American Law (Law #2)

by Camille Taylor

  She had no idea where she was or where she was going. The only consolation she had was that she knew the men wanted Dmitry and not her; she was just a means to an end. She hoped they weren’t stupid enough to harm her, at least not until they had Dmitry.

  “I’d rather just shoot the bitch if she tries anything. Hear that, bitch? Don’t you go doing something stupid, all right?”

  Her foggy brain placed the sound of his voice. Dmitry’s benefactor. The man who’d killed Ivan. The pieces she had been missing clicked back into place.

  Elena ignored the man. She would have to be dumb to promise something so ridiculous. She would make as much trouble as she could to escape before they got their hands on her little brother. She had begun entertaining some rather painful moves against her captors, and she would enjoy every single one.

  “Just call Ivanov,” the first man said. She remembered him as being an older gentleman. A man who had held himself with power, a man she knew she should recognize.

  The sound of the cell phone’s buttons being pressed filled the small space. The hair on her arms stood at attention as she heard the voice on the other end answer.

  Chapter 24

  Dmitry followed Lucas closely as he stormed into the office at Langley. An older man glanced up in surprise, his gaze falling on him after sweeping over Lucas’s infuriated expression. His gut clenched as anxiety ate away at him. This was the last place he wanted to be, but Elena’s well-being was on the line so he pushed aside his fears. Well, almost—his hands shook slightly as he waited for handcuffs to be tightened around his wrists, though rationally he knew that wasn’t about to happen. Lucas wouldn’t have brought him to the heart of the CIA if that had been a concern, and so far no one had attempted to take him into custody.

  It was bigger than him now. Sean Henry had made a grave mistake. No one hurt his sister and walked away. If they wanted a fight, they’d gotten one. Neither he nor Lucas would ever back down.

  “I’m not bringing him in,” Lucas said as Dmitry closed the door behind him.

  He caught the older man’s gaze, expression blank, despite the overwhelming urge to squirm beneath his commanding presence.

  The man leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t even entertain the thought. I know you too well, my friend. Why is he here? If you’re looking for a safe house, might I suggest another location?” He frowned, his jovial attitude dissipating as the anger radiating off Lucas’s body seemed to reach him. Dmitry knew the agony Lucas experienced because he felt the same. He was a man being torn apart. “What’s happened?”

  “The bastards have Elena,” Lucas replied, speaking through a clenched jaw as he tried to keep his temper in check, his expression turning savage. There was no doubt in his mind that when Lucas found the men holding the love of his life, he would make them beg for mercy.

  “What?” The older man exploded in fury. “When did this happen?”

  “Sometime this morning.” Lucas turned to him. “Dmitry, get on Jim’s computer and locate her cell phone GPS. Use his access to get a fixed satellite position. I want to know exactly where she is.”

  Jim raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. There would be no arguing or bargaining with Lucas at the moment.

  Dmitry moved to stand beside Jim, then leaned over him and readjusted the keyboard to accommodate his position.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he began to pull up a satellite search program. He typed in Jim’s user name and password without having to ask for them.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lucas’s boss muttered, realizing Dmitry had cracked the code in less than two minutes. “Certifiably dangerous is what you are, son. Thank goodness you’re one of the good guys.”

  He didn’t have time to express what Jim’s words meant to him, the knowledge he had another ally, but his relief was almost euphoric, and his body sagged as his knees weakened. One thought of Elena had the tension returning.

  He deftly entered his sister’s cell phone number in the allotted field. A red box appeared on screen saying ‘No Hits Found.’ He turned to peer over his shoulder at Lucas. “It’s not currently turned on. The last place it was on, she was right here.”

  “Right,” Lucas said. “Elena checked her messages here before speaking briefly with Mishkin yesterday. What about before that?”

  Dmitry once more consulted the map before him on the computer screen. He hit a few keys before answering. “The GPS stops there. On and off within ten minutes, previous location was Moscow. She would have turned it off for the flight.” The computer binged, alerting them to a new development. “Whoa, wait a sec, it just came back on.”

