Triple Terror Read online

  Nina grinned at her sister’s use of the language their French-born mother had taught them. They tended to use it whenever they wanted to make a point, got angry, or had to emphasise the importance of something. Even though they weren’t completely fluent, they enjoyed speaking the language as a way to stay connected to her.

  She replied, ‘I won’t.’

  Lizzie squealed. ‘Yay … I’m so excited.’

  Nina laughed. ‘I’m glad.’

  She could tell Lizzie was grinning more than the Cheshire cat when she asked, ‘What’s your news?’

  ‘Oh. You know what? It can wait.’

  It wouldn’t be right to steal her sister’s thunder right now.

  ‘Are you sure? It sounded important.’

  ‘It’s nothing that can’t wait a day. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  A sudden urge made Nina say, ‘Hey Lizzie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I really am happy for you.’

  ‘I know. Thanks, Neens.’ She was so overjoyed for her sister that she let the pet nickname that she’d grown to hate slide without comment. ‘I have to ring Carrie now and let her know.’

  Nina laughed, ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘She’s going to think it’s too soon, isn’t she?’

  The disappointment in her tone came over the line.

  She knew what her sister meant. Lizzie and Gabe had only been together for two months. Carrie, ever the pessimist in love, would think this was moving way too fast.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what she thinks.’

  ‘Is it a mistake?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I think either.’ Though she didn’t believe it was. Gabe adored her sister, and vice versa. ‘What do you think?’

  There was a pause, then, ‘I love Gabe. It has never felt like this with anyone else. Do you know what I mean?’

  Before the man who had been filling her mind on-and-off all morning could invade again, she said, ‘I do.’

  ‘I love you.’

  The former cheer was back in Lizzie’s voice.

  Nina smiled, ‘Love you too.’

  When they hung up, Nina went over the conversation with her DS. She needed to tell her sisters. About her place in the team, the terrorist, and their role in the undercover operation. She would definitely tell them after the engagement party tomorrow night.

  Chapter 2

  Settled on his stomach, he narrowed his focus on the target fifty feet away. The long-range rifle sat wedged against his shoulder. He drew in a deep breath. A cloud of cold air escaped with the exhale. His finger hovered a slip away from the trigger.

  As he prepared to squeeze back, a voice called out behind him, ‘Hey, Strasinski.’

  He released a Russian curse under his breath then lowered the rifle. When he angled his head, he saw a familiar grey-haired, trim man approaching. His coach, Marcel Trusseau, was a former world champion and Olympic biathlete for France. Andrei frowned. The man should know better than to sneak up on someone about to take a shot.

  Then again, that consideration probably only applied to someone the coach liked.

  He pushed the thought aside then rolled from his belly into a seated position.

  Marcel stopped a few feet from him. Without bothering with a greeting, he said, ‘I have something I need you to do.’

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘There’s been a late addition to the team. She’s coming in tomorrow to train with us. I’ve been told you know her.’

  Andrei’s stomach seemed to fill with concrete. He couldn’t move. There was only one person Marcel could mean.

  The name tumbled out, ‘Nina Farris?’

  ‘Oui. You do know her?’

  A hard lump formed in his throat as painful memories swarmed Andrei’s mind. Nina wrapped tight inside his embrace, smiling up at him, saying, ‘I love you’. Him, saying those words back. The bliss they’d shared together. The lie he’d let himself believe—that he was worthy of her love; the worse one he’d made her believe once his hand had been forced—that she’d meant nothing more than a casual fling for him.

  His mind went back to that time.

  When the FSB—the secret Russian police force he worked for—had detected his feelings for Nina, they’d reminded him of their strict ‘no emotional ties with mission targets’ rule. They’d made it clear that the truth about his criminal past would be exposed if he made trouble before his obligated time with them was up.

  The implication being that it would be difficult for him to find work, let alone a place to live. Who wanted to rent to a crim? Thanks to his national and, later, Olympic medals, he was well-known in Russia. Everyone would know what he’d done, who he’d been.

  He’d made the deeper connection to the threat that he’d known they’d wanted him to make. Once the news spread worldwide, and he wasn’t naïve enough to believe it wouldn’t, Nina would find out.

  That realisation had panicked him more than the possibility of being homeless. Homeless he could survive. He’d done it before. The only thing he hadn’t believed he could survive was Nina’s complete repugnance towards him. She was the only person who had ever loved him and seen a shred of good in him. She would despise him for his crimes.

  There’s no excuse for it.

  Those were the words she’d uttered when he’d casually brought up the topic of crime back then. He’d known where she stood … and it hadn’t been with him.

  So he’d made the only decision he could. He’d known she would hate him, but he’d also known it would be a hatred born of lies rather than truth. That had made the fallout easier to take.

  He swallowed and refocused.

  He’d been right. A sixth sense had told him she would compete. He’d warned his superiors of the probability when he’d been assigned Cairns as his training and mission base three months earlier. They’d assured him she wouldn’t.

  How little they knew her.

  He’d known if there was a chance, she’d take it.

