by Elle Kennedy
“You said something about a run-in with a competitor? What exactly does that mean? Were you working a job for Noelle and someone else interfered?”
“Why do you care so much? Can’t you just trust me when I say it’s nothing for you to worry about?”
“Can’t you just trust me enough to offer a few measly details?” he countered.
Argh. The frustration returned, lodging in her throat like a piece of gum. She didn’t understand Morgan’s men and their need to throw themselves into matters that didn’t concern them. Kane Woodland had done it with Juliet’s colleague Abby a couple of years ago, inserting himself into Abby’s mission, and Morgan seemed to call on Isabel whenever he needed someone to do undercover work for him.
And whenever those dudes found themselves in a jam, they had no qualms about reaching out to anyone they could.
Juliet never asked for help. She was even loath to contact Noelle when shit went south, only doing so as a last resort. And truth be told, “favors” aside, she’d helped Morgan’s team last year because her boss had instructed her to, not out of the goodness of her heart. In Juliet’s world, people looked out only for themselves, and when they came to your aid, it was only because they wanted something in return.
Well, she didn’t want to owe any favors, and she certainly didn’t trust anyone to look out for her. She’d been taking care of herself since she was five years old. Whatever obstacles she encountered, she was perfectly capable of facing them alone. She would be the one to avenge her brother. She owed him that.
“Look, if you’re worried I’m going to interfere or pass judgment, don’t be.” Ethan’s quiet voice broke through her thoughts. “I just want to know what happened.” He paused. “I won’t even offer to help with whatever it is you’re planning, not unless you ask me to.”
She heaved out another sigh. “You really won’t leave unless I tell you, huh?”
He just grinned.
Damn it, he looked cute when he grinned. Boyish. Which only cemented the fact that he was, essentially, a boy. In theory, the six-year age difference between them wasn’t that huge, but Juliet had always felt older than her years. At six years old, she was already preparing meals for herself and her foster siblings. At ten, she was shopping for groceries. At twelve, she was working illegally at a dry-cleaning place to pay for her foster dad’s booze.
And at thirty-one, she felt ancient. Far too hardened and embittered for someone as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Ethan Hayes.
Not that she was interested in the guy or anything.
“Fine, I’ll tell you,” she grumbled. “But only if you promise to get lost afterward.”
He chuckled. “So eager to get rid of me, aren’t you? My feelings are hurt.”
“Too bad. Now, pay attention, because I’m only saying this once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She ignored the mock salute he gave her. “My brother and his fiancée were gunned down a few days ago.”
Surprise flickered in Ethan’s eyes. “Oh. All right. I wasn’t expecting that.” He paused again. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
At the thought of Henry, her chest clenched with despair, but she forced herself to move past it. “When I visited my brother in the hospital, he described—”
“Wait. Your brother survived?”
“For a day. And then he died.” Her heart squeezed. “Anyway, Henry described the gunman to me, and when he told me about the way his fiancée had died, I knew immediately that it had been a hit. Two bullets to her temples, one between the eyes. There’s only one contract killer I know of with that signature. So I tracked him down.”
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. “You tracked him down just like that? Who is he?”
“A man named Victor Grechko. Aka, the Siberian Wolf. He was well-known in assassin circles,” she said ironically.
“Was?”
“Let’s just say Grechko is no longer a card-carrying member of the killer club.”
“You eliminated him.” There was no judgment in Ethan’s voice.
“Yes, but not before I persuaded him to reveal who hired him.”
Suspicion crossed Ethan’s expression. “And how’d you do that?”
She kept her answer vague. “A lady never tells.”
“Okay, so what you are telling me is that someone put out a hit on your brother and his fiancée—”
“Just the fiancée,” she cut in. “Zoya Harkova was the target. Henry was a casualty. He wasn’t supposed to be home that evening. When he showed up unexpectedly, the Wolf pumped him full of lead and got the hell out of there.”
The pain returned like a flash flood, filling every inch of her body. Henry was dead. God, a part of her wished she was still feverish and unaware. At least then she could remain oblivious to the fact that the only person who’d ever truly cared about her was dead.
“Who was the fiancée?” Ethan asked briskly. “Why was she targeted?”
“I think it has something to do with her father. He works for the Ministry of Justice, but he’s not a major political player, so I can’t figure out why anyone would want to kill his daughter.”
“Did Grechko shed any light on it?”
“Nope. Most assassins don’t question a client’s motives. They just take the money.” She frowned. “Grechko said he was given Zoya’s name and ordered to kill her. And she wasn’t the only one he bumped off—apparently he’d already completed several jobs for the client, starting about eight months ago.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “How long did it take you to break him?”
His question triggered the memory of Grechko’s screams. Those low howls of pain that had left the man’s throat after he’d realized she wasn’t messing around. The metallic scent of blood, along with the odor of smoke and urine, suddenly filled her nostrils, accompanied by another memory—one of Grechko’s head being thrown back when she’d finally put a much-deserved bullet in it.
