Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  He watched through night glasses as Jonas Harrington came into view. Jonas wasn't alone, and Ilya recognized Aleksandr Volstov just from the way the man moved. They halted at the appointed meeting place, and with one last look around, he went to join them.

  "What part of 'come alone' didn't you understand?" he asked Jonas.

  Joley's brother-in-law looked him up and down, his expression a mixture of wariness and respect. Jonas was a man who couldn't be bought, had intense loyalties and would charge hell with a bucket of water if need be. Ilya liked and respected him almost as much as he did Aleksandr. He knew Volstov was engaged to another of Joley's sisters. The man had been a policeman in Russia and then later worked for Interpol.

  "What the hell are you doing with Joley?" Jonas demanded.

  "This meeting is about our mutual problem with Nikitin, not about Joley. That subject is off-limits," Ilya decreed.

  Joley had been safely locked up in a hotel room for the last three days, away from him, and he hadn't realized until that moment how much it disturbed him that she wouldn't see him. She hadn't responded the times he'd whisper to her, shamelessly using his voice through their telepathic link, although he'd known she was awake and could hear him.

  "My ass, it's off limits," Jonas snarled. "You're not going to hurt Joley without getting the pounding of your life. I could care less if you scare everyone on three continents, you don't scare me. Stay the hell away from my sister."

  Aleksandr put a restraining hand on Jonas's arm, giving Ilya a clue as to why he was there. Jonas was a hothead when it came to the Drake sisters. He'd been protecting them all of his life.

  Ilya found Joley both maddening and endearing in her fight to stay away from him. He knew she thought she was running because of his reputation. His refusal to disclose his past had been another excuse. She feared turning her life, her body, her heart over to him. He knew what her needs were, and that embarrassed her, terrified her, because he would make certain they were met and she was fiercely independent. She didn't want to need him. She didn't even want to want him. He hoped she craved him, thought of him night and day the way he did her, because right now, that was all he had to entice her with--sex--and his voice.

  Ilya shrugged. "I'm going to marry Joley, so you'd better get used to the idea of having me around."

  "She know that?" Jonas asked, somewhat mollified.

  "Not yet. She has a few issues with me."

  "Don't you hurt her."

  Ilya's eyebrow shot up, and for a moment his tough features were stamped with sheer arrogance. "I have no intentions of hurting Joley. And we're done with the subject."

  More of the tension drained out of Jonas. "I'm not going to ask who you work for, Ilya, but you're in a bad position. Aleksandr's been hearing rumors from a few friends at Interpol that Nikitin is one of the main traffickers of women and children into Brussels and Indochina. If that's true, and his reputation is growing throughout Europe, then you're smack in the middle of a time bomb. Nikitin is spending so much time in the States that he's in danger of losing his stronghold. They'll be a war soon, and with every side thinking you're the enemy, you're going to be the number one target."

  Aleksandr agreed. "Nikitin is spending way too much time here; he's been doing business, and he's made a few enemies, cutting into territories. He's got trouble on two fronts."

  Ilya nodded. "I was afraid of that. I need information fast. I can't go through my usual channels so I'm asking for help."

  Aleksandr snorted in derision at the tone of his old friend. "That must be hard."

  Ilya sent him a look. "Nikitin is gay. He doesn't like women or little children, never has, they represent money and power to him, nothing else. He isn't sampling his products, he just sends them down the line fast."

  "Are you sure?" Jonas asked. "Because Joley..."

  "Not Joley. It's never been Joley. She's his cover. We've known that for some time. He recruited at least one of her crew members to help him move young girls, but his main interest is one of the band members--he's in love. I know you have someone undercover, working the other end to find the routes and the girls. I need to know if she's safe and out of the way because this thing is going to blow up in our faces."

  Jonas and Aleksandr exchanged a long look. "Who are you talking about? Interpol has someone inside?"

  Swift impatience crossed Ilya's face. "I'm coming clean with you at the risk of my life, not only my life, but blowing years of undercover work, not to mention taking down a major human trafficking ring. I'm asking you to do the same. If she was working for Interpol, I wouldn't need you reaching out, now would I? Where is she? Is she out yet?"

