by Roxie Rivera
His gaze moved to a sample that was slightly sticking out of its compartment. Glancing at the map, he found the correct slot. Calling out to Max, he asked, “Why were you looking at Lana’s DNA?”
“Yeah, about that,” she called back and walked into the storage room. Keeping her gloved hands at her sides, she explained, “I had a theory. I wanted to check it out before I said anything.”
Closing the freezer door, he asked, “What theory?”
“Well,” she said carefully, “you know the dossier that you got over the summer?”
“Yeah.”
“And then the package you got last month?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was going through the package after Fox handed it off to me, and I found a fingerprint.”
“From?”
“It was really degraded, but it hit on Interpol. Like from way back,” she clarified. “The name and all the information related to the print was redacted, but the owner of the print was from Russia.”
“Well, we already knew that,” he said, slightly deflated. “Is there any way to get the Interpol data?”
She shook her head. “I tried, but the records are gone.”
“I bet they are,” he grumbled, already sensing a pattern.
“I was irritated that the print ended there, but I started thinking about the age of the records and the photos. They belong to someone who was there when you were a kid. Maybe another operative? Someone who worked with your parents? Or,” she added, “these records came from someone who knows things about you other people don’t. Someone who was close to you. Someone who knows you get squirrely when your parents are mentioned.”
“I don’t get squirrely,” he argued.
She ignored him with a wave of her hand and continued, “So, I started thinking about what kind of person would keep shit like this. I thought about the way you taught me to build my own little blackmail collections. I thought about your lessons on poison pills,” she added, her words taking him back to the various times he’d instructed his little spiders on the finer points of extortion and securing their safety even if it meant hurting someone they cared for or respected.
“And you think the package I received is someone’s poison pill? That the person who sent it is willing to take it in the neck if it means I get hurt too?”
“Yes.”
“And what does that have to do with Lana?”
“Well, okay, this is where it gets a little Info Wars crazy.” She glanced around the room and frowned. “We really need a whiteboard in here.”
“Are you going to lecture me, Professor?”
“Not a professor until I finish my thesis,” she reminded him. “And not a lecture,” she clarified. “A walk down memory lane, if you will.”
“I’d rather not. A walk through my memories is like a walk through a minefield.”
“It’s not much safer for me to go down it either. Poking around in your past is the fastest way to bite a bullet.”
“Which is why I’ve always told you to stay out of my business.”
“And yet,” she gestured around them, “here we both are.”
He exhaled roughly. “Well—go ahead. Tell me your theory.”
“I was thinking about what you told me about the guy who burned you. Your old partner, you know?”
“No, I don’t remember Borya,” he said sarcastically.
He’d been on a long-term assignment with Borya, his mentor. When Borya got too close to one of their assets, the lines between reality and legend became blurred. It happened sometimes. Living your legend—your cover—was like breathing. Everything that was a lie became truth.
Tamara, the asset Borya had gotten too close with, eventually fell pregnant. When it was time to leave, to end the mission and extricate themselves, Borya had refused to leave her behind. He had gotten a taste of what a normal life could be like and wasn’t going to walk away from her. They had ended up having to fight their way out, and Kostya had taken a bullet meant for Tamara.
Once they had gotten back to Moscow, they had been permanently separated as a team. He’d gone into solo operations, and Borya had married Tamara and moved to intel. He hadn’t paid as much attention to Borya as he should have after their split, and it had cost his friend his integrity and his life. Tamara had been a double agent the whole time, a radical terrorist who had wanted access to the inner workings of the Russian government—and she had gotten them.
“Right,” Max said, “but here’s the thing. I was thinking about that story and how it ended.”
“With everyone dead but me?”
“That’s not true, though, is it?”
“I was there. I pulled the trigger.”
“You killed the baby? Their kid?”
“The fuck kind of question is that, Max? No! I did not kill their daughter. She had been killed by the same people who tried to kill me when I got burned. They were using the baby as leverage after they kidnapped her. She was killed in a car wreck when they were fleeing their safe house.”
“You’re sure? You saw the body?”
“No, I didn’t see the body.”
“And, if the girl had lived, she would have been what? A little older than Lobo?”
“About, yes.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, holding his gaze. “About the same age as Lana?”
Like a fist to his gut, a sickening thought hit him. What if Lana was that little girl all grown up now? What if she hadn’t been used as leverage against Borya and Tamara? What if she had been tucked away somewhere secret, trained and taught in the same way he had been. What if she had been placed here in Houston to get close to him? To get close to Holly? To get close enough to hurt him?
“Do you have the results yet?”
She shook her head. “I got started yesterday afternoon. I had some issues with the DNA sample for Borya because it was so old and degraded. I got that situation handled and started running them yesterday before going to work. You should have your answer in forty-eight hours at the most.”
Tense with stress, Kostya said, “If this girl is who we think she is, she’s here to kill. She’s here for me and maybe Holly. She’s become friendly with Lobo. She might hurt her to get to me.”
