“Anything else?”
“Nikolai is wealthy, I know that.” She didn’t bother to add that she now knew her father-in-law to be corrupt as hell.
Cody regarded her with eyes narrowed. “So you claim to know nothing?”
His challenge hit her like a slap in the face. “The sheriff,” she said, “can help sort all of this out.”
“One more thing before we go. Tell me what you know about Peter Belkin.”
Viktoria opened her mouth, ready to insist that he stop grilling her and just point her toward Telluride, then her jaw clamped shut.
Peter Belkin.
The man on the walkie-talkie had said they were following Belkin’s orders. Viktoria had told Cody that she knew Belkin. But she’d never said Belkin’s first name. And yet, Cody had known. He had known her name, too.
This night had gone wrong at a terrifying rate. Viktoria hadn’t questioned Cody much—or really at all. He had saved her life twice and to her that proved some kind of trustworthiness. Or did it? Cody could be even more dangerous than Belkin, with his own deadly intentions for Gregory—and for her.
It was her turn to insist on answers.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I told you. My name is...”
“I know your name,” she interrupted. She turned to watch him, gauge his reaction. “But there’s a lot about you I don’t know. For starters, how did you show up at exactly the right time to save my life?”
Cody drew the black cap from his head and raked his fingers through this thick, dark hair. “I investigated your family, the Mateevs, when I was with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”
“Was?”
“Look, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. For now, can you just trust me?”
“Actually, no. I’m done trusting you for no reason.”
“No reason? I saved your life,” he said. “Twice. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“If you really were with the DEA, why won’t you go to the sheriff? Aren’t you both on the same side?”
Cody let out a long exhale. He hit the ignition button and the car rumbled to life. “I have reason to believe that the sheriff was involved in the raid on your cabin tonight. That he passed on information to Belkin about your whereabouts.”
Viktoria went cold. Was there no one she could trust? No place to go for help?
“Let’s get out of this SUV. We can use my truck. I left it up the road from your cabin. Go to the right.” Cody pointed to the road. “I’ll explain while you drive.”
“Everything?” Viktoria asked.
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
* * *
Peter Belkin unlocked the rented ski house and held the door ajar for the head of his personal security detail, who carried a sleeping Gregory Mateev. Belkin watched as the kid was maneuvered through the doorway and then followed, locking up behind them.
He was very happy to be back in comfortable surroundings. If he had to bide his time during a job, this wasn’t a bad place to do it. The house belonged to an American footballer from San Francisco, a tax shelter no doubt, and one of the nicest homes available in Telluride. Situated halfway up the mountain, a mudroom, complete with heated floors and cubbyholes for skis and snowboards, served as the entryway. A set of stairs descended to a well-appointed basement that featured a sauna and a home theater with leather recliners for two dozen along with a popcorn machine. Floor-to-ceiling picture windows in the great room looked out to the nearby woods, with a private trail heading to the white stretch of ski slopes visible between the spindly tree branches. Beyond a fireplace large enough for a grown man to stand in was the kitchen, which held a five-hundred-bottle wine cooler and multiple pantries along with what seemed like acres of granite countertops and shiny appliances.
Even the most opulent homes in Russia were not as luxurious as this playhouse for wealthy Americans. Standing at the window, Peter Belkin stared at the snow accumulating on the adjoining deck. It had already piled up around the base of the hot tub. He had been right to postpone their escape and let Mother Nature have her fun.
Ah, knowing that he would be back in Russia for Christmas also warmed him. Upon his arrival in Moscow he would go to Ugolëk and order borscht, hot black tea and good vodka. While Russia was always Belkin’s home, he knew that he could return to the United States and a residence such as this whenever he chose—for he had also become a wealthy American.
“Belkin?”
Instead of turning to the man who now stood behind him, he used the glass as a mirror reflecting off the black night and made eye contact that way. “Da.”
“The kid’s in bed and sleeping off the sedative. What do you want me to do?”
“Leave now,” he said. His team didn’t know all the details of the Gregory Mateev abduction, nor did they need to. “We’ll meet at the airstrip—four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Get in touch with the other two in the morning and let them know.”
“Anything you say.”
“One last thing.” He pinned the man with his reflected stare. “Leave the syringes.” Belkin didn’t want to deal with Gregory should he still be belligerent when he woke up.
Belkin waited while the other man moved through the house, quietly gathering his gear. The front door opened, sending a blast of frigid air swirling through the room, then the door closed with a soft thump.
Letting out a long breath, Belkin returned to the kitchen. He drew a chair from the large kitchen table and slid it inside one of the pantries. Perched atop the chair, Belkin stretched, reaching for the uppermost shelf. His fingertips connected with the slim, cold metallic edge of his personal laptop. He pulled it out then gingerly stepped down from the chair. Having dragged the chair back, he set the laptop carefully on the table.
Before sitting down, Belkin walked to the front door. A quick glance through the peephole showed that Alpha had taken the spare car, leaving Belkin with the SUV. He clicked the lock into place and returned to the table. True, he relied upon his security team. True, there were reasons to keep them all together. True, Belkin might still need them, even though the operation was nearly complete. Still, he didn’t trust them, or anyone else, completely.
