by Juno Rushdan
The guard checked Maddox’s purse, removed a lipstick, and felt the handbag’s lining. Once satisfied, he returned her things and said, “This way.” He escorted them down a flight of stairs to the main deck and opened glass doors to the interior of the yacht.
They strolled into a swanky room that dripped money, boasting leather seating, an art deco dining table long enough for twelve, a crystal chandelier, plush carpet, and a gleaming ebony piano.
Off to their right, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the lower level.
Four bodyguards armed with submachine guns, slung over their arms under their jackets, circulated through the room. They were spread far apart. If necessary, Cole could pick one off and secure a weapon. The furniture in the room was solid, would provide cover under fire.
He noted anything in the room he could use as a weapon. Lead crystal ashtray. Champagne flute. Decorative marble obelisk on the side table. Cord from a lamp. Dining chair.
What Systema martial arts lacked in artistic fluidity it made up for in cold, buttery efficiency.
Piano music floated through the luxurious space from the far side of the room. The haunting melody tugged at his mind. Something familiar. The open top of the Steinway obscured the face of the musician, but Cole zeroed in on another exit behind him that should lead to the front of the yacht.
A stocky guy paced beside the piano, drinking champagne. His poorly tailored tux was atrocious. Looked as if a bicep might bust free any minute, while the jacket draped his plump midsection rather than being tapered to fit. The extra girth would slow the guy in a fight. Cole could take Nervous Guy with little effort, but he had a beefy companion built like a brick shithouse. Probably plus-one security. That guy would require work, but Cole would have speed on his side.
The oaf in the ill-fitted tux caught sight of Maddox, stopping in his tracks. He ogled so hard and long, his gaze Velcroed to her body, Cole felt violated for her. Any excuse would do to introduce the guy to his fist.
A third man with an athletic build, about their age—early thirties—prowled the room with singular focus. He made no eye contact with Cole, unnatural purpose in how he observed the room. Not as if afraid but as though completely resolved and considering when to strike.
That guy would be a problem.
Maddox stroked her neck, playing with the stone at her throat. Looking bored, she scoped out the room with the finesse of the spy she’d become. A part of him still had difficulty accepting that truth.
Movement near the bookcase snagged Cole’s attention. Another man seemingly materialized out of thin air.
How long had he been there watching them?
Slender and sinewy, in his fifties or sixties, the pale man glided in like a ghost. He surveilled the room, exuding something confident. Capable. This was a man proficient in delivering pain.
Cole’s shitstorm detector pinged beware.
The man crossed the room as smoothly as a shadow would into the light. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a hardened, weather-beaten face. Dark crescents stroked under the same beetle eyes as the younger guy. There was nothing clumsy or indeterminate about him.
The eerie man raked a glance over Cole, sizing him up. Quickly, too quickly, as if he already had a bead on Cole. Then the man swung his predatory gaze to Maddox, dissecting her in a way completely devoid of sexual interest.
Cold unease welled in Cole’s stomach.
Staying loose, he turned so only Maddox saw his lips and put his hand to the small of her back. “No matter what happens, stay away from those two men.”
She stepped closer, bringing them cheek to cheek, and whispered, “Who? The horror movie creepers?” Her tone was easy-breezy, but goose bumps prickling her skin told him she’d registered the threat.
“There are about ten men in this world I wouldn’t care to go up against one-on-one. Two are in this room.” He drew back, narrowing his eyes at her. Didn’t matter how much training she had—it was easy to think you were the best at something until you met the person who taught you otherwise. “Promise me you’ll stay away from them.”
She pursed her lips into a thin line. “Not a promise I can keep.”
His pulse throbbed in his temple. Beneath his muddled emotions for Maddox, there was one thing as certain as a compass needle: his determination to protect her. “Damn it, woman—”
The music stopped, and he turned toward the piano, swallowing the rest of his words.
A puff of teased white hair rose from behind the Steinway, attached to a small, lean man in his midsixties with wire-rimmed glasses. He approached Cole and Maddox in a self-assured, leisurely manner, the cut of his expensive tux flawless.
