Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“And when he asks if you are dead?” the man rasped.

“Use your imagination. Just keep him occupied.” His grip momentarily tightened, biting into Fawzi’s arm with a warning pressure. “Oh, and Fawzi?”

The Egyptian swallowed heavily. “What?”

“If you attempt to reveal our presence, I will not only shoot you, but I will have you chopped into pieces and delivered to your poor, sick mother.” He smiled with a cold cruelty that had frightened men far more courageous than Fawzi. “Do you understand?”

It took a moment for Fawzi to regain enough composure to give a shaky nod.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dimitri gestured toward his servant. “Josef, the guard.”

Muttering curses in various languages, Josef silently disappeared and headed down the street so he could approach the groom from behind. Dimitri followed several steps behind him, waiting near the corner for Fawzi to stumble and sway his way across the street.

Dimitri grimaced at the man’s craven lack of discipline, but at least his peculiar manner had attracted the attention of the guard who remained oblivious as Josef approached and whacked the back of his head with the hilt of his knife.

With a grunt, the man tumbled to the ground, and Josef smoothly took the reins of the horse, keeping it from jarring the carriage. At the same moment, Dimitri moved forward, his gaze locked on Fawzi who was leaning toward the curtained window, speaking softly to whoever was inside.

He took a moment to make certain his pistol was primed, then with one smooth motion he had the door open and was surging into the carriage to press his gun against the chest of the man seated near the window.

“I suggest you sit very still and lift your hands so I can see them,” he commanded, waiting until the stranger had raised his arms over his head before he used his free hand to search the man for weapons. Predictably he found an ivory-handled dueling pistol in the pocket of the caped greatcoat and a smaller gun tucked in the top of the glossy Hessians. He suspected there might be more hidden about the carriage, but for the moment he was satisfied that there were none near at hand. Keeping the pistol pointed at his companion, he settled in the opposite seat and offered a small smile. “Now, I believe introductions are in order.”

There was a tense silence before the man slowly reached up to grasp the brim of his high beaver hat and toss it onto the seat beside him.

“While I would say they are superfluous,” he drawled.

Dimitri stiffened, an icy shock momentarily halting his heart and squeezing the air from his body.

Although the inside of the carriage was dark, the curtain had been pushed aside to allow a spill of silver moonlight to wash over the man’s gray hair and the elegantly carved features. Features that were heavily lined from a life of self-indulgence.

No. He grappled to make sense of what he was seeing. It was not possible.

And yet…

And yet, it could be that this moment had been destined since the day Count Nevskaya had forced the innocent child of a local cobbler to his bed.

The golden eyes that were a mirror image of Dimitri’s flashed with a familiar hatred, jerking him out of his fog of disbelief.

“Father,” he drawled, his voice cold and perfectly steady. Despite his shock, he had developed the ability to confront any situation with utter composure. Besides, he was beginning to suspect that fate had offered him a rare opportunity he would be an idiot to squander. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

“I heartily return the sentiment,” the count sneered. “You were suppose

d to be dead.”

“While you were supposed to be rotting in Czar Alexander’s prison.”

With a tight smile, Nevskaya adjusted the signet ring he wore on his pinkie, seemingly indifferent to the gun pointed at his heart.

And perhaps he was.

Dimitri had devoted years to governing his feelings. It had been a necessary skill to survival. He suspected his father, however, was not disguising his emotions. Count Nevskaya was simply devoid of all but anger and hatred.

How else could he have tossed his pregnant lover into the gutter? Or abused children without remorse?

“Clearly we are both doomed to disappointment,” he murmured.

“What are you doing in Cairo?”