Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine Book 3)

by Anna Zaires

  I shake my head, grinning. I’ve heard versions of this lecture from him before, and he gets more creative each time. “No, what?”

  “Exactly.” He wags his index finger, teacher style. “You don’t know, and neither does anyone else. Life is but a series of random events, one that seems to have a pattern but doesn’t. You may think you know what tomorrow will bring, but all it takes is a change in a single variable, and boom! Off you go in a totally different direction.”

  “Like on a tour?” I say dryly, and both Rory and Simon laugh.

  “A tour, yes—that would be a new variable,” Phil says, undeterred. “But it’s one that you would introduce. Most of the time, the new variable comes from where you least expect it, and then all your carefully laid plans go to shit.”

  “Shit—is that an official algebra term? Did I just learn math?” Rory asks, scratching his curls, and we all burst out laughing as Phil rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about ignoramuses and drunk assholes.

  “I have to run,” I tell the guys apologetically as the laughter dies down. “Early day at work tomorrow.”

  “No worries, we know.” Simon pats me on the shoulder. “You go do what you got to do and leave these idiots to dream of fame.”

  I laugh, shaking my head as I walk out of the bar and head to the parking lot in the back. I had my doubts about joining the band, but it turned out to be the best decision ever. Not only do I feel like I was born to do this every time I’m up on that stage, but my bandmates are a lot of fun. I actually prefer hanging out with them versus Marsha and the girls; it’s less pressure, somehow.

  I’m pulling open my car door when I notice it.

  A piece of something thick—folded-up paper, maybe?—taped to the inside of the door handle.

  My initial reaction is to pull it out and immediately take a look, but some sixth sense stops me. The itchy feeling between my shoulder blades—the one that’s so omnipresent I barely notice it anymore—is far more intense all of a sudden, and instead of yanking out the object and staring at it, I unobtrusively pry it loose, hold it in my closed fist, and get in the car.

  Slipping the object—now definitively identified as a piece of folded paper—into my jacket pocket, I pull out of the parking lot and head home. Behind me is the inevitable FBI tail, and as I drive, the paper feels like it’s burning through my pocket.

  It takes everything I have to park in front of my apartment building and walk through the lobby to the elevator calmly, without hurrying. It’s possible that this is some kind of advertisement that’s just weirdly placed, but somehow, I’m certain that it’s not.

  Stepping into my apartment, I lock the door and glance around. I don’t think there are any cameras or listening devices in here; after all the high-tech equipment found in my old house and then months later in my parents’ house, the Feds sweep my place on a semi-regular basis, and they themselves would need a warrant to do that kind of invasive surveillance. However, just to be on the safe side, I kick off my shoes and walk toward my bedroom closet, maintaining my calm demeanor the entire time.

  If someone is watching me, I’m not going to give them reason for suspicion.

  My one-bedroom apartment is fairly small, with a tiny kitchen and a cramped living room, but it does have one nice feature: a spacious walk-in closet in the bedroom. I go in there, as I normally would to undress, but instead, as soon as I’m out of sight of any potential cameras, I take out the paper from my pocket and unfold it, my hands shaking.

  It’s just a couple of lines, scrawled on the thick paper in sharp, masculine handwriting.

  Remember, ptichka. For as long as we’re both alive.

  27

  Peter

  The Moscow job goes smoothly—we eliminate our target in one short week—and then we’re back to hunting Henderson while we await word from Novak. Last month, the Serbian arms dealer confirmed everything is on track for the original eight-month timeline, but he’s still closemouthed about his asset within Esguerra’s organization—the key piece of information I need to implement my plan.

  Unfortunately, Henderson remains as elusive as always, so as May progresses, we do another round of shaking down his acquaintances for any leads. This time, we focus on his wife’s connections in her hometown of Charleston, just to switch things up.

  “Nothing again,” Ilya says with disgust as we board the plane, having interrogated our five targets. “The idiots didn’t know a thing.”

  I shrug and take my seat. “It was to be expected.”

  I still consider the operation a success. We got away without so much as a car chase, and we again showed Henderson that nobody in his life, no matter how remote a connection, is safe. Sooner or later, it will sink in, and then he’ll make a mistake. Maybe his wife will get worried about a friend of hers and reach out to check on her, or maybe the teenage daughter will freak out and call her ex.

  No matter what happens, the moment they fuck up, we’ll be ready, and my dead wife and son will be avenged.

  It’s the beginning of June when it finally happens.

  I get an email from Novak that he wants to meet next Wednesday.

  Just you, the email reads. No one else.

  I suppress a surge of savage joy and begin making the arrangements.

  For the past two weeks, we’ve been staying in our Polish safe house, waiting for Novak to reach out, so Wednesday morning, I have the guys drop me off in Belgrade and assume their positions.

  They won’t be with me, but they’ll certainly be around.

  I meet Novak in the same café as before. As I walk in, I notice that his goons are conspicuously absent—as are the pretty baristas. Novak himself is sitting at the small table in the middle of the café, with nothing but a brown leather folder in front of him.

  “All alone?” I ask, trying not to let my surprise show, and Novak’s thin lips curve as he stands up and comes around the table to greet me.