The stocky guy should take notes.
“Mr. Reznikov, welcome. I am Alexander Van Helden,” he said in a European accent, possibly Austrian. He smiled, hand extended.
Shit. Cole had come across the name once at Rubicon. This man was throwing the party, but he wasn’t the seller. He was a middleman who facilitated the tricky sale of illegal products. The guy had a firm handshake.
“Nikolai Reznikov. This is my wife, Maddie.”
“And business partner, darling.” Maddox leaned closer to Cole and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “We make all big decisions together,” she said to their host.
“Enchanté,” Van Helden said to Maddox as a white-gloved butler came over carrying a tray of glasses. “Would you care for champagne?”
“Thank you.” Maddox took a Baccarat flute.
“Nikolai. Not the Reznikov I expected.” Van Helden ran a finger across his top lip. “I heard you were dead.”
“I’m back from the grave to help my brother. He was shot this morning and was no longer inclined to attend.”
Van Helden’s eyebrows raised and he shook his head. “I abhor violence. Mr. Blackburn and Mr. Callahan won’t be joining us either. Unfortunate. I’m sure the final price would’ve been higher if they’d participated.”
“Perhaps that’s the reason they’re not here.” Maddox risked flashing a dazzling smile, but it played well.
Like crocodiles, circling, Mr. Shadow floated through the room in tandem with Mr. Singular Focus.
“Do we get to meet the seller?” Cole stroked Maddox’s arm to draw her gaze and mitigate any surprised looks in case she didn’t realize Van Helden was only a middleman.
“Afraid not.” Their host gave an exaggerated pout. “The seller wants to remain anonymous.”
Her poker face didn’t falter. “Too bad.” She sipped the golden bubbly, seemingly at complete ease.
“Nonsense,” Van Helden said. “Then I wouldn’t have his business. He wanted the product moved quickly. I provide legitimate buyers and establish a fair market value.”
Only monsters could give death a fair market value. Cole swallowed his opinion and slid his hand to Maddox’s back.
With exaggerated flair, Van Helden clasped his hands. “So fortunate you were able to attend.” He spun, facing the others, and strode to the center of the room near the dining table. “Mr. Reinhart.” He indicated the stocky guy. “Mr. Kassar.” He swept a hand toward the lethal fellow, who looked ready to slit a throat. “And Mr. Reznikov.” Van Helden looked in Cole’s direction. “Since the bidders who are still breathing have arrived, the auction shall commence.”
Slipping his hands in his pockets, Kassar stepped toward the table near Reinhart. “I propose we weed out the government agent first.” His gaze homed in on Maddox.
Something visceral clawed through Cole, clenching his muscles, setting his pulse on fire.
How in the hell could Kassar know an agent was here?
Indignation lit Van Helden’s face. “My staff have been vetted and with me for years, and I screened the bidders personally. All are legitimate and clean.”
“Did you screen her?” Kassar asked, staring at Maddox, h
is accent heavy.
“And I believe you said that Reznikov isn’t the one you invited,” said his Bond villain companion.
Yep, those two were going to be a problem.
Van Helden threw a disillusioned glance at Cole and Maddox. The four guards in the room lifted their weapons as they closed in.
Raising his palms, Cole steered Maddox behind him. Based on the way her feet stuck to the floor, he gathered she had reservations about using him as a shield.
She was going to be a problem too. Great.
“I’m offended by your implication,” Cole said. “My family is well-known. Doesn’t get more legitimate than a Reznikov.” He camouflaged a nervous breath with a cool smile.
Maddox stepped around Cole, holding her glass of champagne as if she had nothing to fear. “Kassar is the faceless arms dealer. Anyone who has been in this business long enough knows that no one has any idea what he looks like. Mr. Van Helden, can you verify this man is in fact who he claims? Two bidders have already been killed, and an attempt was made on my brother-in-law’s life. Maybe this man wants to weed out one more competitor with this insane allegation.”