  "She?" Jonas was beginning to have an idea of just who Ilya was referring to. "Tell me Elle Drake is not in any way involved in this mess. Do you think Elle is working undercover trying to bring down this network? What have you heard?"

  "You tell me. Nikitin is unstable at best, and now he's crazy. Joley tipped her band friend off, and the idiot did the noble thing and broke up with Nikitin. Nikitin knows the heat's come down on his human trafficking routes. On top of that, Joley spotted some of the young girls with a couple of her crew members. Nikitin had one of the roadies killed, and did it nice and ugly to scare the other one, but if he loses his lover, his route and everything else he considers his because of Joley, he'll try to wipe out her and everyone close to her. If he gets an inkling Elle's anywhere near him, she'll be the first to go, and he'll make certain she suffers a long time before she's killed. I need to get her out if she isn't already gone."

  "Honestly, Prakenskii, I have no idea where Elle is or who she's working for." Jonas swore in frustration. "Do you have enough evidence on Nikitin to take him down?"

  "I can take down his routes, and most of his people, but he's never tied directly to anything and he always, always, has an alibi. He's got another layer above the one I've compromised, and I need them to make sure the trafficking is closed off for good here. Otherwise, I cut off one head and another grows back. It would take years to get that one and I don't have that much time."

  "Jackson can get word to her. They've always been able to connect," Jonas said. "I honestly don't know what Elle's doing. I was fairly certain it involved undercover work, because Jackson's been restless and edgy lately and Elle's disappeared again."

  "See if he can get word to her to get out for a while. Any excuse. I don't care how close she thinks she is to shutting things down, she has to get clear. I can't control or guess what Nikitin will do, but he has a tendency to resolve issues with violence."

  "Joley has to come home where we can protect her," Jonas said.

  "Joley can't go home without finishing her tour. As long as Nikitin is following the band, he'll think he has a chance to put things back together with his lover. The moment she pulls out, he's going to know he's blown and it won't matter anymore. I'm not throwing away years of work, Harrington. I can protect Joley from Nikitin. If I have to, I'll kill him, but I've got to get to his first line of people or all this has been for nothing."

  Jonas exchanged another long look with Aleksandr. "Joley only has two performances here in southern California and two in northern California before she's finished. Time's running out, Prakenskii."

  Ilya nodded. "I'm aware of that."

  "You can't have her and keep up with this kind of work, Ilya. She's an all-or-nothing girl. She's never fallen in love before. She's wanted to, but she doesn't give her trust to anyone. If you're that man, you can't walk away from her. It would destroy her."

  Joley was afraid of giving too much of herself and not surviving if something went wrong. Jonas didn't have to tell him that. He already knew it, because he felt the same way. But he wasn't going to run from his only chance at happiness. Joley had a family, he didn't. Joley had people who made her laugh and could share her troubles. He didn't.

  "I wouldn't presume to tell you how best to take care of Hannah."

  "The difference is, Joley's my sister. I've love
d her since she was born." Jonas refused to back down.

  "You'll just have to trust me then," Ilya said and pulled on a thin pair of leather gloves. He drew a very small but wicked-looking knife from a hidden sheath, palming the handle, blade up against his wrist. "Get out of here. We're about to have company, and no one can know you were here."

  Aleksandr crouched low, pulling his weapon. "You got any backup here, Ilya?"

  Ilya shook his head. "And you can't stay. If anyone spots you, it could tip them off. It was a risk calling you. And get me as much information on John Dylan as you can, as fast as you can. I put it through channels, but they're going to take some time."

  "You got it," Jonas agreed. "But we're not leaving you to get killed."

  "I don't kill so easy," Ilya said, his voice dropping even lower. "Get out so I don't have to worry about you. With the two of you gone, any movement means an enemy in the field, and I don't have to worry about fucking up."

  Aleksandr nodded. "He's always worked alone, Jonas, we'll just be in the way."