The fee for retrieving the Mateev brat had been a healthy quarter of a billion US dollars. His men were being well compensated, but they didn’t know the exact take. Over the years, Belkin had learned that people were greedy. And greedy people couldn’t be trusted.
Certain he was right to remain alone, Belkin powered up the computer and opened the FaceTime app. A small screen with his visage in real time appeared. Seeing his face on the computer screen always surprised and faintly depressed him. He seemed tired, old. Fine lines surrounded his eyes and the hair at his temples had turned unmistakably gray. He smoothed down an unruly eyebrow before entering a number into the contact bar. With a few more clicks of the mouse Belkin’s screen dropped down to the corner and Nikolai Mateev’s face popped up.
Nikolai was a large man with sparse white hair. He had small, dark eyes and a bulbous nose, made all the more noticeable by the broken capillaries that surrounded its base like angry red worms. A testament to a lifetime of drinking vodka, no doubt.
“You have good news for me, yes?” Nikolai asked.
“Very good news. You will have your grandson with you by Rozhdestvo. The real Christmas,” he added quickly, meaning Russian Orthodox Christmas. “We had hoped to be in Moscow by the evening of December twenty-fourth, but a storm has delayed our plans to leave.”
“And the mother?” Nikolai turned, so that his eye was level with the camera.
“She will bother you no more.”
The nose filled the small inset screen again. Nikolai sniffed and a gigantic nostril appeared. “You have done well.” He paused and added, “This time. I will transfer payment now
.”
“Thank you, Otets.” Nikolai was no sire of Belkin’s, but he did hold ultimate power over Belkin and his fate, and a little flattery by referring to the criminal overlord of Moscow as father always went a long way.
A meaty hand flashed across the screen, waving away Belkin’s sobriquet. “There is something else I want you to handle. Once you return from Russia, that is.”
“Of course,” said Belkin. His pulse did a triple step.
“There is a retired MI5 agent, Sir Ian Wallace, who now lives in Denver.” Nikolai leaned back, his face lost in the gloom of the ill-lit room behind him. “I need to know all about Sir Ian and then I need him to disappear.”
“Of course, Otets.”
Nikolai’s nose grew large again and then his screen went blank.
Belkin sat back and massaged his neck. It had been a long assignment that just got longer. It didn’t matter. To curry favor with someone as important as Nikolai Mateev, Belkin would do anything.
He opened his computer’s internet browser and spent a few minutes accessing the deep web. Give Belkin a name and there was nothing he couldn’t learn about a person: from shopping habits, to favorite cable news network, to secrets, to the loved ones they would do anything to protect and the secrets of those people, as well.
It took a quarter of an hour to circumvent MI5’s firewall. Once there, he had only moments to fill in a complete picture of Sir Ian’s life. He had been an agent with MI5, awarded his knighthood after thwarting a terrorist attack on London’s subway system. After that, Ian had been linked romantically with several famous women, and most recently with up-and-coming Denver sports agent, Petra Sloan. It explained how a Brit ended up in Colorado. He had opened a private security firm in Denver, Rocky Mountain Justice.
RMJ was a small operation; unless you knew where and how to find them, they were invisible. Yet, Belkin had pulled back the veil and now had access to all pertinent corporate information. The firm quietly found missing people and sometimes worked with a variety of agencies, such as the Colorado Bureau of Investigation and the federal big brother—the FBI—in matters such as public corruption.
Belkin stared at the computer. Certainly a firm unrestrained by laws could be bothersome to a large-scale drug dealer, but something didn’t add up. Why did Nikolai want Sir Ian dead? His firm had less than two dozen employees. In fact, why did he care at all?
On a whim, he entered Nikolai Mateev’s name into the RMJ search engine. An incomplete hit turned up one Mateev—Viktoria Mateev, no less. It appeared that RMJ had been hired to find her and it was their tip that had led Belkin right to her. He laughed to himself. Ironic, no?
A few more keystrokes and he found the automatically generated email and stopped. It was another name he recognized and never thought to see again: Cody Samuels.
While at the DEA, Agent Samuels came close to building a strong case against the Mateevs—one that could have crushed the family—and he had to be killed. As it turned out, Belkin’s would-be assassin had become the victim. In the end, the loss of life cost Samuels’ career. The case against the Mateevs was closed and Belkin considered the outcome a success.
He closed the RMJ site and placed all information gathered into an encrypted document that he then transferred to another part of his computer. From there he opened a file that he’d kept for more than a year as insurance only. As Belkin studied Cody’s picture his stomach churned, filled with sour repugnance for having to deal twice with the same problem.
He moved from the file to his bank’s secure website. The payment promised by Nikolai for the kidnapping had not yet been deposited. Though Belkin was weary and his jaw still ached where Gregory Mateev had struck him, he refused to go to bed before confirming payment. He was annoyed more than worried about not getting the money immediately. Even though Nikolai was a force unto himself, there were plenty of other powerful and dangerous men who would match payment for the Mateev brat—dead or alive—and the only thing keeping Gregory from that fate was Belkin’s purchased loyalty.
