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her.
    Something in him clicked and he knew, knew the woman at the bar was Raven.
    Perhaps it was the awareness that tingled like a quick jolt of electricity through him.
    Whatever it was, he would almost bet, she was his assassin. Almost.
    If she was, he wanted to know who the hell had hired her. And if she wasn’t….
    He grinned wider as he walked up the rest of the stairs. Time to see who Viktor wanted him to kill.

     
    * * * *
     
    Raven watched the man walk up the stairs and had to admit he was even more handsome in person than he was in his photographs. Must be that shadowed beard. Or the eyes.
    And in that one quick assessment he’d given her, she’d gotten the feeling he knew who she was and why she was here.
    Which was bloody stupid, but there it was. She still hadn’t accepted the job, but she decided she would. Probably.
    Whether or not she would kill him would depend upon him and what he was really doing. If she was right and he was something other than he appeared, then she’d cross that bridge when she got there, but….
    But if he was only The Reaper, a cold blooded assassin who worked for one of the most brutal crime bosses in Europe, then she’d happily take him out without a second thought.T
    hen again, he might not be so easy to take out…. She had the distinct impression she might have finally met her match.
    Just her luck, the last assignment she accepted would kill her. Maybe she waited 27
    too long to get out. Probably. Maybe she never should have started on this career path, but that was beside the bloody point and freaking pointless.
    “Come dance with me,” the man beside her asked yet again.
    Raising a brow, she only looked down at the hand he’d placed on top of hers.
    “Luv, you really want to move your hand.”
    He quickly snatched his hand back. “You don’t have to get testy. A dance isn’t a reason to be rude.”
    She stood, grabbed her drink and walked away. She found a quiet place--as quiet as she could in a raving club and watched the wall of mirrors above the stairs.
    Just who was Mr. Dimitri Petrolov?
    She should just kill him and be done with it, take the money and retire. But something stayed her and if she’d learned anything at all, she knew to follow her instincts. And where they were concerned, she wondered if she’d kill the man at all.

     
    * * * *
     
    Dimitri stood at the wall of mirrors and looked out onto the club below. Again it was packed, bodies so close together that Hellinski would have even the bribed police all over them if a fire ever broke out. But Hellinski was never one to worry about such things. He scanned the crowd again and saw the woman had moved from her perch on the barstool. Methodically, he glanced over the occupants below. And there she was, leaning against the wall, taking another sip of the drink, but the amount of pink confection stayed the same.
    Nice front, love, but you need to actually drink a bit.
    Her eyes rose to the windows and again, their light stare caught him off guard.
    “I can’t believe I’m asking you this,” Viktor said for the third time Dimitri sighed, kept his hands loosely at his sides. “Who? It’s a name, Viktor, just a name.”Viktor’s dark blasphemy made him turn from his study of the mysterious woman below and study his boss. Viktor was pale, dark circles under his eyes, eyes normally as cold and unfeeling as the devil’s heart. But now, they were worried, creased. The man sat on the couch and leaned up on his knees. Dimitri merely waited, knowing there was no rushing his boss.
    Viktor’s shoulders rose and fell as he clasped and unclasped his hands. In a low voice, he said, “Elianya. I need.…”
    Dimitri’s eyes slid closed. Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, “I understand.”
    Viktor’s head whipped up, sharp and predatory, his slanted eyes as threatening as a wolf’s. “No, you don’t. She’s….. She’s not.… I thought as she grew older.” Viktor thumped his fist on this thigh