Vladimir leaned forward. “Never dilute vodka. Is sin.

He pulled her toward him and gathered her in his arms as his hand lovingly cradled the back of her neck. She stopped breathing as he leaned down—ohmigod, the Adonis was about to kiss her—and planted the softest, most sensual kiss on her lips.Time stood still on the busy Chicago street.

Her recoil confirmed the disgust Grant felt inside. Who was he kidding, trying to put Vladimir and Andrei behind bars? He was no different from his father. Then he remembered Sophie’s words.“You’re not like them. You’re my McSailor.”A soft touch made him smile, thinking of Bonnie, before he realized it was Innochka’s hand stroking his face. The touch of a mobster’s girlfriend. He leaped back, still crouched on his feet.

Okay, I’ve got the hidden microphones with GPS here,” Agent Bounter said. “Let’s get one on you.”“Now, sir?”
“The Russians are on the radar. It’s time.”As Bounter turned to pick up the tiny button-size microphone, Grant clenched his hands into fists, his anticipation building.It’s time.

Speaking of banging, when’s McSailor getting home?” Kirsten’s smirk was the size of Texas.Sophie had to smile. “Crude. You’re crude, roomie.

Grant glanced down at his khaki jacket. Since he’d slipped on the US Navy uniform in Agent Bounter’s office, he’d felt a confident swagger possess him. His spine lengthened, and his shoulders retracted. He should’ve been wearing this every day, not the stupid dress shirt and slacks of a lounge singer.

Sometimes I feel like a normal person. Sometimes I forget I’m on parole, that I’m not really free.

His voice as smooth as silk, Grant started into his standard crowd-pleaser: Sinatra’s 'My Kind of Town.

Aren’t those vegetables sexy, Rog?” Grant cooed, trying to hold in laughter. “Sexy, sexy veggies. You two need to go on lots of dates together.