  “I thought we could dispense with all the bullshit.” His pale eyes gleam as he shakes my hand. “We need each other, and I think it’s time we built some trust.”

  I’m certain this is bullshit—his men are likely positioned as strategically as mine—but I let my stony expression soften slightly as I release his hand. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Good.” He sits back down at the table and motions for me to do so as well. “Please.”

  I take a seat and assume an impassive expression. “So, is the asset in place?”

  Novak nods, maintaining his smug little smile. “She’s on the way to Esguerra’s compound as we speak.”

  My pulse speeds up. Time and date of the asset’s transport—this is already something I can use. “Congratulations. That’s quite an achievement,” I say, keeping my voice even.

  Novak accepts the praise as his due. “Thank you. It took a lot of work, but I did it.”

  “So tell me about her, this mysterious asset of yours,” I say.

  He drums his pale fingers on the table for several long seconds, then says, “Are you familiar with the financial structure of Esguerra’s organization?”

  I stare at him. “No. Not particularly. I was his security consultant, not financial advisor.” This is not where I was expecting Novak to go. Could the asset be someone connected to Esguerra’s portfolio manager? I know the guy resides somewhere in Chicago, but I don’t see—

  “So you don’t know that legally and practically, Esguerra’s wife is his business partner and stands to inherit everything in the event of his death?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me,” I say slowly. Even back then, when I was still working for Esguerra, Nora, the American girl he kidnapped and then married, showed an unusual aptitude for her husband’s business.

  Novak smiles again and opens the folder in front of him. “Yes. The young Mrs. Esguerra is quite something, isn’t she? Finished Stanford at the top of her class.” He takes out a photo and lays it in front of me. It shows Nora in a voluminous graduatio
n gown accepting a diploma from a university official. Her smiling face is half turned, looking elsewhere, but even from this angle, it’s obvious she’s ecstatic.

  “When was this taken?” I ask, puzzled. If Novak’s people were close enough to take that photo, they must’ve been close to Esguerra himself as well.

  The Colombian arms dealer wouldn’t let his wife out of his sight for longer than a minute.

  “A couple of months ago, at the spring graduation ceremony,” Novak answers. “Pretty, isn’t she? So small yet so strong…”

  His voice is unusually soft as he says this, his touch almost caressing as he takes back the picture and places it in the folder. I lift my eyebrows, waiting to see where he’s going with this. Did he somehow develop the hots for Esguerra’s petite wife?

  It’s odd, but stranger things have happened.

  Closing the folder, he looks up. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “Why didn’t I have him taken out right then and there, at that ceremony? Why bother with you when I had a shot at him back then, all on my own?”

  I incline my head. “The question did occur to me, but I assumed Esguerra’s security was tighter than your possession of that photo indicates.”

  Novak’s lips stretch in another thin smile. “You’re right—the security was impressive. Still, if I really wanted to, I could’ve attempted it. I would’ve sustained heavy losses, but there’s a small chance I could’ve gotten through.”

  “But you didn’t want to risk it?”

  “Oh, I would’ve risked it… if Esguerra’s death was all I wanted.”

  Now we’re getting to the core of the issue. “You also want her.” I nod toward the folder. “Is that part of it?”

  Novak’s pale gaze hardens. “Yes… but not the way you think. You see, Nora Esguerra is not just a pretty face—she holds the keys to Esguerra’s kingdom. If I kill him, she simply takes over, and I have a new enemy to contend with—one with nearly unlimited resources and a very personal grudge against me.”

  This is getting interesting. “So you want them both eliminated?”

  “That was my original thought, but no. You see, Esguerra is smart—much smarter than most in our business. Nearly all of his holdings are legally titled, and everything is buried behind layers upon layers of shell corporations. If both Esguerras are killed, it will take me years to untangle the mess, and while I will have achieved the elimination of a rival, I won’t have access to what I really want.”

  “His business holdings.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly right.” He leans forward. “I don’t just want Esguerra gone—I want what he has… his wife included.”

  I cock my head. “So you want Julian Esguerra killed but his wife kidnapped?”

  “Yes, and not just his wife.” His smile is chilling. “You see, she’s useless to me without some kind of leverage.”

  “Leverage? You mean something like a family member?”

  “Yes, precisely. And not just any family member. I need someone she’d do anything for… even embrace her husband’s killer.”

  My face remains unchanged, but my blood turns to icy sludge. Is this a roundabout hint that he knows about my obsession with Sara? If so, I’ll kill him on the spot, his hidden goons be damned. If he so much as threatens her, I’ll peel his fucking skin off and—

  “You see,” Novak continues, oblivious to my rising rage, “I need Nora, and I need her completely under my control. I considered using her parents for that, but it might not be enough. After all, parents usually sacrifice for their children, not the other way around.”

  I rein in my bloodthirsty thoughts. “What do you have in mind, then?” He might not be talking about Sara; at least, he fucking better not be. Going on the assumption that he’s not stupid enough to threaten me so obliquely, I decide to take him at face value and say, “As far as I know, other than her parents, Nora doesn’t have—”

  “Yes, exactly. As far as you know.” Novak leans back, clearly enjoying his moment of superiority. “You and all the rest of the world, a select few people excluded.”

