The Blood Code Read Online Free

Anya. And you are?”
    “Truman.” He stepped back to stand at the door again. “At your service.”
    Ryan glanced up at her and back to the paper several times, as if trying to make the facts in black-and-white mesh with the woman. He ran a hand through his fair hair, making it stand up. A little unnerved, Anya sat, covering her legs, and lifting the blanket higher around her breasts. What was on that paper other than useless facts? Her date of birth. Her bloodline. The death of her parents all those years ago. Her move to America with her grandmother…
    Did it tell him red tulips were her favorite flower? That she could whistle the entire second movement of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4, or that one whole drawer of her desk at work was filled with chocolate bars? That her life was all about helping people uncover the mystery of their gene pools?
    Did it tell him President Ivanov had kidnapped her grandmother, and was blackmailing Anya to stay by his side and play the dutiful princess during the summit meeting?
    Finished reading, Ryan returned to the chair and scooted it close to the bed. So close their knees touched. Another tingle of anticipation—or was it dread?— rolled down her spine as he drew out an oversized cell phone. “Well, princess”—he used the same funny emphasis as he’d used before with Solomon’s name—“I think it’s time we call Solomon and get this situation straightened out.”
    Finally, they were getting somewhere. Anya nearly laughed with relief, her stomach muscles unknotting. This was no fairy tale, but somehow, someway, she would rescue Grams and bring President Maxim Ivanov down.

Chapter Three
    As Ryan dialed Conrad’s number on his encrypted cell phone, he wondered what it was like not to be the responsible one. To be the one making the mess, instead of cleaning it up. He was tired of putting out fires. Tired of fixing what was broken. Tired of pretending it never bothered him.
    He’d been cleaning up other people’s messes since the age of eight. His father had left his mother with two kids, a fat mortgage, and an empty bank account, and Ryan, being the oldest, had stepped up to do the duties his old man left behind.
    In high school when his younger brother decided his absentee father and alcoholic mother were good reasons to set the chem lab on fire, Ryan went to the principal and school board and talked them out of pressing criminal charges. The unruffled but impassioned negotiator was born.
    When his mother lost yet another job, Ryan enrolled her in AA and gave up basketball to get a second after-school job. By college, he’d already earned a degree in Most Responsible with a double major in Peacekeeping and Troubleshooting.
    Along with a foreign affairs and international law degree—all earned on scholarship—he’d attracted the attention of Susan Richmond at the CIA. Off the record, he negotiated a verbal agreement with her to help him with a few family matters before accepting her recruitment offer. Her word had been gold back then, and his mother had found a government job while his brother got into MIT and graduated, thanks to a special mentor Susan arranged. She took Ryan through the CIA’s training camp and put him on the fast track to management in the world of Central Intelligence.
    It had been a hell of a ride on the spy train and, now, at thirty-three, the negotiator was burned out.
    But when he glanced up and saw the Russian princess smiling at him with anticipation, he knew he’d meet the cops at the door, smooth talk them in his fluent Russian, and send them on their way all over again. In fact, if called for, he’d draw the gun from the small of his back and shoot to kill.
    It’s what he did. He rooted for the underdog, cheered for the renegade, helped the damsel in distress. Never mind that his logical mind told him she wasn’t any of those. His gut said different.
    Pushing the chair back, Ryan stood and walked away from those killer blue eyes and