  The phone was in transit, moving fast along the Beltway heading north. Dmitry barely had time to lock the satellite onto the phone before his cell began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Elena. He answered the call, putting it on speaker.

  “Elena?”

  “Mr. Ivanov, good to finally get a hold of you,” the caller said. Dmitry recognized the voice as the man who had shot Ivan.

  “Sean Henry?”

  “Shit, you are good,” the man said before his voice turned hard. “Now, listen up here, comrade. I’m sending you a photo. Do as I say or another will follow, one that will be less pleasant.”

  His phone vibrated as the photo arrived. He clicked on the screen of his iPhone to open the message and immediately wished he hadn’t. He ground his teeth together as the picture appeared on his cell screen. Elena was laying unconscious on the backseat of a car, her face pale, and he could see the beginning of a bruise on her throat.

  Lucas looked over his shoulder at the photo and his face contorted with rage. He tried to snatch the phone away from him, but Dmitry moved away out of his reach. Lucas looked downright homicidal, and at that moment, Dmitry knew without a doubt that his friend loved Elena. It was more than just a roll in the sack for him. He already knew she loved him more than anything—maybe even more than Nikolai. It had almost killed her when Lucas had flown home, yet she took pains not to show it. He only hoped they got their chance at happily ever after.

  “If you hurt her, I will find you, Henry, and inflict the most painful torture techniques known to man on you. Remember, I’m Russian, so I know all the good ones. That’s why you wanted me, right, because of my nationality? God help you if you don’t release my sister.”

  “Touching, really,” Sean answered snidely. “It all comes down to you, comrade. You meet my man out in front of the Lincoln Memorial in half an hour—alone—and follow his instructions, and I promise I won’t hurt your sister. Don’t do as I say, and I’ll find some men who’ll really have some fun with her. She is quite beautiful, you know.”

  Lucas made another attempt to get the phone. Dmitry sidestepped, putting Jim between him and Lucas. He wondered how much the man knew. Was he aware that the house he took Elena from belonged to a CIA Agent? If so, he was overly confident. Only he’d miscalculated. Lucas would do anything to ensure Elena’s safety. Hadn't he proved that when he’d taken on Dmitry? It was all over for Sean. He just didn't know it yet. There was no place he could hide that Dmitry wouldn't find him.

  “I’ll play nice,” he told Sean.

  “Good to hear, comrade. See you soon. Oh, and no tricks, you hear?”

  No, not while you have the upper hand. Once we’re on even ground, though, you’d better watch out.

  “No tricks.”

  He wasn’t about to risk Elena’s well-being. Not for anything, including the security of a nation. He would gladly hand Sundown over on a silver platter if it meant Elena went free and unharmed. He would fix what was broke later. He’d devise a new protocol if he had to. One that would actually be safe and he wouldn’t go and advertise it on the mainframe, either.

  Idiots. Had they no idea that cyberspace is one big shopping ground?

  Dmitry hit the end call button and looked once again at the photo of Elena. Anger bubbled to the surface when he thought of her lying there helpless, bound and hu
rt. He took a steadying breath and dropped his phone down on the desk.

  Lucas erupted, no longer able to keep his thoughts inside his head. “Dmitry, I’m not letting you go into this alone. Not while yours and Elena’s lives are at stake.”

  “You don’t have much of a choice, Lucas,” Jim countered.

  “We don’t have much time. I have to be there in thirty minutes, so unless you can come up with a better plan that won’t get Elena killed in that time, I’m going.”

  Lucas nodded. “Here.” He held out his cell. “We’ll track you through the GPS.”

  “Too big. It’ll be the first thing they’ll ask for,” Jim said.

  In a moment of sudden inspiration, Dmitry took his own cell phone and threw it hard against the floor, the back splitting away from the cracked screen. He bent down, retrieved the phone and tore the back completely away and picked out what he wanted—the GPS chip that was smaller than his thumbnail. He moved back to the computer, typing commands, including the numerical code printed on the GPS device that he’d pulled from the phone. Lucas and Jim watched, speechless.

