Hunted

by Clark, Jaycee

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Idiot. You hire someone to help her. There is a huge difference. And let her interview whoever applies, that way she is in charge of it.” She slung a purse over her shoulder and grabbed her slim digital phone, sliding it into her pocket. “Just make certain she understands that if she doesn’t hire someone, we will.”

  J.D. smiled and watched his sister stride out of the office, then talk to her secretary about tomorrow’s appointments.

  Yeah, she was doing good. Maybe he’d come up with some way to get her to go to Canada.

  * * *

  Prague, Czech Republic; late October

  Do you want the lost?

  Mikhail stared at the screen of his laptop. That was it. That one sentence was the entire email. There were only five words. Do you want the lost?

  Lost? What lost? The lost girls? Or the loss in drug busts, the loss in what?

  He tapped a finger on his chin and wondered how to trace the email. Perhaps Luther would know.

  The lost.

  He hoped it was girls. Deciding to play the game, he clicked the reply button. What lost? There were few things that piqued his interest anymore. One thing was the girls that had gotten away. He’d always chosen the ones that were hard to break to take for himself. The battle of wills was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. The fact he knew that in the end he would be the victor, be the winner, be their master was worth it all. That look, that one look in a woman’s eyes—the look that said clearly, I concede.

  For the last year, he’d quietly been looking for those who escaped him, either here in Prague, in Cheb, or in the Moscow holdings. So far, he’d found two. Both had been taken care of. One had been a drug addict. Her demise was not hard to create. The other hid away, admitted to an institution. She’d been fun to scare in little ways. He’d learned a bit of patience with her. Not that he’d taken care of either himself. That he’d left to Luther. They’d been too broken for Mikhail. There was a fine line between utterly ruined and breaking just enough that the hatred in them kept them a bit spirited.

  He looked at the two words on the screen. What lost? Shrugging, he hit send. Would he even get a reply? Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . .

  “Sir,” Luther said from the doorway. “We need to leave for the meeting.”

  Mikhail checked his watch, and so they did.

  Shutting the program down, he rose, grabbed his dark blue Armani jacket and slipped it on. “We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.” Straightening his collar, he motioned to the laptop. “We need to find someone who understands their way and can get around computers and servers, or services or whatever the term is.”

  Luther’s brows pulled down.

  “I want to find out who sent me an email, Luther. Just find them.”

  Luther, dressed in a similar dark suit, but with a plain white shirt, nodded. “Yes, sir. You’ll have a name by the end of the day.”

  Smiling, he walked out of his office and wondered of the big news Romanovsky had hinted at.

  What lost?

  * * *

  Prague, Czech Republic; one of the clubs on the Devil’s Strip

  Mikhail Jezek looked around the table, at the thirteen in attendance at the meeting.

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  Romanovsky eyed him. “We want to expand. We’ve been negotiating and have obtained permission to set up a strip in the U.S.”

  The U.S.?

  Mikhail stood and listened as they outlined the plan that would take the next year to fully complete. Already projects were under way, buildings purchased, renovations being made.

  “In several weeks the first new club should be opening since it was almost complete upon purchase.” Romanovsky, his dark slanted eyes zeroing in on Jezek, said, “We’ve decided we want you to go.” He leaned back in his chair. “We need a man there with a reputation whom we trust without question. That man is you, Jezek.”

  Mikhail took a deep breath, honored and a bit surprised he hadn’t known of the initial deal for the new strip. He glanced at Luther, who quickly looked away.

  Luther had known. Why?

  Romanovsky cleared his throat. “We want to keep Luther here, as the women associate him with you. You’ve helped him build a reputation of his own here.” A smile creased Romanovsky’s blunted, squared features. “However, we want you there, seeing to things, making certain things on that side of the Atlantic run as smoothly as they do here. You can have Vescilly and Ivan if you want. Or choose new men to take with you.” He motioned around the table to all those present. “I’m sure any of us would be happy to supply you with men.”

  Still not certain why or if there was something else behind this, Mikhail merely bowed his head. “Thank you all.” It was an honor. There was no question in that. Many would kill to be in his position. “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”

  Several of the men scoffed. Others muttered compliments, jokes on others in the business being disappointed. Romanovsky held up a hand. “You are the best. We just don’t want any trouble, Jezek.” Again those eyes narrowed. “Understand?”

  Mikhail knew a warning when he heard one. Did they—or at least Romanskvy—know of or suspect about the dead women? “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  Romanovsky smiled. “Good. Good. Then let’s get down to details. The strip will be in Miami.”

  Miami . . .

  America . . .

  Maybe he’d get lucky and run into Dusk and permanently end his worry with Calsonone.

  Chapter 21

  London, England; November 4

  Lincoln Blade stood in his office staring through the window to the floor below of the London shop. There were several customers in the jewelry store. More than several. Jewels glittered up from their cases, rings, necklaces, earrings and special showcased pieces handcrafted by contracted artisans. Right now Blade’s was seeing a surge in antique and what he called pagan jewelry. The clean-cut bright pieces that reflected modern life were still a big gain for them, but many customers were wanting older-looking pieces reminiscent of what their grandmothers or great-grandmothers wore. Men wanted pocket watches again.