  Ilya watched the two of them slip away into the darkness. He took a deep breath and let it out. He'd deliberately lost the two men trailing him once inside the park so he could have a few moments to speak with Jonas, but he was prepared for a confrontation--in fact, he welcomed it.

  Joley's distance had left him edgy and surly inside, his body demanding hers. The more she refused to speak to him, the more he whispered to her, seducing her day and night with his voice. It was a powerful tool, the one he could always fall back on when all else failed. Hunting would let him expend a little of that excess energy.

  The trees weren't wide enough to hide his shoulders, and he preferred not using the heavier brush because there was more chance to make noise. He dropped low and moved with care toward the sound of approaching footsteps. A shadow lengthened and grew across the grass, as the man approached. He wore all black. He had two guns out and ready, holding them sideways. Joley would have laughed and said the man watched too many movies. It made Ilya want to smile to think of her, and somehow just the thought of her made him warm.

  He stayed prone waiting for the man to come to him. As the shadow approached, he heard the soft hum of a radio and stiffened. The man was communicating with someone else. Ilya spoke several languages and manipulated sound easily. He could talk with perfect accents and imitate voices exactly after one hearing. His pitch was so perfect that when using audio scanners, it was impossible to tell the difference between his voice and whoever he was copying.

  He let the man move past him. Rising up, Ilya covered the man's mouth and shoved a knife deep into his kidney. The guns dropped to the ground, and Ilya retrieved the radio, slipping it into his ear. He heard the buzz of voices. Not one more man after him, but several. They'd sent a team to kill him, and that told him they knew his reputation. This wasn't some idiot crew member of Joley's thinking he could protect himself by grabbing a couple of buddies and trying to off the bodyguard. This was a professional hit.

  Nikitin had too many enemies. He was a highly intelligent man, and if Interpol knew a war was shaping up for Nikitin's turf, then so did Nikitin. Unless Ilya's cover was blown, the Russian mob boss would never order a hit on him. And Ilya doubted if anyone could unravel his cover. Aleksandr had known him most of his life, and he hadn't known for certain until they'd crossed paths recently and Ilya had allowed him glimpses into his real life.

  Being alone for so many years had become wearing, and after a while, undercover agents really began to believe their own cover stories. He had wanted Aleksandr and Jonas Harrington to figure out who and what he was. If there was one man in the world he trusted, it was Aleksandr, and now that he'd come to know Jonas, he was beginning to believe there might be second man he could trust. So if his cover wasn't blown, then who wanted him dead--and why?

  The attackers had spread out in a loose line. Ilya had taken out one in the center, but there were men on either side of him, working their way across the park. One appeared to be giving the others instructions. The voice was speaking English perfectly. There was no hint of an accent, other than New York. No European, certainly not Russian. The man he'd killed had also been American.

  He pushed through the grass on his belly, rolled a few feet and came up on a second man. This one was much larger than the first. Ilya rose up like a monster, using the same method, taking him from behind, covering his mouth and sinking the blade into flesh. His opponent was enormously strong and wrenched forward, trying to tear out of Ilya's grip. He fired his weapon, making it no longer necessary for silence.

  Ilya caught the man's head in both hands and wrenched, breaking the would-be assassin's neck. He crouched beside him, retrieving his knife and wiping the blade on his enemy's shirt. Having shoved the knife into his belt, he pulled his gun and proceeded to run in a straight line toward the next man. Two down. He was certain there were six of them. The other four burst into a furious round of hissing out questions and orders while he gained several yards on them.

  He was adept at throwing sound and made certain to make noise to his left. A volley of shots rang out. He fired at the flash, heard a grunt followed by a thud. Ilya dropped to the ground when he heard the body fall. Immediately more gunfire broke out. The earpiece nearly burst as the leader shouted at the others to stop firing, warning them they might hit one another.

  Two men nearly came together over the top of him; he rolled to fire off a shot as one fired simultaneously. The bullet kissed his arm hard enough to knock him back, taking a chunk of flesh with it. That would leave DNA he didn't want on scene. Cursing, he rolled and came up on his feet. The man who'd shot him was down, the bullet having taken him between the eyes. The second was on him, swinging a gun at Ilya's head.