  I stare at him, my thoughts jumping from one fact to another. “Your asset,” I say slowly. “The eight-month timeline… Are you saying that Esguerra has a—”

  “Child? Yes.” His bland face animates. “A daughter, in fact, born last Tuesday in Switzerland, some two weeks ahead of schedule. Elizabeth Esguerra—Lizzie, for short. Pretty name, no?”

  “Yes, very,” I manage to say. My heart is threatening to erupt from my ribcage, and under the table, my hands form into fists.

  A baby. A fucking newborn. That’s his plan, his asset. He’s right in that it would be the perfect way to control Nora. A mother would do anything for her child; she’d give up an empire and her own life if need be.

  It shouldn’t matter to me—Esguerra is no friend of mine—but for some reason, the involvement of an infant makes Novak’s plan downright obscene to me.

  It makes me glad I was going to double-cross the fucker all along.

  But wait. He mentioned that his asset would be able to assist in the hit. That means the child is not it. However… “Is it a nanny?” I ask evenly. “Your asset—she’s connected to the child, isn’t she?”

  Novak nods, his hand flexing on the table in front of him. “Yes, but not a nanny,” he says, his expression smoothing out. “A pediatrician—one that comes highly recommended by the Swiss clinic doctors Esguerra favors.”

  Of course. I suspected Novak might have some connection to that place. “You bribed the clinic staff?”

  “I tried, but sadly, no.” He sighs. “They’re so frightened of their patients that they’re next to impossible to bribe. I had to hack into their computers instead.”

  “I see.” All the pieces are falling into place now. “That’s how you knew about Nora’s pregnancy so early.”

  He nods. “Esguerra brought her there to be examined as soon as she missed her period. And as soon as they knew, I knew—and I reached out to you.”

  I suppress the urge to reach across the table and break his neck. Maybe it’s because I know Nora, or maybe it’s because when I think of infants, I picture my son at that age, but the mere notion of a newborn being used like that makes me ill.

  Keeping my tone steady, I say, “So you want me to kill Esguerra, kidnap Nora and her baby, and bring them to you, so in one fell swoop, you’d eliminate your biggest rival and gain control over his holdings.”

  Novak’s smile is all teeth. “Exactly.”

  “That’s very clever.” I inject an admiring note into my voice. “If you just took Nora and the child to control Esguerra, he’d find a way to fuck you over and get them back—he’s done that before. But his wife—his widow, I should say—will be easier to handle, especially with a baby to keep her in line. Are you planning to make it legal with her?”

  “Yes, of course. Marriage is the easiest way to bypass all those pesky ownership hurdles. I will adopt the daughter as well.”

  “And raise her as your own?”

  He shrugs. “More or less. Any children I breed with Nora will obviously take priority, but as long as her mother behaves, I have no intention of harming the child.”

  “Very generous of you.”

  He either misses the sarcasm in my voice or chooses to ignore it. “Yes. I think we’ll all benefit in the long term—as will you. A hundred million will go far in assisting with your little vendetta.”

  I’m not the least bit surprised that he knows about that. “Yes, it will,” I say without blinking.

  “Good. Do you already have an idea of how you’ll go about getting into Esguerra’s compound?”

  “Yes,” I say and look him straight in the eye. “I’m going to reach out to Lucas Kent and have him bring me to Esguerra. I’m going to tell him that I want to bury the hatchet—and that I’m willing to reveal a traitor to make that happen.”

  28

  Sara

  I don’t sleep all night again, and by morning, I�
�m so exhausted I all but crawl to the kitchen for coffee. If today was a workday, I would’ve had to call in sick. However, it’s that most rare of all days.

  A Saturday when I have absolutely nothing scheduled.

  If this was pre-PN (Peter’s note), I might’ve gone to the clinic to help out for a few hours, or surprised my parents by popping over for breakfast. However, this is post-PN, and between the lack of sleep and the ever-present anxious waiting, it’s all I can do to plop on the couch and turn on a cooking show.

  I’ve been watching a lot of those lately. They remind me of Peter.

  As always, when I think about him, my mind starts going in circles. It’s now been eight months since he brought me home—eight months during which my only word from him was that note. Two months ago, pre-PN, I was more or less convinced that his obsession with me faded, and that despite his vow, he might never come back for me. Now, however, I don’t know what to think.

  If he still wants me, why am I here?

  What is he waiting for?

  Mom is now completely well—or at least as well as she’ll ever be. Her left arm is still weak, but she’s able to move her fingers and can use that hand to pick up light objects—a much better outcome than initially feared. She’s also walking without assistance and has been puttering around her garden ever since the weather improved. Dad is ecstatic about her recovery, and they’re both looking forward to their anniversary cruise in September—a gift I was finally able to give them.

  As Mom’s health improved and the novelty of my return wore off, my visits with them have gone from a daily to a weekly occurrence. My parents are always glad to see me, of course, but they also value their independence. My dad, in particular, takes pride in being self-sufficient, and I don’t want to take it away from him by constantly hovering over them like a nursemaid.