Target For Terror, page 12
* * *
July 2 – 9:30 a.m. – Bedford, VA
* * *
Sloan pushed away from the computer and scrubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to clear his blurred vision.
So far, Natalia’s necklace was a dead end. He hadn’t found anything even close to the design of the pendant on the internet. After an hour of searching, he’d switched his focus to Anya and Boris Tereshkova but hadn’t found much about the pair either. Anya had been born in Kazan but had moved as a young woman to Moscow. She married Boris at age twenty-four and had remained married for the past twenty-five years. Natalia was twenty-six years old, so the math worked in favor of Anya being her mother. The only picture he’d been able to dig up had been a grainy profile shot. Anya had dark hair while Natalia’s was blonde, but he thought there might be a slight resemblance in their facial structure.
Was he losing his mind? Just because some forty-nine-year-old woman’s name was Anya and bore a slight resemblance didn’t make her Natalia’s mother. And even if by some stretch of the imagination Anya was really Natalia’s birth mother, so what? What did the connection mean? And where did the pendant fit in, if at all? The woman had given Natalia up for adoption years ago. Why would someone try to kill Natalia now? As a way to get back at Boris and Anya? Didn’t seem like enough of a motive, even if they were working with the Solntsevskaya.
He must be losing his touch. This angle was nothing more than a dead end.
“Did you find anything helpful?” Natalia asked from her position on the sofa.
“No.” He’d been grateful when she’d stopped leaning over his shoulder as he worked. Ignoring her presence across the room was difficult enough when her scent still lingered in the air. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t find anything on your necklace at all. As for Anya Tereshkova, she was born in Kazan but moved to Moscow when she was eighteen. She’s been married to Boris for twenty-five years.” He shrugged. “Either of them could belong to any faction of the Russian underworld. There isn’t a lot of information.”
“Kazan?” Natalia echoed in a strangled tone. “My adopted mother was born in Kazan too. How ironic. From what I’ve read, Kazan wasn’t a very large city.”
“It’s not, at least if you go by what you find on the internet.” Sloan frowned. “Wait a minute. What was I just reading about?” He turned back to the computer, using the back button to retrace his steps. After a few minutes, he found the article. “Here. Guess who else was born in Kazan?”
“Who?”
He met her gaze with a grim one of his own. “Deputy Prime Minister Korolev.”
Natalia stared. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”
“That they’re friends? That one helped out the other? That they all have the same Mafia connection?” Sloan went back to his notes. “Two people living in Moscow working in positions of power to have come from the same small town can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, probably not,” Natalia agreed. “Especially since you need a certain amount of money to gain a position of power. Or have friends in high places. Which is exactly how the Russian Mafia works.” She frowned, and then added, “But how does the necklace fit in? Even if Josef saw it back then, why on earth would he remember?”
“I don’t know. The design of your necklace doesn’t match any of the symbols of the known Mafia factions. I’ve studied them at length, and it’s not even close. I think if we can find some sort of connection between them, we’d have more answers.” Sloan turned back to his computer.
“Kazan did have royalty once, even had their own Kremlin,” Natalia pointed out when he pulled up information about Kazan on his computer. “It’s not used now, of course, but there continues to be two classes of people who live in Kazan, the very rich and the very poor. Maybe this necklace came from the rich group.”
Sloan wrote more notes. “Yeah, but that only makes me wonder which person came from the rich side of town. Anya or Josef?”
“I don’t know. My adopted mother was from Kazan, and she wasn’t rich. Her name was Katya Sergeyevna Sokolova.” Natalia’s gaze held a faraway expression. “She gave me her middle name as well because I didn’t have a father of my own. So my full name is Natalia Sergeyevna Sokolova.”
Sloan frowned. “You have a father. You called him from your cell phone the night we stayed in the hotel room, didn’t you?”
“My adopted father,” she corrected. “I didn’t know my birth father. My adopted father is American and was born in DC, I think. He’s a history professor and loves Russian antiques. That’s how he met my adopted mother.”
Natalia’s past couldn’t get any more complicated. “Do you know where you were born?” he asked.
“Kazan, according to what Ivan and I found in my mother’s journal.”
“Do you have your mother’s journal with you?” He glanced around for the canvas bag she’d carried around for the past day and a half but didn’t see it lying around. She’d no doubt left it upstairs.
“No.” Her face clouded. “The journal was lost in the explosion, along with all the rest of my things.”
“I see.” He drew another picture to help frame things in his mind as he thought out loud. “You were born in Kazan and might have received your pendant from there. We have your adopted mother from Kazan here in the US, we have Josef Korolev who was born in Kazan and died here in the US, we have Anya Tereshkova who was born in Kazan and still lives in Moscow, working closely, we assume, with Korolev.” More coincidences. “I bet they knew each other as children. Ironically, they’re all within a similar age range, give or take a few years.”
His cell phone rang, interrupting his train of thought. The only person who had the number was Jordan. “Yeah?”
