparent he had no intention of letting her live.
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