“Three hours or so,” she said without a trace of emotion. “I gave him a choice—if he talked, I’d kill him fast. If he didn’t, I’d take my time. But either way he was going to die.”
Ethan let out a soft whistle. “No mercy, huh?”
“He killed my brother,” she said coldly. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if it had been one of your men.”
To her surprise, he didn’t utter a denial. “I would’ve killed him in a heartbeat. But . . . I guess I’m having a tough time picturing you torturing a man. Not many people are capable of such brutality, even when it’s necessary.”
“I’m capable of a lot of things.” She met his gaze head-on. “Try not to forget that, kiddo.”
He didn’t object to the nickname, but his nostrils did flare in irritation for a moment. “I take it he chose not to talk at first?”
“No, not at first. I only had to cut off one finger before he changed his mind.”
She’d revealed the gruesome detail in an attempt to shock him, but Ethan didn’t even blink. Instead, he clasped his hands in his lap and said, “So, who’s the client? Who hired Grechko to kill Zoya?”
Juliet hesitated.
“Oh, come on. Don’t hold out on me now. Who was Grechko working for?”
She let out an uneven breath. “Are you familiar with Dmitry Orlov?”
He looked startled. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“You’ve heard of him, then.”
“Who hasn’t?” Ethan shook his head in dismay. “No way. You can’t get tangled up with that man. He’s corrupt to shit.”
Ethan wasn’t exaggerating. Of all the corrupt politicians on the globe, Dmitry Orlov made Juliet’s top ten Don’t Mess With list. The minister of defense in Belarus, he was a smooth, attractive man on the surface with the reputation of a coldhearted psycho beneath it. Whenever someone in the government opposed him, that
person mysteriously disappeared or wound up dead in a Dumpster—deaths that always went unsolved because Orlov had the head of the police force in his pocket.
Back when she stole for a living, Juliet had made many trips to Eastern Europe and had heard her fair share of stories about Dmitry Orlov. According to her sources, Orlov had a tendency to use heavy-handed tactics to get his way, but he’d become drastically more violent since he’d lost his son in a terrorist attack that had dominated every global media outlet. The man’s antiterrorist stance had only strengthened since then, and he now went to any lengths to eliminate threats to his country or his position of power. Blackmail, murder, rape, torture—the man had no qualms about using whatever method was available in order to achieve his goals.
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with here,” she replied with a shrug. “Orlov is a violent maniac.”
“Which is why you should stay away from him.”
“Not gonna happen, kiddo. He’s responsible for my brother’s death.”
“Are you sure Grechko was telling you the truth?”
“He had no reason to lie. He said he met with Orlov personally at Orlov’s private estate.” When she saw Ethan’s dubious face, she went on. “Orlov is known to use outside contractors—it’s no secret he doesn’t have much trust in his own government—and he wouldn’t have been worried about Grechko talking out of turn. It wasn’t in Grechko’s best interest to advertise his arrangement with Orlov, not if he wanted to keep collecting millions by killing for the guy.”
“I see your point, but I still don’t get why Orlov needed a pet hit man to begin with. Who were the other targets Grechko eliminated for him?”
“He told me the names of the targets he’d already hit, and three that he hadn’t taken care of yet. Grechko said he’s been on standby for Orlov this past year. He doesn’t move on the target until Orlov orders him to.”
“Do you remember all the names?”
“I put them in my phone. Grab it for me, will ya? It should be in my duffel. You know, the bag that’s sitting by your feet.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You thought I wouldn’t notice that you’ve been keeping my gear near you at all times?”
“For my own protection,” he shot back. Then he set his mug on the small table between the two armchairs and bent over to unzip the duffel.
When he pulled out a silver BlackBerry and held it up, she shook her head. “No, not that one. That’s my second phone.”
He came up with a black Samsung Galaxy next.
“Not that one either.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Let me guess. That’s your third phone.”
She shrugged as if to say so what?
When Ethan retrieved an iPhone in a sturdy black case, she nodded. “Jackpot. The password is two-nine-three-seven. Go into the notes folder, under the tab ‘grocery list.’”
Ethan’s fingers swept over the touch screen, his eyebrows drawn in concentration as he read the contents of Grechko’s hit list.
“Did you vet the names yet?”
“When would I have had time to vet them? I’ve been in an infection-induced stupor for the past couple of days. I was planning on asking Paige to check them out.”
Ethan studied the screen, a deep frown creasing his mouth. “Okay. Well, it’ll be easy to gather intel about the nine dead targets, but they’re not our biggest concern.”
“Our concern? As in, we both have a vested interest in this?”
He gave her a pointed look. “The three remaining names are the important ones. We have to track them down and warn them.”
Juliet stared at him. “Why would we do that?”
“Because they have contracts out on their heads.” He shook his head, looking frazzled. “They’re in danger, Juliet. Don’t you think they need protection?”
Oh, brother.
What was it with Morgan’s crew and their need to save the damn world? Some of her own colleagues were the same way, Abby and Isabel, in particular, but for the life of her, she didn’t understand why they felt it was their duty to rescue every poor, victimized soul in their vicinity.