Nice point, but she needed to get with the program. There was no shutting down Cole’s protective instincts, so she damn well better let him, starting by staying behind him.
Van Helden stared at Kassar. “Can you prove your identity?”
“I have millions at my disposal, ready to be wired in payment for product you’re selling.” Kassar’s eastern European accent rang through clearly. Slavic. “I have proof of funds. Do they?”
All eyes zeroed in on them. A palpable tension rose in the room.
Van Helden pressed a button under the dining table. A panel on the wall beside the piano lowered, revealing a state-of-the-art computer system. “Mr. Reinhart’s identity and financials have been verified. Mr. Kassar and Mr. Reznikov will both provide proof of funds before we proceed.”
Cole adjusted his bow tie, gliding back in front of Maddox. “If Reznikov money wasn’t good, you wouldn’t have invited us. I find this all rather insulting.” He played the outrage card without overselling it.
Van Helden snapped erect as though someone had pulled a string through his spine. “Mr. Kassar raises a valid concern. Your wife hasn’t been vetted, and for that matter, your brother was invited. Not you. An interested buyer, whomever he may be, I welcome. A government agent, not so much. I wish to see your financials. Now.”
“Once we win the bid,” Cole said, “you’ll have all the proof you need with our payment. Shall we get started?”
The white-haired man narrowed his eyes, a rosy pink darkening his cheeks. “I don’t think so.” He waved to the armed guards already converging in a tight formation. “Take them below. Separate them. I don’t want them talking to each other and ironing out their stories. I’ll deal with them after the auction.”
“Do keep a special eye on her.” A maniacal grin illuminated Kassar’s face—the first flicker of emotion he’d shown. His companion held them with a beastly stare.
It was a cold burn in Cole’s gut. Somehow, Kassar knew for certain Maddox was an agent—officer. If there was a fucking leak in the Gray Box, that meant serious trouble for them beyond their current predicament.
The four thick-necked thugs with guns surrounded them, and Cole’s hands clenched to fists. With the guards clustered and poised to quash resistance, a move now would work against them. Maddox cupped his forearm, giving him a clear sign not to act. She must’ve assessed the situation the same.
The guards directed them toward the staircase he’d seen earlier. Right side of the room near the bookcase. Cole put his hand to Maddox’s lower back and edged forward. Two mercs cut in front, leading the way below. The other two covered their six, one nudging Cole with the barrel of an MP7.
As they descended in single file down the narrow, spiral staircase, Cole slipped the pen from his pocket and held it close to his leg. Maddox took her lipstick from her purse and tucked it into her bra.
The stairs opened onto a smaller sitting room, outfitted with the same luxury as the one above. An additional security guard was posted. Two against five. The guards had their weapons attached to slings over their shoulders underneath their jackets. Wouldn’t be easy to get his hands on a gun, but the odds needed leveling.
“Take her to Van Helden’s quarters,” said the biggest guard, nodding at the two goons closest to Maddox. “We’ll secure him in the gym.”
Cole grabbed her forearm with his free hand. “My wife stays with me.”
The one who’d spouted orders, standing at six five and at least two-twenty of pure muscle, pushed right up to Cole.
“It’s okay, darling. Let’s do as they say.” Maddox put her hand to his chest, throwing him a stern look.
This wasn’t the time for her to prove she was a badass secret agent. Five capable, armed men surrounded them. Two more on the deck above, no idea how many other guards were on the yacht. They still didn’t have eyes on the bioweapon, and that creepy motherfucker with the damn Joker grin was roaming loose upstairs with his serial-killer sidekick.
“You’re staying with me,” Cole said.
“I hope you gentlemen don’t mind,” she said, removing her shoes and holding them low. “These heels are killer.”
Maddox’s thumbs moved so quickly, Cole barely tracked her flicking the little black end caps from the tips of her heels, and at the same time, she stepped closer to stand over them. Her hands blocked the guards’ angle of view.
“I’ll be fine. They’ll verify this is all a mistake soon enough. Trust me.” She kissed his cheek. “See you soon.”