  A knock at his door had him turning as Rachel walked in.

  “I have those bloody project reports, a copy of the ad proposals and the latest sapphire price ranges out of Sri Lanka.” Her fair hair and bright blue eyes at first glance made her appear soft with her pleasantly plump smiling face, but he and everyone else with Blade’s knew differently. Rachel was a shrewd businesswoman who had put up with their grandmother’s dictates while the old matriarch ran the company until she died. By that time, she’d begged Linc to come back into the business. Rachel didn’t mind working for Blade’s. She wanted no part in being in charge of it.

  “Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

  Since he hadn’t, he asked a question of his own. “Are you and Harry going skiing next month over the holidays?”

  Her face softened, her cheeks blushing. “We thought we’d go up to the Cairngorms. We both love it.”

  “When are you leaving?” he asked, walking to the desk.

  “Oh, probably a few days before Christmas.” She shifted. “I know the family deal is big and all but I’m tired of dancing to . . . ”

  Linc held up his hand to stem her flow of justifications. “Rachel, I’m not Vivian, nor my grandfather. Uncle Malcolm might not like it, but I really don’t care one way or the other what everyone is doing for the holidays. I’m not hosting a bloody thing.”

  She shook her head. “Dad’s just brassed because he wants your job.”

  Linc grunted. Lincoln had been the CEO of his family’s business, in what should have been his uncle’s job—or so his Uncle Malcolm believed.

  Lincoln now devoted his full attention to Blade’s. He couldn’t slink around in disguises and through the shadows forever. He did what he could and then he got out.

  There really hadn’t been anything else to do after the last assignment with Morgan Gaelord. On
ce his covers had been compromised, the task force hadn’t exactly wanted him working out in the field again. There were times he missed it.

  “Hey, you okay? You seem bummed.”

  He waved her away and sat again in his chair. “I’m fine. Just have things on my mind.”

  She tapped the files she put on his desk, the only thing marring the wide, deep expanse of teak. Lincoln liked order and neatness and that had never changed.

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Reports. He’d rather have looked at murder photographs. “The reports, I’ll look over them tonight and know tomorrow what we’re going to do.”

  “I like the ad for the engagement ring.”

  “Which one?” he asked, flipping the file open.

  “The grandmother giving the grandson her ring, then saying how all of us don’t have grandparents to pass things on, et cetera, but Blade’s will help you start your own traditions.”

  He grinned. “I remember now why we hired an advertising firm.” He looked up at her. “Blurbs are not your forte.”

  One corner of her shell pink lips lifted. “Never said it was.” She turned and walked to the door. “You need a vacation, Linc. You should try skiing yourself. Relaxes you.”

  He grunted again, scanning the papers she’d given him. He heard the door shut behind her and waited a few more minutes before tossing the file onto the desk and tapping his fingers.

  There was a charge in the air, that spark right before the storm that most don’t see, but one could damn well feel.

  He looked back out the window to the busy sidewalks and shoppers, hurrying along New Bond Street. The holidays were just under two months away and already shops were seeing an increase in sales.

  He wondered who they bought them for. Family most likely. For all his relatives, he didn’t feel like he had any family. His mother was still in New York, happy with her own life, with her own jewelry designs. He proudly contracted her to make their most prestigious pieces. A fact he knew would infuriate the old Blade matriarch if she were still alive. Call it juvenile but he rather liked it. And his mother damn well deserved it. People came in asking for an Annalise pendant or earrings. His mother was booked for the next three years with Blade’s orders and others that she took on as she wanted.

  Unease slid through him and he hated the fact he couldn’t pinpoint it. Picking up the phone, he dialed his mother. She answered on the third ring, slightly out of breath. “Hello?”

  “Mum? All right?”

  She half laughed, half sighed. “Why is it that is the very first thing you ever ask me? Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” He heard her shuffle something in the background and speak to someone.

  “You busy?” He picked up a pen and tapped it.

  “What? Well, no, just about to leave for a lunch date.”

  He smiled. “Anyone I know?”

  She laughed, then said, “No, and you’ll meet him when you come for a visit.”

  “Can I at least have his name?” He frowned.

  Her laugh danced out again. “Why? So you can run a check on him and find out what skeletons he’s hiding in his closet? Oh, Lincoln, my boy, I don’t think so.”

  Linc relaxed his shoulders, thought about what to say and nothing came to mind. “Mum.”

  “Don’t ‘mum’ me, Linc. I’ve found a man that makes me happy and he brings me flowers.”

  “I make you happy and bring you flowers.”

  She laughed again. “Yes, you’re the best of sons. But a mother has needs too.”

  He winced. “Bloody hell.” The idea of his mother having needs and some unknown man relieving her of them had him fisting his hand. His mother wasn’t the most wary of people. She tended to see the best in anyone.

  “You’re thinking. And I know that silence.” Her voice lowered, sobered. “Be patient. You’ll meet him soon enough. You are still coming next week, aren’t you?”