“She won’t get the chance.” Max delivered her statement in that calm, cool way she had. “You Russians aren’t the only ones who know how to use poisons.”
“If she’s here to hurt us, I’ll take care of it.”
“Someday, all that taking care of things for other people is going to catch up with you. Someday, you’re going to need someone to take care of things for you.”
Unable to get her words out of his head, he stood there as she returned to the main part of the lab and prepared her workspace. She was right. Someday, it was all going to catch up to him.
Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Soon, he felt for sure.
Wanting to make sure Max understood how much he appreciated the way she answered his call no matter how inconvenient, he said, “I’m sorry for dragging you out of bed and back into the lab.”
“Eh,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I was driving myself crazy with my research data and was about to lose my shit from anxiety.” She shrugged. “If I hadn’t come here, I probably would have tracked down Nate and Fox to get some of that Banana OG. Mellow my shit right out…”
“It’s illegal, Max.”
She looked around the room. “Uh, so is all of this. Like—way more illegal than a spliff.”
“Okay,” he conceded. “You have me there.”
“Speaking of Fox,” she said with a playful smile, “you should be prepared the next time you see her. She’s going to savage you after what she saw on the security cameras earlier.”
“What?” Kostya reacted in shock, more at his stupidity than anything else. Shit. The cameras!
“She says she didn’t see anything X-rated. She killed the cameras when you two started making out like a pair of horny weasels.”
&n
bsp; “Weasels?” he repeated defensively.
“Yep. Dirty, horny weasels.” Max laughed at him. “You know she’s never going to let you live this down, right?”
He clapped his head in both hands and groaned. “You girls are going to be the death of me.”
“Probably, Pops,” she said with a laugh. “Probably.”
Chapter Thirteen
YAWNING, KOSTYA PULLED into the private driveway along the rear of Nikolai’s home and punched in the gate code. He parked in his usual space and killed the engine. Worn out and desperate for sleep, he polished off the last few gulps of lukewarm and too bitter coffee in his travel mug before grabbing his leather jacket to cover his sidearm. Nikolai’s rule around the house was that all weapons had to be hidden. As far as he was concerned, it was a pointless stipulation, but he complied out of respect. Nikolai’s castle, Nikolai’s rules.
Stepping out of his car, he glanced at the gray sky and wondered if there might be rain. As he opened the wrought iron gate that separated the carriage house from the yard, he heard the unmistakable slap of paws against wet grass and cobblestones. It didn’t take him long to spot the oversized and rambunctious puppy barreling toward him. Acting quickly, he closed the gate to keep the dog from escaping the yard.
While the dog ran circles around him, he stood still and let it get used to his scent. Seeing the puppy made him think of Holly’s Christmas gift. She hadn’t mentioned it again, but he knew he had hurt her feelings by not picking out a dog yet. He didn’t like the feeling that gnawed at him for disappointing her.
Crouching down, he rubbed between the puppy’s ears and scratched its chest. He guessed the dog was forty or forty-five pounds. The huge, muddy paws that slapped at his boots and jeans suggested this dog would grow to be very large and very loud. Judging by its happy temperament, this would be a good family dog, one that would keep prowlers and other miscreants away while also being gentle and playful with the dozen children he expected Vivian to give Nikolai.
“Come on.” He whistled high and sharp at the dog to get its attention before leading it down the cobblestone path.
Nikolai waited on the back porch, leaning against a freshly painted white column in only his pajama bottoms. It was rare to see him like that, his dark tattoos stark against his paler skin. There were only a few inches of skin that lacked decoration. His body was a roadmap of misdeeds and glories, of regrets and successes, of blood and honor.
Here, in the comfort of his home, Nikolai didn’t have to hide the truth emblazoned on his skin. But it was more than a man feeling comfortable in his own home. They never spoke of the trauma Nikolai had endured as a child. That was a dark, evil secret that Nikolai would kill to keep contained. Even before he had dredged up those old secrets and discovered what had happened to Nikolai as a little boy, Kostya had always wondered if he’d been hurt.
There had always been clues in the way he carried himself. Aloof, alone, cold, distant. Those expensive suits he wore were like his armor. The tattoos he had earned doing hateful, terrible things were like his spiritual shield. Put together, he presented himself as a man above feelings and emotions.
Until Vivian, of course. She had figured out what every other woman who had vied for Nikolai’s attention had failed to see. She hadn’t tried to change him. She hadn’t tried to break down the walls that he had built to protect himself. He was too scarred and traumatized for that. She had burrowed under that icy fence, using her warmth and love to melt it away until she was tucked away inside that walled off world with her husband.
Bit by bit, the boss was softening. Standing outside at dawn, his torso bare while he watched his wife’s new puppy gallop around the yard was proof of that. There had been a time when Kostya had worried Vivian’s influence might weaken Nikolai. He had been dead wrong to even consider it. She had awakened a protective beast inside her husband. The lengths to which Nikolai would go to keep his wife and unborn child safe were boundless.
