Target For Terror, page 6
“But it’s a possibility.” Now that he’d talked through the theory, she could easily see it. Why wouldn’t they try to expand into DC, right under the Fed’s noses? Josef could have been shot by some rogue FBI agent who was trying to cover up his crime by pinning the deed on Alek.
Poor Uncle Alek.
Thank heavens her mother wasn’t alive to see this.
He clenched his jaw. “Yeah, I already admitted that much. You could be right; someone inside the bureau might be working with either faction of the Russian Mafia. Anything goes when lots of money is involved.”
Of course, she was right. Satisfied, she turned her back on him. Outside, normal traffic surrounded them. In the bright light of day, with the hardworking people of DC going about their business, her fear and panic from the night was difficult to hang on to, even with all the talk of Russian thugs. The men and women driving to work and the families sightseeing seemed so ordinary. Looking at the familiarity of it all, it was hard to believe the horrible events had really happened.
“A shopping center!” She pressed her nose against the window, never had she been so happy to see a discount store in her life. Toothpaste. She wanted toothpaste and a comb. Clothes. “Pull in, I can’t stand the thought of wearing these filthy scrubs for another minute.”
“Princesses don’t shop at discount stores.”
She sent him a lethal glare over her shoulder. “I told you not to call me that.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “I don’t think stopping for clothes is a good idea. I have some stuff at my place that should fit you.”
He did? She sniffed. From one of his many women friends, no doubt. She imagined he had dozens of females in his life. Too handsome for his own good. She knew his type only too well. Hadn’t she almost married one?
“Just a few minutes, that’s all I need.” Begging was not her style, but at the moment she felt desperate. “Please.”
“Nope. No can do.” He made a series of turns before pulling up in front of a small condo complex.
“Come on.” He parked illegally, along the curve of the main drive. As they went inside, she assumed being a former FBI agent came with certain privileges.
Focusing on Sloan was easier than thinking about the tangled mess she’d found herself in, so she glanced curiously over his shoulder as he unlocked his door. He gestured for her to go in, closing the door behind them. The condo was small, but clean for the most part. A few dishes in the sink.
He disappeared into the bedroom, and she cast a glance about the room, curious to know more about the enigmatic man who’d saved her life.
One photograph sat on top of the television. A wedding picture. Sloan was married. The sinking feeling in her stomach betrayed her keen disappointment as she moved closer. She frowned. The couple didn’t look at all familiar. The man smiling into the camera, with his jet-black hair and dark skin, certainly wasn’t Sloan. The woman shared Sloan’s mink brown hair. Could she be a relative?
Ridiculous to feel such an overwhelming relief. She didn’t care about Sloan on a personal level, except to be grateful for the way he’d saved her life in the hotel. She wouldn’t even go as far as to call him a friend.
Even if he did make her crazy and spoke with a bad Ukrainian accent.
“Here’s a box of stuff.” He returned to the living room carrying a box, dropping it carelessly on the floor. A fine layer of dust rose from it, making her sneeze. The box and its contents must have been in storage for a while.
She opened the top flap. “Woman’s clothes?”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
“From your ex-wife?” She couldn’t help fishing for information.
“My sister.” He turned toward the door, then hesitated and swung back, pinning her with an intent gaze. “If you want to know if I’m married, just ask.”
She’d rather bite out her own tongue than admit she’d wanted to know. But a sister explained the woman in the wedding picture. She angled her chin. “I don’t care if you are or not. I was only trying to make casual conversation.”
“Yeah. Right.” He reached for his cell phone. “Stay here. I need to make a few calls.”
“Wait!” She abandoned the box, dashing across the room toward him. “You can’t just leave me here.”
He lifted an arrogant brow. “Sure I can. I won’t be long.”
“But—” She couldn’t think of a good reason not to let him go. Other than the simple fact that she didn’t want him to. In the short time they’d been together, she’d grown dependent on his reassuring presence, which only fueled a stab of anger. She didn’t want to be dependent on him or anyone. She didn’t appreciate the way he barked out orders either.
“Ten minutes,” he repeated. He swung open the door and then glanced back over his shoulder, adding, “And, Princess? For the record, I’ve never been married.”
“Shtob tebya. Because no one is crazy enough to marry a man like you.” Her insult fell on deaf ears as he’d slammed the door behind him before she had time to finish speaking.
Men. She’d learned the hard way they couldn’t be trusted. No matter how they whispered sweet words of love, as soon as a younger, prettier specimen came into view, they vanished quicker than a silverfish.
Better to stay single.
The condo seemed unnaturally quiet. Not even the ticking of an alarm clock or the humming noise of the refrigerator broke the silence. Natalia rubbed her hands up and down her arms feeling ridiculously nervous. There was no reason to be afraid. Whatever else she thought of Sloan, she truly believed he’d brought her here because it was safe.
She forced herself to turn back toward the box. Digging out the clothes, she found a few basic things, two pairs of blue jeans and a couple of short-sleeved tops. She wanted to wear the hot pink one, but since they were on the run, she figured the black one might be better.