  “Okay, this works just like the cell thing, okay? But instead it looks for the chip, not the phone.” He placed the GPS chip into the front right hand pocket of his jeans. “Don’t touch anything, and you can’t fuck it up.”

  “I take offense to that,” Jim said.

  “Charge me later. Add it to my never ending list. Don’t follow me and don’t do a thing to risk Elena. I mean it. Catching the bad guys isn’t worth her life. I’ll bring her back, Lucas, I promise.”

  Lucas placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know. She means the world to both of us. We can’t afford to lose her.”

  ***

  Twenty-five minutes later, Dmitry parked Lucas’s car near the Lincoln Memorial. His long strides easily shortened the distance until he stood on the stairs leading to the monument, staring out at the Potomac.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Tourists milled around, giving him a wide berth. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he must look like, with his dark Ray-Bans covering his eyes, his stiff countenance. Children squealed excitedly, racing past, not sensing the danger he represented. He wanted to be a tourist, too, exploring this magnificent city but first he had a sister and country to save.

  A vehicle revved nearby, the choking exhaust catching his attention. A man stood beside a 1979 beige Dodge Aspen. Just his luck, the man glaring at him was the hired muscle he’d fought at the warehouse. He wore jeans, dark motorcycle boots, and a stained wife beater tank top which was in desperate need of a wash. The bulge of a weapon was visible beneath his shirt. His large muscles were decorated with tattoos running the length of his arms, and his eyes were hidden behind dark tinted sunglasses—most likely to dim the light against his damaged corneas. The man had gotten what he deserved.

  When he reached the vehicle, the man, his face grim, opened the back door of the car, and indicated without words for Dmitry to climb in. He waited briefly, most likely searching the area for back-up, then got in beside him.

  The driver, a man who lacked the same social and hygiene skills as the hired muscle, put the Dodge in gear and merged into the traffic. They rode in silence, listening to the sounds of the cars around them. They travelled roughly three miles down the road before the car veered off down an exit ramp and pulled into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, and parked beside a set of filthy looking bathrooms.

  The man looked at Dmitry and said, “Come on.”

  Nervous, he followed without complaint, noting the man carried a plastic Wal-Mart bag. They walked up to the men’s restroom, and the man waited for Dmitry to precede him. He watched Dmitry like a hawk watching his prey, most likely waiting for a reason to strike at him. His employer had probably given him a no touching command—can’t break the fingers that would bring them Sundown, after all. Dmitry stepped inside and turned around to face the hired muscle, his hair again pulled back in a ponytail, waiting for the next set of instructions.

  “Strip,” Ponytail said.

  He paused, disbelieving what he heard. The man glared at him. “I said strip, you commie bastard.”

  “You know you really should learn to be more P.C. I’m not a communist, nor have I ever been. I may be Russian, and you call me that or Dmitry, but you call me a commie again, Ponytail, and we’ll have a problem,” he said as he began removing his clothes.

  “Whatever,” Ponytail said.

  Let the man get his jollies by watching him undress. He had never been ashamed or embarrassed by his body. Not that he any reason to be; his body hard from working out at a gym, his muscles well-defined. He might not be as strong as Ponytail, but he was faster and smarter. Brains often beat brawn. It was just a matter of timing.

  Once he was naked, Ponytail gave his body a cursory look before handing him a set of clean clothes he had retrieved from the Wal-Mart bag. Dmitry took the black sweat pants and Washington Redskins hooded jumper and repressed a violent shudder. If he had to die, the last thing he wanted to be wearing was sweats. And, Redskins? Had he not suffered enough?

  Dressing quickly, he glanced at his discarded clothing. He should’ve anticipated they’d make him change. He’d merely been expecting a pat down. Returning to the car, his wrists were promptly bound in shiny new stainless steel handcuffs. He guessed now that they knew he had no weapon, and wasn’t wired, with no way to contact anyone, he could be taken to see Elena.