Returning to the RMJ site, Belkin took in a deep breath and began to hum the refrain of the American Christmas song “We Three Kings.” Since he had time and enough information to get started, he might as well learn what else he could about Sir Ian Wallace and the men of Rocky Mountain Justice.
Chapter 5
Viktoria drove into the relentlessly falling snow. The headlights cut a swath through the flakes, creating a tunnel of white surrounded by blackness. The tires slid on the slick roads, forcing her to steer cautiously into each turn. Inevitably, the SUV’s rear fishtailed. It gave the impression that she was hurtling uncontrollably through space, and the effect left her slightly sick to her stomach.
“Turn here,” Cody said, pointing to the left.
She exited the road in the direction he indicated. The SUV slowed as the tires sank into several inches of snow. They entered a makeshift parking lot, meant to accommodate only a dozen cars for cross-country skiers in the winter or hikers in the summer.
On this night, the lot was empty. Almost. A forest green, four-door Range Rover sat alone near a cut-through in a snowbank. The pricey British vehicle gave her pause.
“I thought you said you drove a truck,” she said of the Range Rover. “Every truck I’ve ever seen had a rear bed and was covered in rust and primer.”
“Ah, spoken like a true New Yorker.” Cody grinned as he reached over to hit the ignition button. The SUV’s engine shuddered once and stilled. “My boss is a Brit and as far as he’s concerned, this is a truck. Me, I’m a good old Colorado boy at heart, and primer is one of my favorite colors. But since Ian pays for this ride and I get to drive it for free, I call it whatever he wants me to. Although I do have a personal vehicle—a real truck, no rust or primer—back at my house.”
Primer was his favorite color. Viktoria almost felt a smile pull up the corners of her mouth. Then she thought about Gregory, alone and afraid. She couldn’t let anything distract her from finding her son, even Cody Samuels.
Cody opened his door and jumped down. “Let’s go.”
Viktoria hopped down from the SUV and her feet sank into the snow. Cold, wet flakes sifted over the tops of her boots and soaked her fleece pajama bottoms. Cody conducted himself with such confidence that Viktoria found her spirits buoyed. But she still had no idea what she would do if—no, not if, when—she was reunited with her son. How would she be able to escape the long reach of the Mateevs a second time? Would it be enough to disappear and drop off the grid as she had before?
Cody used his key fob to unlock the Range Rover’s doors and start the engine. As if he were attuned to her thoughts, he broke the silence by asking, “How long have you been living in the cabin?”
“Two months. We left New York in August and moved around for six weeks before I decided we needed to find one place to stay.”
“Why did you leave New York?” Cody asked, his gaze trained on her face.
Viktoria got the impression that she was being tested and that somehow Cody’s knowledge of her life went beyond his having investigated her late husband’s family. Still, she had nothing to lose by telling the truth.
“The state of New York had moved to terminate my parental rights. I suspect that Belkin had manipulated the system on behalf of Nikolai Mateev. They had a video of Gregory sitting in our apartment and crying—it went on for hours. In it, I was asleep on the sofa with an empty bottle of vodka cradled in my arms. The whole thing was a fake. I don’t drink. I’ve never left my son alone for minutes...” She shook her head; the dismay and dread from being set up came back to her. “It almost worked and I ran before the courts could take Gregory from me. There was money after my husband’s death, some more in savings and I knew it could last us awhile. I sold my Mercedes for cash and bought a clunker.”
Cody regarded her with those intense and oth
erworldly eyes.
“Go on,” he urged.
She continued, as if she wasn’t captivated by his gaze. “I paid cash for the cabin rental, October to March. The utilities were included. When I first arrived, I hired a delivery service for our groceries and paid them in cash. I only used the cabin’s landline phone that was there for emergencies,” she said, covering the basics. “But there was nobody I dared to call. We never went into town. Until today, that is. I have no idea how they found me, though.”
“Your image was picked up on a traffic camera,” Cody said.
It made sense. “Is that how the sheriff knew to call Belkin?”
“Probably.”
“Probably is hardly an answer.”
Cody exhaled, his breath a frozen cloud. “Let’s get out of here. We aren’t being productive just standing in the snow.”
He opened the passenger door of his Range Rover. Bright light spilled over the snow and bathed Cody in its glow. He was breathtakingly handsome. Was she a bad mother for noticing the dimple on his cheek or his broad shoulders? He was hot—it was more fact than opinion. Like the fact that it was snowing, or that the date was December the twenty-third or that her son had just been kidnapped.
The last thought brought her down to reality and left her weak and light-headed. She clung to the side of the Range Rover.
“Are you okay?” Cody scooped his hand under her elbow, lifting with just enough pressure to keep her from crumpling into the snow.
Viktoria had to get a hold of herself. She’d never do Gregory any good if she continued to be so weak. “Yes,” she said. Standing straight, Viktoria rolled back her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” said Cody hesitantly. “If you’re sure, jump in.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see the sheriff.”
“I thought you said that he helped Belkin find me. Why would we go to him for help now?”
Her Rocky Mountain Hero Page 5