She disappeared into the bathroom to change. Sloan’s scent filled the enclosure. Or rather, the remnants of his soap did. The musky scent intrigued her. After pulling on the borrowed clothes, she pushed aside the shower curtain to see what brand of soap he bought. Not that she was an expert on men’s toiletries. She lifted the bar and sniffed. Immediately, she felt her knees go weak. Oh yes, the scent was definitely from the soap.
Stop it. There was no time for foolish sentiments. She didn’t even like the man and refused to be attracted to him. She replaced the soap with a firm thud, then picked up her discarded scrubs and left the bathroom.
Five minutes had passed since Sloan left her alone. Why did it seem like fifty? Why did he have to go outside to make his calls anyway? Just to keep her in the dark about what he planned next? No more leaving her out of the loop. Maybe she wasn’t an expert when it came to the dangerous factions of the Russian Mafia, but as far as she was concerned, they were in this mess together.
With a scowl, she glanced at his tiny office and the laptop computer sitting there. Fingering her Russian pendant, she wondered if there was any information about it on the internet. Josef had recognized it. Was there some hidden meaning to the symbol of the crescent moon and the three stars with the purple stones in the center? Or could she find the store from where the necklace originated from? The burning need to know about her past wouldn’t leave her alone. She needed to find out about her birth mother and the events that caused her mother to give her away.
Natalia strode to the computer desk and sat down. It was probably password protected. Good thing she knew how to work around that pesky little detail. Ivan had taught her well. After turning on the computer, she entered the inner workings of the operating system, then brought up the software.
Her fingers hovered over the commands, more tempted than she cared to admit to snoop through Sloan’s personal files. She didn’t have much time, though, if Sloan was going to be back in ten minutes, so she quickly bypassed his files in favor of accessing the internet.
With any luck, she could be in and out before Sloan returned.
* * *
July 1 – 10:19 a.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Sloan rubbed a hand along the back of his neck as he walked down to the main lobby of the building. There had been no reason to leave Natalia alone in his condo other than he couldn’t stand one more minute of togetherness.
He punched the speed dial for Jordan’s number for the millionth time. When Jordan picked up, he almost fell on his butt in shock.
“It’s about time you answered my call,” Sloan roared. “Took you long enough.”
“I’ve been busy.” Ever the rational one, Jordan’s tone was serene.
Busy? Was he kidding? He and Natalia had been tripping over dead bodies and dodging bullets for the past couple of hours. Jordan’s concept of busy was sure different from his.
“I’ve been on the phone with my contact at the bureau all morning,” Jordan continued as if Sloan’s simmering temper didn’t mirror that of a raving lunatic.
Sloan jammed his fingers through his hair as he paced the length of the lobby. He struggled to remain calm. “Okay. Fine. What did Bentley have to say?” Jerome Bentley was his and Jordan’s source of inside information since they’d both left the agency. Jerome was a good guy, one of the best in the business.
“They’re looking for Natalia.”
He stopped cold. “Why?”
“Officially? Or unofficially?” Jordan asked in a cynical drawl. “Officially, they have a few questions about last night, both Korolev’s death and her rather untimely house explosion.”
“And unofficially?”
“They think she’s a potential link to the Solntsevskaya branch of the Russian mob.”
Ice coalesced in his veins. “Why exactly do they suspect that?”
“I don’t know. She’s Russian by birth, adopted by a Russian-born woman with dual citizenship in America. Is that enough? Maybe. They’re digging for more.”
The thought of Natalia having connections to anything as dangerous as the Russian Mafia left a vile taste in his mouth. Every instinct he possessed screamed she was nothing more than a pawn in a dangerous game. Collateral damage. In the wrong place at the wrong time.
Expendable.
But then again, what did he really know about her? The bit of intel Jordan had sent him last night was sketchy but squeaky clean. Or so he’d thought. What would the FBI find when they dug deeper?
“Do they suspect Ivan Rasacovich too?” he forced himself to ask.
“Yeah. They’re pretty much linking his death to the mob as well. The friendship between Rasacovich and Natalia isn’t helping her case any.”
Even if Rasacovich had been guilty of being involved in the Russian Mafia, he doubted Natalia knew anything about it. Still, he didn’t need this added twist. “Does Bentley know she’s with me?”
“I had to give him something. I told him you’d taken her into protective custody. I promised him a face-to-face with her soon.”
No way would he allow that to happen. Sloan resumed pacing. He had to let Jordan know what they were dealing with. “There was another attempt on her life at the motel room last night.” He glanced at his watch. “Rather, this morning.”
“Professional?”
“Yes, but it was strange. The single shooter had a strange-looking gun, two pieces, one part worn over the shoulder. The weapon had a silencer and shot multiple rounds in a split second.”
“A Russian APB with a silencer.” Jordan whistled. “He was working alone?”
“Yeah.” A Russian APB with a silencer? Now he really wished he’d taken the few extra minutes to snag the gun. “He had a cross tattoo on the back of his neck, I couldn’t see the whole thing, but it resembled the symbol for the Solntsevskaya gang. I left his body there with a dented skull. You’ll need to take care of him, unless the locals found him first. If that’s the case, you’ll need to smooth things over.”
Jordan let out a deep sigh. “All right. What else?”