  Of course, he hadn’t bothered arguing. He’d conceded to their viewpoint. As he always did. What other choice did he have?

  Even though his obligation to the FSB had been fulfilled two years earlier, meaning the record of his crimes would remain sealed forever, as per their agreement, he didn’t exactly have a variety of other career options.

  Who wanted to hire an ex-Olympian with no technical employment history? Unless it had been pre-authorised, he couldn’t talk about his time with the FSB … or he would end up in a godforsaken cell somewhere in the coldest depths of Siberia.

  Nina could never know the truth about any of it.

  Including his real motive for being at the Russian Winter Olympics in the first place. If she found out she’d been his mission target … he knew she wouldn’t react well to that news either.

  His thoughts moved to South Korea. He’d been sure that those Olympics were to be his last. After he’d returned home, his superiors had increased his workload and given him the minimal amount of biathlon training time possible. Neither of those things had shown him that he’d be allowed to enter another Olympics. He’d resigned himself to it, and hadn’t caused a fuss, even though it hadn’t been what he’d wanted.

  When he’d been informed of his latest cover story, including his expected entry into the Australian team, he’d been elated. The chance to win another gold medal was his. This time for another country! He’d be the first person in Winter Olympics history to win medals for both Australia and Russia.

  Now that was an accomplishment. That was something to feel proud about. That was something that could never be taken away from him. There were no lies, no deceit, no dishonour in a well-earned Olympic medal win.

  The higher-ups had been busy planning his mission, while he’d been plotting his return to the winner’s podium.

  Of course, Nina had entered his mind during his preparations in the same way she had over the years—via guilt and regret
. But by the time he was on the plane to Australia, he’d accepted the fact that she was out of the picture.

  That’s why he hadn’t been ready when he’d seen her at The Snow Globe the first time. Nor the other times.

  As he’d been ordered, he hadn’t approached her.

  He knew her better than that anyway. She would have growled at him, thrown him a cold stare, and stormed away. Just like she had in South Korea.

  He had watched her though. There were no rules about watching a former target/lover.

  A familiar flutter of excitement had filled his chest when she’d strapped on the skis and owned the slope in the same way she always had. He’d smiled when she’d laughed with those around her and felt proud when she’d patiently given advice to beginners.

  She’d lost none of her natural talent, generosity … or beauty.

  He frowned.

  Don’t go there, Andrei.

  Getting involved with Nina and being forced to break it off had almost ruined him the first time around. He’d been off his game for months afterwards. The bosses had noticed. He’d been ‘reminded’ of the things that were at stake once more. There was no way he was making the mistake a second time.

  ‘Well?’ The impatient tone pulled Andrei from his thoughts.

  Oh, Christ. He hadn’t answered Marcel yet. He caught the growing impatience on the coach’s face.

  Andrei cleared his throat then nodded, ‘I know Nina.’

  ‘Fantastique. You can show her the ropes before I get here tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you mean? Where will you be?’

  ‘My wife and I have some personal business to attend do. I thought Nina might feel more relaxed—’ Ha! That’s not the word I’d use, ‘—if somebody she knows is here to help her on her first day.’

  No. He wasn’t permitted to talk to her. If his bosses found out she was in the team before he told them, they might assume he’d been hiding information on purpose. Let alone talking to her when he’d been forbidden to do that. The penalty for insubordination … panic roiled in his belly as he blurted, ‘Can’t somebody else do it?’

  Marcel aimed a suspicious look down his nose at Andrei. ‘I thought you said you know her?’

  ‘I do, but—’

  ‘Then you won’t have any problems helping her. Will you?’

  The last two words were said it in a way that made it clear Andrei had no choice. It was such a familiar tone. Along with the repugnance. Coach Trusseau had taken an instant disliking to him. He knew that because he was the only member of the team Marcel referred to by his last name. That, coupled with the occasional suspicious look thrown his way.

  Not that Andrei could blame the man. He was right to be suspicious of the real motivation behind Andrei’s unexpected switch to the Australian team. It wasn’t due to a possible ban on Russian athletes, as had been the official reason given to the press. He was there on a mission for the FSB to track down a target who was trafficking stolen Russian weapon parts into Australia.

  Most people had bought the official line. Not Coach Trusseau. It made Andrei respect the man. He was no fool.

  Still, it would be a bad idea to get Marcel offside any more than he already was. He was supposed to be keeping his head down after all.

  ‘No, Coach. It won’t be a problem.’

  I hope.

  ‘Excellent. Shall we say eight?’

  Andrei nodded as his throat filled with bile at the conversation he was about to have with his mission leader.

  Marcel turned and walked away without bothering to say goodbye.

  Alone, Andrei’s anxiety skyrocketed. How would his mission leader take this news? Would he be allowed to stay in the team and compete? Would he be punished if the FSB already knew? What about Nina? What would happen if he was permitted to speak to her?

  Seeing her from afar was one thing, but being close, staring into those impossibly blue eyes …

  More memories invaded.