“You’re up early.” Kostya joined him on the porch and leaned against the other column. He reached into the pocket of his jacket for his pack of smokes and lighter. It was a dick move, knowing the way Nikolai craved the nicotine when he was stressed, but this morning he needed it.
“I’d rather be out here than inside cleaning puddles off the hardwood.” Nikolai leaned in as if to catch the first puff of smoke. “Giving Vee a dog might not have been my best idea. I’ve been up four times with him.”
“Sounds like good practice for fatherhood,” Kostya said in between drags. “And motherhood,” he added.
Nikolai shot him a look. “She needs to rest, not go up and down the stairs all night.”
He smiled knowingly and enjoyed that deep burn of smoke before exhaling. He wasn’t about to remind Nikolai that his wife regularly ran five miles at a time. Climbing up and down the stairs to chase after a puppy was nothing she couldn’t handle. Instead, he asked, “What are you calling it?”
“We haven’t decided.”
“You mean she hasn’t decided?”
“No, she wants me to name it,” he said as if he couldn’t understand why. Pushing off the column, he retreated to one of the wicker chairs and sat on the thick cushion. Lifting his leg, he rested his left ankle on his right knee, freely showing the bells tattooed on the top of each foot. Never one to waste time with idle talk, he asked, “Did you find him?”
Kostya dropped onto the matching chair. “Yes.”
“And?”
He gestured to his neck, silently signaling that Marco was dead.
Nikolai’s mouth tightened to a grim line. “You?”
He shook his head. “The girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes.”
It was a wrinkle neither had foreseen. “Was it clean?”
He shook his head again. “Not even close.”
“And?”
“I took care of it.” He gestured with his lighter before tucking it away in his pocket.
Nikolai frowned. He wasn’t a fan of using fire to solve problems. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“As far as I know, no one was hurt.”
“Where’s the girl now?”
“A safe house with someone I trust,” he answered carefully. “I’m going to see her later and get some answers.”
“Was Diego right? Was Marco a mole?”
“It looks that way.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “I wasn’t the only one looking for Marco last night.”
“Oh?”
“Spider beat me to the house.”
“Spider? What did he want with Marco?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t have time to talk. I was more worried about getting the girl out, cleaning the scene and making it out of the city.”
“When are you going to see him?”
“Later,” he said.
“Take someone with you,” Nikolai ordered. “I know you and Spider go way back, but he’s not one of us. We can’t trust him.”
“I’ll take the kid,” he decided. “He needs to get some more real-world experience.”
“Do you think it’s possible Spider is bent? That he’s working with Marco or the same Fed?”
“Anything is possible,” he replied. “I used to be able to sit across from you and tell you without hesitation what I knew to be true. Lately? I don’t fucking know. I’m losing my touch.”
“You’re stretched too thin. You’re tired. And you’re getting fucking old,” Nikolai remarked. “You need to find someone to work with you. You need to train one of our men to do what you do.”
“It’s not that easy, Kolya. This is the kind of work that takes years to master.”
“What about your little spiders?” Nikolai asked, holding his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment.
“What about them?” The boss knew that he had people he trusted, silent partners who helped him with jobs, but he’d never asked for their names.
“I’m sure there’s one or two of them that could be a goo
d candidate for your apprentice.”
“None of them are Russian.”
Nikolai frowned. “That’s a problem, but maybe we could get around it.”
“I don’t want any of my girls tied to the mob for the rest of their lives.”
Nikolai reacted with surprise. “Girls?”
Fuck. He tossed down his cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot before rubbing his tired eyes.
“I won’t say anything about them,” Nikolai promised. “I won’t put them at risk.”
“I’ve already done that,” he said, his voice haggard and drawn. “I never should have brought any of them into my life. None of them should be involved in this dark, dirty shit I do.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “There was just something in each of them that I recognized. Something that I knew I could use. I could mold them, teach them, turn them into something dangerous and useful.”
“But?”
“But then I started to care about them,” he confessed. Looking at Nikolai, he clarified, “Like a father. I’m the fucked-up father to a group of fucked-up orphan girls.”
“I don’t know what to say to that, Kostya.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t said to myself.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the sound of the dog running around the garden and the hum of morning insects surrounding them. Eventually, Nikolai said, “I won’t ask you their names or what they do for you, but you need to make sure there’s some way for me to find them if something happens to you. To make sure they’re safe and that they have money.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised by Nikolai’s offer, but he was. “I’ve already taken care of them. They’re all set up when I die—but I’ll make sure they know to reach out to you and how to prove they worked for me.”
“Hopefully, we won’t need to worry about any of that for a long time.”
“I’ve exceeded my shelf life,” he replied darkly. “Men in my line of work rarely see their forties.”
“You’re one of the lucky ones, I guess.”