The line was so full of static he could barely make out the words. “They found me. I’m injured. Stay hidden.”
“Jordan? What happened? Where are you?”
Silence. The connection was broken.
Ice coalesced in his veins. Sloan swiftly punched the redial feature to call him back.
But Jordan didn’t answer.
* * *
July 2 – 10:13 a.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
A bead of sweat rolled down the center of his back, despite the cool, air-conditioned temperatures in the room.
Clarence Yates, director of the FBI, banged his hand on the table. “I want answers! Why is Nevsky’s lawyer trying to set up a meeting with a missing FBI agent? What’s going on?”
Keeping calm wasn’t easy, but there was no sense in risking everything for the brief satisfaction of ramming his fist into the director’s face.
“It’s nothing but a weak ploy, sir.” He kept his tone calm, controlled. “Nevsky’s been pleading innocence all along, claiming he’s been framed.” He shrugged. “Just remember, he’s the one taking numerous trips to his homeland. Don’t fall for his lies. I’m sure if we dig further, we’ll find he’s the key link to one of the more powerful factions of the Russian Mafia.”
The director stared at the group of men seated around the table. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that Nevsky knows the name of our agent who mysteriously disappeared on his way to the US embassy in Russia. An agent we’ve pretty much written off as dead.”
He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “It’s looking more likely that Michael Cummings was the leak we’d suspected.”
The director didn’t like hearing that. “This meeting is adjourned. I want an update on the location of Korolev’s Russian nurse ASAP.”
“Of course, sir.” He stood and followed the others out of the room.
The only report he’d give once he found Natalia was the details of how she died. The woman seriously annoyed him. He’d already taken care of the major part of the problem he’d been assigned, but the job wasn’t complete yet. Not until he’d found the woman.
And he would find her. She couldn’t hide forever.
Not from him.
* * *
July 2 – 10:18 a.m. – Bedford, VA
* * *
Natalia watched the color drain from Sloan’s face, a stunned expression in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Jordan’s hurt.” With a jerky movement, he tossed the phone onto the kitchen table next to the computer. “I can’t believe they found him.”
“Who found him?” Natalia rubbed her arms, aware of the sudden chill.
Sloan raked his hand through his hair. “Either the FBI or the Solntsevskaya, take your pick.”
“The FBI wouldn’t hurt him, would they?”
“Why not, if the mole really shot Korolev?”
Fear was bitter on her tongue. If Sloan was this upset, it was bad. Very bad. Would this nightmare never end? A wave of helpless frustration washed over her. She tried to remind herself they were doing everything possible to figure out what was going on.
Sloan’s face was drawn into harsh lines, so she rose from her seat on the sofa. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend.”
“If I had any idea where to find him, I’d go.” Sloan was clearly upset. “Why didn’t he give me his location? He could be anywhere in DC. Anywhere.”
“Because of me.” Because Jordan wouldn’t risk dragging her into the line of fire. Jordan had protected her. The realization made her sick to her stomach, and she held on to the back of the chair to steady herself.
Sloan didn’t answer but grabbed his hair as if he would yank it out of his head in frustration. She crossed over and put a hand on his arm in a feeble attempt to soothe his pain. And hers.
“Don’t,” he said in a low, raspy voice as he turned from her. “Leave me alone.”
She couldn’t. Things were going from bad to worse, and she felt responsible, although she was as much a victim as anyone. Yet right here, right now, she and Sloan only had each other. Ignoring the hard set to his shoulders, she wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek along the smooth muscles of his back.
He stiffened for a moment, then unclasped her hands from his waist and swung around to face her. She didn’t utter a single word of protest when he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
Never had she been kissed like that before. He devoured her mouth like a dying man taking his last breath. He was so intense, so overwhelming, yet she wasn’t afraid. Instinctively, she knew he’d never hurt her.
The kiss went on and on. As if he’d never stop. Finally, he lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers. Breath sawed in and out of his lungs as if he’d run a marathon.
She felt the same way.
The tenderness vanished when he lifted his head, his gaze boring into hers. “I hope you’re not looking for an apology.”
“Durachok,” she muttered, pulling away from him. “I’m not. It was just a kiss. I don’t expect anything from you.”
He went still, and for a moment she thought she’d actually hurt his feelings, until he said, “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”
She sighed. This situation was her own fault. What possessed her to attempt to offer Sloan comfort? She should have known he’d toss her efforts back in her face.
“You need to go upstairs and pack.”
“Pack?” Taken aback, she stared at him. “Why?”
“We’re leaving.” His no-nonsense tone told her he wasn’t in the mood for an argument. “As soon as I can gather our equipment together, we’re out of here.”
“To go where?”
He didn’t answer but stalked over to the table holding the equipment.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She didn’t understand what he was thinking. What he planned to do.
“Suit yourself.” Sloan focused on disconnecting the computer equipment.
Calling his bluff would backfire. She had absolutely no doubt he’d leave without her. Jordan was his closest friend; she was only a nuisance. She wanted to rail at him, to scream and shout that they were safe here in the cabin.
