Renee Ryan - Dangerous Allies

She found herself intrigued instead.

He turned his head into the light, a gesture that allowed her to see his face for the first time without dark shadows hindering her inspection.

His sharp, serious eyes and tall, lean body reminded her of a big beautiful cat. Unwavering, patient. And very, very dangerous.

Code name: Cougar.

It fit him to perfection. With his dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes and strong, obstinate jaw he could hail from any number of northern European countries. Austria, Norway, Great Britain.

Germany.

She turned from that disturbing thought and focused her full attention on her understudy, pretending grave interest in the other woman’s enthusiastic compliments.

Unable to stop herself, she slid another glance at her contact from beneath lowered lashes. The watchful look in his eyes suddenly vanished and, just as quickly, a pleasant smile rode across his lips.

The effortless charm put her on instant alert.

He shoved away from the wall and began pacing toward her. Slowly, deliberately. The hunter stalking his prey.

grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.

Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.

She lives an action-packed life in Lincoln, Nebraska, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.

—Matthew 10:16

To my dear friend and BBS co-founder, Staci Bell. Thank you for your support through the years. You might buy all my books, but I’m your biggest fan!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

20 November 1939

Schnebel Theater, Hamburg, Germany

2200 Hours

They came to watch her die.

Every night, they came. To gawk. To gasp. To shake their heads in awe. And Katarina Kerensky made sure they never left disappointed.

Tonight, she performed one of her favorites, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. In typical Nazi arrogance, Germanizing the arts hadn’t stopped at simply eliminating “dangerous” persons from cultural life. The Chamber of Culture had continued its purification function by also ruling that Shakespeare—in German translation, of course—was to be viewed as a German classic, and thus acceptable for performance throughout the Fatherland.

Leave it to the Nazis to claim the English playwright as their own.

In spite of her personal reasons for hating the Third Reich, Katia loved the challenge of taking a role already performed by the best and making Juliet her own.

For a few hours on stage her world made sense.

Now, poised in her moment of mock death, her hair spilled past her shoulders and down along the sides of the raised platform on which she lay. She held perfectly still as her Romeo drank the pretend poison and collapsed beside her.

She could smell the brandy and sweat on Hans as the foul scents mingled with the mold growing on the costume he hadn’t washed in weeks, but Katia thought nothing of it. She was a professional and approached the role of Juliet as she would any role, on or off the stage. With daring conviction.

Hitting his cue, George, the bald actor playing Friar Laurence, made his entrance. As the scene continued to unfold around her Katia remained frozen, her thoughts turned to the actors who should also be sharing the stage. She was one of the lucky ones. Instead of playing a star-crossed lover doomed for eternity, she could have been among many of her peers thrown out of the theater due to whispers—often untrue—of their Jewish heritage or socially deviant behavior.

For now, at least, she was safe. As she was the daughter of a Russian prince, Vladimir Kerensky, fame had been her companion long before she’d stepped onto a stage.

Would notoriety be enough to keep her safe?

The Nazi Germany racial policy grew increasingly violent and aggressive with each new law. If anyone checked Katia’s heritage too closely they might discover her well-kept secret.

To the Germans, she was merely a real-life princess playing at make-believe. A natural, as her mentor Madame Levine had always said. Good skin. Innate talent. Beautiful face and hair. All added to the final package. But the brains? Katia kept those hidden behind the facade of ambition and a seemingly ruthless pursuit of fame.

If the Germans only knew how she really used her talents. And why.

Opening her eyes to tiny slits, she tilted her face just enough to cast a covert glance over the audience. Her latest British contact was out there waiting. Watching. Bringing with him another chance for her to fight the monster regime and protect her mother with means she’d been unable to use to defend her father.

She drew in a short breath and focused on becoming Juliet once more. The scent of stage dust and grease-paint was nearly overpowering. Dizzying. The spotlight blinding, even with her eyelids half-closed. Nevertheless, Katia remained motionless until her cue.

“The lady stirs….”

As though in a trance, Katia rose slowly to a sitting position. She fluttered her eyelashes and let her arms drag behind her. Arching her back, she held her arms limp, making the motion appear effortless.

Presentation, Madame Levine had taught, was the difference between a rank amateur and a true artist.

Pitching her voice to a hoarse whisper, she said, “O, comfortable friar! Where is my lord?” The muscles in her arms protested, but she continued to hold them slack.

Katia wrapped her temporary role of the doomed Juliet around her like a protective cloak then tossed a confused, sleepy look over the audience. “I do remember well where I should be.” She sent the audience a long, miserable sigh, then wiped the back of her wrist across her brow. “And there I am.”