  Linc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

  “Oh, this will be wonderful, then you can meet his daughter.”

  “Mum.”

  She giggled. “Bye, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  And with that she hung up.

  Linc pulled the phone away and stared at it before he replaced it in its cradle. He shook his head and took a deep breath. His mother was entitled to her own life. And happiness. That did not mean he had to . . . It had nothing to do with approval. He’d made too many enemies and the thought of his cover having slipped, of someone using his mother against him, made nausea grease his stomach.

  He snatched up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

  “’Lo?”

  Linc smiled. “Hello yourself. All right?”

  “Not as good as I was two seconds ago before you rang me.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, leaning back.

  “What the blazes do you want?” Shadow’s voice had not changed since Linc had talked to him last year. It was still deep, yet smooth, like a slow-moving river.

  “I need you to check out something for me.”

  Shadow’s laugh graveled through the phone. “Ah.”

  “I need you to check out someone in New York.” His mother would kill him if she found out, but that was fine. If she wanted him to like the guy, he had to know she was safe.

  “New York? I’m in Edinburgh in case it’s slipped your mind.”

  “So? It’s my mother. Find out who she’s seeing and run a check on him.”

  Silence.

  “Your mother?” Shadow asked after several minutes.

  “Yes.”

  “So why aren’t you running the check? You might be retired, but you have contacts, hell, you know enough to just do it yourself.”

  He sighed. “She asked me not to.”

  Shadow’s chuckle turned to another laugh. “Splitting hairs, boyo.”

  “Bollocks.”

  The laughter was cut off as Shadow hung up. Man had not changed. He’d never been big on good-byes or hellos, just appeared and disappeared. No wonder his street name stuck.

  Lincoln tapped the pen he held. The phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Blade?” the man asked, his accent distinctly American.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Tarver.”

  Noah Tarver of the American FBI. Lincoln’s Stateside contact many times when placing girls or needing American paperwork for them. They’d met a handful of times, the last being in Dallas when the man had handed him a firearm. The muscles in the back of Lincoln’s neck tightened.

  “I’d like to think this was just some sort of courtesy call on your part, but something tells me that’s not the issue.” He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  Silence again, then Tarver cleared his throat. “Yes, well, don’t we both. I’ve recently learned something I thought might interest you.”

  Linc’s shoulders tensed. “Oh?”

  Tarver lowered his voice. “We may have a problem.”

  “Problem?”

  “A girl is missing.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m assuming you’re not referring to just any female.”

  “No. One of ours—yours. Hasn’t been seen in a week.”

  “And?” There was more, he could feel it.

  “Rumor is they found a body in a ravine in Arizona, in the southwestern United States, I’m running checks now.”

  “Arizona . . . ” Linc took a deep breath.

  “I thought you’d want to know. I already made some calls into Washington and the buzz is that our bosses wanted to know about the group that worked her case. Your Richards said a call had already been placed to push the paperwork through about getting you back.”

  Nerves hummed under his skin, yet he remained still. “I’m out.”

  Tarver tsked. “Haven’t you learned? We’re never out. We just take extended vacations.”

  Bloody hell. “Keep me informed. “ He took a deep breath. �
�Do I need to head over?”

  Tarver blew out a breath. “To be honest, I’d love to say not yet. We’re checking up on things, and people. Could just be a random act. I’ll let you know,” Tarver said, his deep voice deadpan and flat.

  “But . . . ”

  “But I won’t lie. It doesn’t look good and you might see or notice something. So yeah, if you’re free—”

  He quickly ran through his week in his head, rearranging appointments, getting a flight. Hell. He’d just use his own plane. “I’ll be coming as me. Lincoln Blade, not with a task force.”

  “As I said, your Richards is already doing the paperwork.”

  Bloody hell. Which meant that Tarver was keeping something from him, otherwise his old boss would not be pulling him back in.

  “I’ll see if I can fly out tonight. Though it may be early in the morning.”

  Tarver clicked something in the background. “Sooner the better. And make certain you have a list of all your girls.”

  “Why?”

  “We may need it.”

  With that Tarver hung up. Again, Linc sat and stared at the phone. Sighing, he redialed Shadow.

  “Bugger it. What now?” Shadow snapped.

  “I want to know where Jezek is.”

  Silence. Then, “Any particular reason?”

  “I’ll let you know.” He paused and without wondering why, he asked, “Will you do another favor for me?”

  “Gaelord?” Shadow asked.

  “You’re a bloody know-it-all.” Lincoln hung up the phone.

  The slight hum he’d felt building seemed to web under his skin. One of his girls missing might be nothing. It could be nothing more than a coincidence. But if it wasn’t?

  * * *

  Miami; Inferno Club; November 4, 1:31 p.m.

  Miami. Jezek scanned the closed club and grinned. Black chairs and tables, the walls painted black except for the splashes of pink and turquoise. Silver metalworks decorated the walls and corners, the dancing poles, the bar was all silver. The tangy smell of paint was too strong. They’d need to air the club before next week.