But safety was an illusion.
And no matter how much she wanted to stay, she feared being left alone even more.
Chapter Thirteen
July 2 – 10:39 a.m. – Bedford, VA
* * *
Sloan knew he shouldn’t have kissed Natalia like a man possessed. When she’d finally disappeared upstairs, he’d collapsed into a chair, dropped his head into his hands, and wondered if God had completely given up on him.
This wasn’t the time or place to fall for a woman. Especially one he’d vowed to protect. But all he really wanted was to kiss her again and again.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and turned his attention back to disconnecting the computer. He needed to forget about how sweet Natalia had tasted. Jordan was hurt, or worse. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was a good chance his partner was dead. Hiding out at the cabin wasn’t going to help get them out of this mess. They needed to draw out the FBI mole, to figure out who was behind all the killing. And why.
Natalia needed to be safe, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. Especially not after he’d crossed the line and managed to become emotionally involved.
No more. He wasn’t tripping down that dangerous path again. From here on out, he was staying as far away from the tempting Natalia as possible.
“I’m ready.”
Her husky voice sent a wave of awareness washing over him. He closed his eyes and tried to maintain control. “Haul the duffel out to the van, then give me a hand with this stuff.”
For once she did exactly as he asked, walking past him to go outside. He closed down the satellite portable computer and returned it to the carrying case, then followed her out. She avoided all physical contact as he stored the equipment in the back of the cargo van.
Between the two of them, they managed to get everything worth taking packed in the van. Ten minutes later, they were back on the road, driving toward DC.
Neither of them spoke. The tension grew so thick he thought he might suffocate from the pressure.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked, finally breaking the interminable silence.
“Yeah.” A half-baked one, but a plan. “When we get closer to the city, I want you to call your Aunt Lara. Tell her we need to talk.”
Natalia frowned. “Won’t the FBI look for us there?”
“Probably.” He kept his eyes on the winding country road. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t have someone watching her place. But we should be fine if we arrange to meet somewhere public.”
“Do you really think Lara knows anything?”
“She’d better. We desperately need a lead.”
“Did you try Jordan again?”
He clenched his jaw. “His cell phone isn’t on. He probably got rid of it after he called me.”
“Oh.”
This time, he was glad when she lapsed into silence. He glanced at his watch. They still had a couple of hours of driving before they were close enough to put his plan into motion.
Hours in which there was nothing to do except try to forget Jordan possibly lying injured or dead while at the same time remembering exactly how sweet Natalia had tasted and how perfectly she’d fit into his arms.
While longing for more.
* * *
July 2 – 1:19 p.m. – Alexandria, VA
* * *
Natalia kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep. Sloan had withdrawn from her with a painful finality. As if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her once and for all.
Too bad she was far from actually getting any rest.
“Wake up, Princess. It’s time to make your call.”
She stifled a sigh, lifted her head, took in their surroundings, and glanced at him. “She lives in Brookmont, we have a while yet.”
“Not if she’s going to meet us in DC, we don’t.” Sloan handed her his cell phone. “Talk to her in Russian. Tell her we want to meet outside the Washington Monument in an hour.”
An hour was barely enough time. She stared at the phone, then dialed the number.
“Hello, Stefan?”
She blinked back a surprising dampness at Lara’s sweet and achingly familiar Russian voice. “No, Tetya. It’s me. Natalia.”
“Natalia? You’re alive? Where have you been? We’ve been very worried about you.”
“I’m alive and safe.” At least for the moment. “But I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the Washington Monument in an hour?”
“I can try.” She imagined Lara was already wiping her clay-stained hands on a nearby towel. There was a hitch in her aunt’s voice when she asked, “Did you hear about Alek?”
“Yes. I know he’s innocent, Tetya. We’ll clear his name, you’ll see.”
“Don’t say anything more,” Sloan warned. “Just get off the phone.”
“I have to go, Tetya. See you soon.” Natalia quickly disconnected the call, then tossed the phone back to Sloan. “There is no reason to be rude. I haven’t seen or spoken to my aunt in a long time.”
“I wasn’t being rude, but if the FBI has a tap on her phone, they might be able to trace the call to this new cell number. Or they might try to meet us at the Washington Monument.” He shrugged. “If they don’t understand Russian, we should have bought ourselves a little time.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted with a sigh. Being constantly on the defensive was difficult.
“Who was she expecting to call?”
Natalia frowned, then realized he’d overheard the beginning of their conversation. “Oh, Stefan. Her lawyer, I think.”
“You know her lawyer?”
“Not exactly, but I know my mother’s lawyer was Stefan Durik. He’s from Russia too.” Stefan had handled her mother’s estate, and since they had all spoken at her mother’s funeral, she assumed Stefan must also be working with Alek and Lara.
“Where is he located?” Sloan wanted to know.
“Just outside DC. Why?”
“Because we might need to pay him a little visit.”