  He ducked, just not quite fast enough. The metal scraped across his cheekbone as Ilya jerked his head out of the way.

  He kicked hard, aiming for a kneecap, striking just above his target. The man grunted, staggered, his leg buckling. Ilya caught him hard with a roundhouse kick to the head, driving him to the ground. He followed through with a kick to the trachea, stomping hard. The man's eyes went wide and the gun slipped out of his nerveless hand.

  Ilya hastily tore his shirt and wrapped the wound on his arm to prevent throwing more droplets of blood around the crime scene. Four down. He had two to go and he had to kill them. He couldn't leave anyone alive, since he had only spotted the first two after him. He didn't know if anyone had seen Jonas Harrington and Aleksandr Volstov, but if they had, his cover was blown and Joley was a dead woman for certain.

  He retrieved the fallen's man's gun, the one that had struck his cheek, ripping his skin. He couldn't leave that on scene either. That would have to be dismantled and gotten rid of far away from here. Tucking it into his belt, he began to move again.

  The others were more cautious in the sudden silence. One swore, the other told him to shut up. Ilya slipped into the trees close to the playground. He could see childhood toys, a swing, a slide, a merry-go-round. Not that he'd ever played on such things. He'd climbed cargo nets over two stories high and scaled the walls of buildings, but he'd never even sat in a swing. His life had always been like this--hunted or hunter.

  He waited, calm, not feeling the pain in his arm or face. The only thing that mattered was sound and movement. The wind was soft, rustling through trees, lifting the leaves to show glimpses of silver when the moon managed to break through the clouds. In the distance he heard traffic. In his ear, with the earpiece, he heard heavy breathing. A twig snapped a few yards to his right. He slowly lowered his body, keeping close to the brush to conceal his outline, turning toward the sound, waiting. Just waiting.

  It occurred to him then that he'd spent most of his lifetime waiting in the shadows for someone to make a wrong move. He was done after this assignment, done with undercover work and living a solitary, cold existence. He was through killing people. He wished the killing mattered, that it bothered him, but he had been closed off to emotion f
or too long to resurrect guilt now. Undercover work, or taking out someone who lived beyond the arm of the law, was simply a job, and he had a code he tried never to deviate from, one that he could live with in a world of violence. He had a couple of triggers and his bosses knew it. The mistreatment of women and of children. He had seen too much as a child and wouldn't tolerate it, so he was often sent on the jobs demanding cleanup rather than arrest. Like the one he was on now.

  The branches of a bush swayed against the wind. Another twig snapped. Loud. Too loud. He turned fast, felt the knife slice across his ribs as he slapped it down and away from him. A second attacker had come up behind him. The only reason the strike hadn't hit home was because Ilya was blurring his image a bit and his assailant hadn't seen him until he was right up on him. He'd swung a knife instead of firing his gun.

  Ilya kicked the man's gun arm, smashing through bone, moving inside to whirl the attacker in front of him, facing the swaying bush. Bullets spat out and thunked into his human shield. Ilya dragged the deadweight with him until he had relative cover. He dropped the body, dove for the ground and crawled rapidly into thicker brush. The moment he was clear, he tore a strip from his shirt with his teeth and bound his wound.

  He waited in silence again. Minutes ticked by. The shots were bound to have attracted someone's attention. He didn't have the luxury of patience. He began to work his way toward the remaining man. He could still hear heavy breathing, this time rasping, as the air burst from lungs overtaxed with anxiety.

  The last attacker decided to make a run for it. He began to withdraw, backing through the brush, cracking small branches and crunching dry leaves. Ilya pinpointed his position and rolled toward him fast, coming up firing several shots in rapid succession. The attacker hunched over on the ground. Ilya crawled close, still covering him. A finger on the man's neck found no pulse. Ilya spent a few minutes looking for the knife that had scraped his ribs, retrieving it so he could leave a relatively clean scene behind.