“I’m not a bodyguard, kiddo.”
“My name is Ethan,” he cut in, steel in his voice.
“Sorry. I’m not a bodyguard, rookie. I’m not risking my neck for a bunch of strangers.”
“But you’ll risk your neck to kill Orlov?”
She cocked her head. “Who says I’m planning to kill Orlov?”
Ethan chuckled, deep and derisive. “You’re telling me you’re not going to get revenge on the man who’s responsible for your brother’s death? I didn’t even know you had a brother, by the way.”
“That’s because you don’t know me.” Aggravation clamped around her throat like a vise. “We don’t know each other, which means I don’t owe you any explanations or have an obligation to share my plans with you.”
“You don’t have to share a damn thing. I know you’re going after Orlov.” He released an aggravated breath. “And it looks like I’ll be going after Orlov’s targets.”
“There’s no reason for you to get involved. Once I eliminate Orlov, the targets will probably be safe.”
“Probably being the operative word. What if Orlov left orders for someone else to kill them if he dies? Or if he’s already hired another hit man to get rid of them?”
She opened her mouth, prepared to argue about the utter stupidity of him getting mixed up in this insanity, but then she changed her mind. If Ethan wanted to stick his neck out for total strangers, let him. She had her own agenda, and she damn well intended to follow through on it.
Orlov had killed Henry. She would kill Orlov. End of story.
Except . . . aw, hell. Was that teeny pang in her stomach guilt?
It’s not guilt. It’s pain. You got shot.
Yeah, that was probably it. Of course she didn’t feel guilty. She had no reason to.
“Fine. Well, it’s your prerogative,” she said nonchalantly. “Warn them. Take them all to Morgan’s awesome new bachelor pad if you want. Just don’t expect me to tag along.”
Of all the reactions she could have received, the disappointment in Ethan’s hazel eyes was not one she’d anticipated. No anger, no annoyance, not even disapproval.
Nope, he looked disappointed, as if he’d expected more from her and she’d truly let him down.
This time, the twinge she experienced was most definitely guilt.
“You really don’t care if three innocent people die?” Ethan asked quietly.
Juliet swallowed, then donned a careless face. “Nope.”
“Fine.” His tone became businesslike. “Get your girl Paige on the phone and have her check out every person on that list. As soon as we get the intel, we’ll go our separate ways.” An edge crept into his voice. “I’ll be heading off to save lives, and you’ll be going to take one. I guess that’s what we call irony, huh?”
Chapter 5
It was past one a.m. and Ethan was stretched out on the floor, feeling wide-awake and restless. It had been a ridiculously lazy day that involved too much sitting around as they’d waited for Paige to get back to them. Although he and Juliet had done some research of their own, gathering basic intelligence about the individuals on Grechko’s list, Juliet’s tech-savvy colleague was capable of conducting the kind of deep background searches they required.
Unfortunately, Paige still hadn’t gotten in touch, and Ethan was now lying here after a long day of doing nothing, while Juliet slept on the bed. She’d been sleeping on and off during the day, which had surprised him. He’d figured he’d have to force her to rest the way he usually did with his teammates. Whenever they got injured, the men on Morgan’s team griped and complained about being bed bound, demanding to return to action even if they weren’t fully capable of it yet.
But Juliet was smarter when it came to her recovery. She knew that she needed to regain her strength if she wanted to go forward with her plan.
Her plan to kill the minister of defense.
Jesus. Talk about ambitious.
Not that he was worried or anything. Truth was, he had no doubt that Juliet could achieve her crazy goal. When you worked for Noelle you picked up a few tricks, and though he didn’t know much about Juliet’s previous assignments, he was confident that getting to Orlov would be an easy feat for the woman.
As for him, he couldn’t in good conscience leave the country until he tracked down the three people Victor Grechko hadn’t gotten around to killing. He didn’t know who they were, but clearly they were important if Dmitry Orlov wanted them dead.
Too many questions ran through his mind, but Ethan tried not to get hung up on them. Like Juliet, he had to pick one objective, and the three innocent people with targets on their backs were the priority he’d chosen to focus on.
Apparently he wasn’t destined to have a vacation. All he’d wanted was two weeks of peaceful, relaxing me-time, and somehow he’d wound up in Eastern Europe, about to play bodyguard to three strangers.
Life was weird sometimes.
“Goddamn you!”
Juliet’s angry outburst penetrated the silence.
The sheets rustled, the mattress squeaking as she moved around on the bed. Fortunately, the room was dark, which meant he couldn’t see her booty shorts and black sports bra—the indecent outfit she’d been wearing when she’d waltzed out of the bathroom earlier without a shred of modesty. His body, of course, had instantly reacted, but if she’d noticed the bulge in his pants, she hadn’t commented on it.
“What did I do?” Ethan asked in amusement. “I’ve just been lying here quietly.”
Rather than explain the abrupt indictment, she let out a resigned sigh. “You remind me of Henry.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“A little bit of both, I guess.” An unmistakable chord of sorrow rang in her voice. “He wasn’t my real brother, you know. We weren’t blood related.”