  He’d been closed off to love before he’d met Nina. What had life shown him about love up to that point? That it was cold and mean. Images of his parents tried to creep in, but he pushed them away. Nina Renae Farris had been just another target to him …

  Until they’d met.

  She’d been the first person he’d felt a connection with based on something other than lust or desire for sexual release. He’d known that’s what was happening, despite what he’d tried to convince his bosses. And himself.

  Stupidly, he’d allowed himself a few perfect weeks of real love, before reality had crashed in on him; before his superiors had discovered the truth and forced him to make a choice. The mistakes of his past had been thrown in his face; as had the consequences for breaking security and privacy protocols.

  It didn’t matter that he’d tried to make amends by agreeing to work for the FSB in the first place, or the medals he’d won for Russia, or the fact Nina had helped him see the type of man he could be.

  Redemption was not his to have and never would be. Criminals deserved none. Even reformed ones.

  He released a bitter laugh. Most Westerners had preconceived ideas about the character traits of Russian criminals. Being sentimental and regretful were usually not in the top one hundred!

  He forced the thoughts away. None of it mattered. Nina would refuse to speak to him anyway. There would be nothing for the FSB to worry about. He would simply say that and reiterate the fact that he was there to complete a mission and win a medal.

  The latter wasn’t a requirement. In fact, the word ‘medal’ hadn’t even been mentioned during the briefing for his cover story. He assumed the bosses thought he was too old to be a serious contender now.

  That had only stirred the determination inside of him. Not only would he complete another successful mission, he would win another Olympic medal. Biathlon was the only thing he’d ever been good at; the only thing people respected him for; the only thing people congratulated him for; the only thing that gave him a sense of pride.

  He felt the determination steel inside his chest.

  The mission and the medal. Those were his goals.

  As far as he was concerned, Nina Farris, and all she represented to him—had represented to him—were exactly that. Past tense.

  He would keep her at a distance and not get emotionally involved. How many times had he done the same thing for other missions? Countless. One more made no difference. She was a ghost from his past and nothing more.

  Though he sensed a part of him reject that conclusion, he pushed it aside and steeled himself for the talk with his mission leader … and the decision about his future.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, Nina drove her car into a free parking space outside the familiar training centre. She stifled a yawn as she killed the engine. The early hour, and sleepless night thanks to persistent recollections of Andrei Strasinski, had taken it out of her.

  Still, she shouldn’t complain. At least she was within an easy drive of a facility. In years past, most Australian competitors—including herself as an adult—had trained overseas in colder parts of the world during summer. The poorer competitors—herself as a teenager— had had no choice but to use the so-called ‘dry slopes’. She cringed at the memories. Her parents had done their best to enable her to improve her biathlon skills during the summer. The awful Dendix plastic had been better than nothing, but was something she never wanted to ski on again.

  Since the triumph of competitors such as herself, Alisa Camplin, and Lydia Lassila, more centres had been funded around Australia. Luckily, she was close to one of the two in Queensland, the other being on the Gold Coast.

  She stared up at the familiar, massive, dome-shaped building. The words ‘The Snow Globe’ were emblazoned across the top in bright blue letters shaped like ice cubes. Cute. It always made her smile. She’d been here for a casual ski run many times in the past, but this was the first time she would train here. Four times a week until she left.

  She hopped
from her car, locked it, and made her way across the car park towards the building. The blaring heat, coupled with the hoodie and jeans combination she was wearing in preparation for the ensuing freeze, made her grateful for the icy blast she received when she opened the front door. Darting inside, she peered up. The roof was high—at least ten storeys—with a mixture of vaulted wooden and steel beams keeping the structure solid. She turned to her right, toward the room enclosing the specialist slope she’d skied on before.

  A male voice stopped her. ‘Excuse me, miss?’

  She pivoted to face the direction it had come from: the reception desk. The man behind the counter was new. At least, she hadn’t seen him before. She focused on him and said, ‘Yes?’

  He grinned. ‘Oh, you’re one of those Farris triplets, aren’t you?’

  One of those Farris triplets.

  He stared at her, waiting for her response, the grin still on his mouth.

  She ignored the rudeness and instead asked, ‘Is there something you need?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry to say that we are closed to the public at the moment. Only the Winter Olympians are permitted entry.’

  ‘I know. I’m here for the Olympic training.’

  That made his smile vanish.

  He arched an eyebrow, glanced at the computer, then back at her. ‘It says here that the cross-country shooting is scheduled in?’

  ‘Biathlon. That’s right.’

  If he worked there, he should at least call it by its official name.

  He fumbled for a moment, then managed to say, ‘You … do that?’

  She tried to hide the frustration from her tone when she said, ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Of course.’ He pointed in the direction she’d already been heading when he’d stopped her. ‘Through that door there.’

  ‘I know. Thank you.’

  As she made her way past him, she ran the encounter through her mind. It wasn’t an unusual reaction. Why were people surprised she could ski or shoot well enough to be on an Olympic team? She was a senior constable in the police force for starters. Did they think the gun was for decorative purposes?