“I need to turn Natalia over to you.”
A long, heavy silence hung between them.
“Why?”
Sloan hunched his shoulders. “You know why. I can’t do this. She needs to be safe.”
“You’ve obviously managed to keep her safe enough if you’re directing me to clean up your mess.”
Was Jordan being deliberately obtuse? He wanted to shake some sense into him. “We’ve been lucky. How much longer do you think I can ride on luck?”
“I’ll pull some strings on my end. What do you need? The usual?”
Cash, weapons, new cell phones, transportation, and access to information. Oh, and a headshrink. Sloan sighed. “Yeah, the usual. Only you and I are going to swap places. You can play bodyguard, and I’ll pull the strings from the office.”
There was another long stretch of silence. “Fine. Meet me at the cabin in four hours.”
He closed his eyes in relief. “You got it.” Now that he’d gotten his way, he experienced a strange sense of loss. The cabin was a small dwelling in the heart of the mountains two hours from DC. Nice, isolated, and best of all, it couldn’t be traced back to either his or Jordan’s names. It would be the perfect place to leave Natalia with Jordan.
Princess or not, she deserved to be safe.
And he knew, deep in his bones, he wasn’t the right guy to keep her that way.
Chapter Six
July 1 – 11:00 a.m. – Brookmont, MD
* * *
With her hands smoothing the lump of clay on the potter’s wheel, Lara Nevsky tried to ignore the phone, no doubt a telemarketer. But even once it stopped ringing, she couldn’t concentrate. The tall, slender vase she’d been shaping lurched sideways, and she muttered under her breath. Always, it had been like this, in the months since she’d left Alek. Her passion for clay, for sculpting, had seemingly abandoned her.
His fault. He’d ruined their wonderful marriage. And now he’d ruined her one true love, sculpting.
The phone rang again, and she gave up, stopped the wheel, and wiped her hands on the towel before picking it up.
“Lara? Please, don’t hang up. I can only make this one call. I need your help.”
Recognizing Alek’s voice, her spine stiffened. “One call?” she repeated. “Why?”
“I’ve been arrested. I need you to get in touch with our attorney, Stefan Durik.”
“Arrested?” Despite her desire to stay far from Alek, away from the temptation to return to their marriage, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “For what?”
“They think I shot Deputy Prime Minister Josef Korolev. But I didn’t do this ugly thing, Lara. I promise you I did not do this. Someone planted that gun under our bed.”
A gun under their bed? Lara sank into a nearby chair. “Murder?” No matter how Alek had ruined their marriage, she couldn’t believe this of him. He simply wasn’t capable of killing a man in cold blood. He was the sweetest, kindest man she’d ever met.
“Please, get in touch with Stefan. Tell him what happened. Tell him to get in touch with FBI Agent Michael Cummings. Please.” Alek’s tone was desperate.
“I will.” She didn’t mention she’d already been in touch with Stefan recently, to discuss the possibility of divorce. She wrote down the name of Michael Cummings. “Where are you? Will they allow visitors?”
“No!” His emphatic response shocked her. “Don’t come here, Lara. Just call Stefan. Ya lublu tebya, Lara.”
I love you. She wanted to respond in kind, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Oh, and Lara? You need to find Natalia and tell her the truth.”
No. Natalia and the other tainted remnants of his past were the reasons she’d left him. She found her voice. “I can’t.”
“You must.” She imagined the fierce expression on his face. “In case something goes wrong, Natalia needs to know the truth. The sooner the better.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. Why couldn’t the past stay in the past? She didn’t want to think about it. “Nothing will go wrong.”
“If it’s God’s will,” Alek agreed. “Please. Find Natalia.”
Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, he disconnected from the line. She quickly searched on the counter for Stefan’s number.
Stefan had to get Alek out of jail and fast. Nothing bad was going to happen to him. Nausea churned in her stomach. Everything they’d built was unraveling around them. Nothing would happen to Alek.
Nothing.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed the phone.
Ya lublu tebya, Alek.
* * *
July 1 – 11:08 a.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Natalia found dozens of websites with various jewelry designs, so she picked one and scrolled through it. There were many unique pendants—a Royal Crest of the Tsars, a Russian double-headed eagle, and an Etruscan Revival gold necklace for starters. Very interesting designs, but none looking even remotely close to her pendant.
Although, once again, she noticed how prevalent her purple stones were. A few years ago, she discovered the lilac-tinted gem was called charoite and was an unusual mineral named after the Chara River in Russia, the only place to obtain the stone.
Charoite was supposed to contain a healing power, helping the wearer to sleep easy without being disturbed by nightmares. It also supposedly held the power to cleanse and purify one’s body as well as getting rid of negative energies within oneself.
She believed in God, not precious stones. But still, the legend was charming. She clasped the crescent mood and cross in her hand. She’d faithfully worn the pendant over these past three years, since her adopted mother had died. Had her birth mother left Natalia the necklace as a way to protect her? Her pulse raced. Imagining how her mother had given her up for a good reason, in order to save her life, made her feel better.
Surely the pendant was harmless. Why on earth would Josef ask who’d given it to her? Why would it matter? None of this made sense.