  Chapter 25

  They drove for another forty minutes to a neat and quiet suburb. The houses all looked like something that would grace the glossy cover of a homes and gardens magazine. Not one leaf marred the pristine lawns of the pompous pricks who resided in the large houses that lined the street. He was led up the path to the front door and pushed not so gently inside.

  Dmitry snarled as he took in his surroundings. The décor was expensive and new, the walls decorated with artistic prints that one would have to be insane to own. A Persian rug lay between two stylish sofas, covered in plush cushions. To his left, a desk and computer stood, and in the center of the room, silently fuming and sitting on a kitchen chair, was Elena. Her hands, like his, were handcuffed in front of her. She stopped glaring at her captors when she spotted him and worry furrowed her brow before quickly turning her fear back into anger.

  She was all right—for the time being, at least. Whoever decided to mess with her at the moment would have some protruding part of their anatomy removed painfully, judging by the death glares she sent toward Sean’s goons. Elena had not taken being kidnapped and held against her will lightly. Dmitry could see she was buying time, trying to come up with a decent plan to escape with both their lives intact—all while planning the deaths or maiming of the burly lackey goons.

  “Elena,” Dmitry said, moving toward her only to be blocked by another muscular man with a tattoo of a dragon down the right hand side of his face.

  “Dmitry, so good to see you,” Sean Henry said as he came into sight. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble. My boss wasn’t very forgiving. He wants the file, you see, and you have inconvenienced him terribly.”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man was acting like he was part of a gangster movie.

  “Yeah, I’m real broken up about that,” he said, making sure Sean could hear the lack of interest in his tone.

  Sean narrowed his eyes and hit Dmitry hard in the stomach, momentarily winding him. He heard Elena anxiously calling out his name, wanting to know if he was all right. He listened as she swore and cursed in Russian. The woman had a sailor’s mouth—words he didn’t even say out loud. She certainly hadn’t learnt them from him.

  Sean cracked his knuckles. “Don’t smart ass me.”

  Dmitry straightened his body, standing up to his full height and looked the murdering bastard in the eyes. He almost smiled when the other man shivered from the frightening look he knew was in his cool grey eyes, promising things he would do to the man had his wrists not be
en restrained in handcuffs.

  “You hit like a girl, Sean,” he said, “and you had to do it when I was cuffed, so what does that tell you? You’re a spineless coward and you will get your comeuppance. I will make sure of it.”

  Sean made another fist, determined to hit him again, when the boss made his entrance. The man commanded attention. He was an older gentleman of about fifty, his hair grey and receding, his eyes a dark brown. Dmitry could tell he was accustomed to loyalty and authority.

  Dmitry recognized power when he saw it, guessing he’d been in the Armed Forces—a man whose rank had been high at one time. Anyone who tried to fuck him over had to be either downright stupid or desperate.

  He also looked very familiar. He searched his mind for the answer, but none was forthcoming. Either way, it wasn’t something he would waste energy on.

  Sean let his fist drop and shoved Dmitry forward, closer to his boss. The older man surveyed Dmitry as if he was a slab of meat, appearing pleased at the gift he’d been given.

  “Dmitry Ivanov in the flesh. It is a real shame it had to go down like this, my friend. You could have been extremely useful to the country, otherwise. I do not wish to hurt you or your sister,” the man added, glancing over at Elena. He spoke as if he’d only just remembered that he had kidnapped her. “So, if you please, retrieve Sundown and return it to me.”

  Dmitry snorted. “It was never yours to begin with, and either way we’re dead. I’ve seen the way you do business…and they call us Russians cold. I’m not about to make your life easier just so I can be killed after I’ve outlived my usefulness. I’m not that stupid.”

  The boss gave him a small smile. “You have balls, Dmitry. It’s a shame we can’t work together. We are, after all, on the same side.”

  “Which is precisely why I’m handcuffed here against my will,” Elena said sarcastically.