How could she expect him to let her go off alone with a freaking merc?
Microseconds ticked down. A blueprint of premeditated violence floated into place. Clear. Precise.
One of those slimy meatheads put his hand on her arm.
Declaration of war.
Cole swiveled, facing the big guard. He thrust the pen into the soft sweet spot under the guy’s chin, up into his mouth. Once. Twice. Then he jammed it hard into the throat.
The big guy staggered. Blood spurted beneath his chin and a garbled noise bubbled out of him. He toppled backward to the floor.
In his peripheral vision, Cole glimpsed Maddox in motion. Grasping both shoes in her left hand, she’d whirled on the guard behind her, ramming the base of her right palm up into his nose, hard and fast. Then she followed up with a swift fist to the solar plexus. The man doubled over, bleeding and breathless.
Keep moving. Don’t stop. His heart pounded off the rails. He popped the guard closest in the throat with a snap punch, compressing the windpipe. A game-ending blow. The guy was done.
The guard to his left lifted his gun. Cole grabbed his necklace and lunged, whipping the steel ball bearings across the guard’s gun hand and lashing at his head.
Gasping, eyes bulging, the man stumbled, his bell properly rung.
With the heel of his foot, Cole struck the guy’s knee. Bone snapped. The wheezing merc dropped. Cole slammed his knee into his face, sending him crashing to the floor.
No time to wrangle the gun loose from the strap, he spun to help Maddox.
The guard who’d passed her to head for Cole had pivoted back, realizing she was a serious threat. Bad move. She walloped him with the heels of her shoes. Face, throat, hands that’d lifted to protect himself. Once he was bleeding and on the defensive in full retreat, she threw a swift front kick to his head, propelling him toward Cole.
Cole sent an elbow sailing hard into the side of the guard’s head. The man jerked and dropped in a boneless sprawl.
As Cole unclipped the HK MP7 from the sling strapped to a fallen guard, the merc behind Maddox recovered from the solar plexus hit and lunged for her.
No way for her to stop the tackle—basic physics. Checking a larger op
ponent coming quickly would be tough.
Everything happened at lightning speed. The shoes slipped from her hands. She struck his shoulders downward with her fists and flowed into a guillotine hold—locking her forearm up against his trachea. Fast, she moved so fast. Using the momentum and his substantial mass to her advantage, she drove her knees into his abdomen as they went to the ground. She rolled straight back and flipped him over with her legs while keeping an iron grip on his throat.
His neck snapped.
Basic physics.
Admiration swelled in his chest. She was a badass warrior. Fearless. Deadly.
Probably a bit sick, but her skills were a total turn-on.
He offered a hand, not that she needed his help from the floor.
“We’re blown. Are you guys getting this?” Maddox said in the mic hidden in her necklace, clutching her right side as if she’d been injured, though he hadn’t seen her take a hit. She nodded, listening to whoever responded in her ear. “They’re inbound.”
“Good. Things are about to heat up.”
She pressed a hand to her ribs.
“Did you get hurt?”
“I’m okay.” She unclipped a gun from one of the guys on the ground and whipped toward Cole, eyes ablaze. “The next time I tell you I’ll be fine, you need to trust me and do as I say.”
Really? She couldn’t wait to give him shit. “Duly noted.”
More armed guards stormed toward the glass doors on the far side of the room. Cole grabbed Maddox by the arm and yanked her behind a sofa as the doors opened.
She glared, pulling her arm free. “I know how to take cover.”
“I can’t help it. Don’t ask a man not to act like a man.”
“Don’t ask an operative not to do her job. You’re worse than Castle.”
Now that was crossing a line. “Hold on a minute—”
Ear-shattering gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the room.
Chapter 14
International Waters, Atlantic Ocean
7:42 p.m. EDT
Poised in readiness, Aleksander waited for the moment to strike. The rattle of thunderous gunfire from the deck below peppered the quiet of the parlor. A shameful amount of ammunition wasted. A talented security team would’ve ended this by now.