Dead Reckoning

by Stanalei Fletcher

  Her brain was still numb, so she only nodded, barely comprehending what he said.

  Egan looked over at the security guard. “Let me give you a piece of advice, pal. Never leave a woman in the car when there’s shopping to be had.”

  The driver chuckled. “Mister, you’re lucky she didn’t knock you out and take all your credit cards.”

  Egan joined in with a tight laugh. “Yeah, I’m lucky all right.”

  “I’ve gotta ask you to take your make-up session someplace else, okay?” The driver dipped his head toward the building. “The owners like to keep things low-key out here.”

  “No problem.” Egan wrapped his arm around Kellee and steered her back to the car.

  The driver gave them a friendly two-fingered salute and continued his leisurely pace through the rows of cars.

  Egan watched until the vehicle disappeared around the corner of the building, then gave Kellee a slight push. “Get back in the car.” The gruff tone replaced the lightheartedness in his voice.

  She shook her head to clear the dazed sensation his kiss caused. When she started to argue, he cut her off.

  “Now! No backtalk.”

  Kellee couldn’t believe his high-handedness. Apparently, the toe-curling kiss hadn’t affected him at all. Embarrassment flared. What on earth had possessed her to kiss him back? She wasn’t thinking clearly. That was her problem. This amnesia thing had short-circuited all her brain cells.

  Stranded with a man she barely knew, she was worse off now than when she was with all the evacuees. Even if she and Egan had a history at one time, she didn’t know him now. Confusion and hopelessness crept up on her.

  The rush from his kiss faded. The nap had actually rejuvenated her. She’d endured a lot up to this point, and deep down she’d proven she had the instinct to fight back.

  Egan held the passenger door open for her, but she didn’t move. “Why do you treat me like a prisoner?”

  He shoved his sunglasses up onto his head. “You’re not a prisoner. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “By locking me up? How were you able to do that anyway? Cars can’t lock people in.”

  “This car can.” He motioned toward the seat. “Get in.”

  “I’m not a child who needs protection from the big bad world.”

  A shadow seemed to cross his face, and then it was gone. “No, you’re not a child. But until I know you won’t run away again, you’ll follow my rules.” He leaned on the door, not allowing her an inch to escape around him.

  “Rules,” she repeated, standing her ground. “I don’t need rules. I’m an adult. I’m at least—” She stopped, unable to remember her age. Her body was well developed beyond puberty, so she wasn’t a teenager. Mid-twenties, maybe? Older? Damn it. She couldn’t remember her birth date.

  Egan smiled without any real humor. “Can’t remember, can you?” he taunted. Something flickered in his eyes, and he let go of the door to pick up the package he’d dropped.

  Curiosity got the better of her and overrode her urge to argue. “How old am I?”

  He tossed the package in the backseat. “I thought the doctor said not to push it.”

  Kellee glowered. The man was unbelievably frustrating. “That was when I tried to remember on my own. It won’t hurt if someone can fill in the blanks with hard facts.”

  Keys in hand, he walked around the other side of the car, slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

  Kellee stood beside the open passenger door, realizing that she was free to run or to join him inside. Indecision kept her from moving.

  Egan shrugged and turned the ignition. The big engine turned over and settled into a purr. “You’re twenty-five.”

  Maybe she would be better off with Egan than traipsing off on her own. She made up her mind. Climbing into her seat, she jabbed a finger at him. “There, you see? I’m not a child. You can stop treating me like one.”

  Egan’s gaze strayed downward.

  Her blouse had pulled loose during her escape. The neckline gaped, revealing cleavage and a swath of her dirty pink lace bra. She gathered the shirttail and tucked it securely in her shorts.

  His gaze jumped to her face, eyes burning like a black flame. Clearly, he didn’t see her as a child, even though he might treat her like one.

  The memory of his kiss burned to the front of her brain. Heat gathered in her belly in a sensation that was starting to feel familiar—and not entirely harmless. She cleared her throat and buckled her seatbelt. “Why didn’t you wake me when we stopped?” A safer subject, especially in a store parking lot.

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I thought the rest would do you good. Besides, I expected to return before you woke. It was a mistake I won’t make again.” He snapped in his seatbelt and adjusted the air-conditioning. “Unfortunately, that little escapade is probably the talk of the mall’s security crews and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it or any of the security camera video.”

  That wasn’t the answer she expected. It wasn’t even an answer that made sense. What possible consequence could their kiss have? Other than it had certainly rocked her world. Before she could ask, Egan looked at her again. His jaw was set and his firm lips flattened into a tight line.

  A sudden recollection of that same expression blazed across her brain. Egan was particularly intense when he demonstrated a technique that, if executed incorrectly, would injure the training partner.

  Something must’ve shown on her face, because his forehead furrowed. “What is it?”

  “I know you!” The words left her mouth without thought.

  Instead of pointing out she was repeating herself, he asked, “Did you remember something?”

  “I remember that look. When you teach…” her mind searched for the name of the martial art.

  “Aikido,” he supplied.

  “Right.” She made a vague gesture with her hands. “You get very serious when you’re teaching.”

  He nodded as though he understood. “I’m serious about the ground rules.” Holding up long fingers, he ticked off the instructions. “Rule number one: don’t get out of the car unless I tell you it’s okay. Two: don’t ever, and I mean ever, wander off alone. You go where I go, or you stay put.”

  “But—”

  He kept going as though she hadn’t spoken. “Three: if you think you see something suspicious, tell me. Immediately. If something even feels wrong, tell me.” He paused. “Any questions?”

  She got it. Could see it in the intensity of his stare. He was protecting her.

  Although he gave no reason for the rules, the fact that he thought they were necessary at all frightened her.

  Chapter Six

  Petre Vasiliev was dead.

  Nikolai Orlov reverently replaced the phone in its cradle as though the very act would disturb Petre’s ghost. The warm Miami breeze that blew through the open balcony doors of the thirty-first-floor penthouse did nothing to chase away the chilling news. Nikolai gazed through the billowing curtains, barely making out the dozens of watercraft bobbing along the South Beach shoreline. So many people enjoying the finer things. But so few had an inkling of the frailty of life.

  He turned away from the ostentatious view and looked at the framed photograph propped on the glass-topped desk beside the phone. His wife, Yelena. A beauty by any standards, but captured as she was for eternity, she remained as exquisite as the day he’d married her. On that day, her love belonged to him. As should have her life—had she not fled from him. And yet, if what he was told was true, then he was one step closer to finding both Yelena and his daughter.

  He glanced at the phone again and considered the news about Petre. Interference from the hurricane was unavoidable, but this incompetence…Petre’s death…was Solonik’s fault. When this ordeal was over—when the girl was on her way to Russia—Solonik would pay for his brash actions. Nikolai would put another in charge to keep tabs on his American contacts and supply of black market goods.

  No one
should have died. Yet, Petre was dead and now Nikolai’s presence in the United States might soon be discovered. An unfortunate turn of events.

  As Nikolai crossed to the bureau, he surveyed his guest with distaste. Dr. Kosov sat quietly sipping his vodka. There were several reasons to dislike the man. Sipping his vodka like a novichok, a greenhorn, was only one of those reasons. That the man was a traitor was another. Loyal to the highest bidder. Today, that happened to be Nikolai.

  He had demanded to meet Dr. Kosov the moment he’d arrived in the States, but Solonik claimed he’d been unable to locate the doctor right away. Nikolai had waited in frustration for nearly three days before Kosov was sent to him. Finally, the doctor was here, in Nikolai’s penthouse. Now, he would have the long-awaited answers he sought.

  Nikolai splashed vodka into a glass and tossed it back in one gulp, washing the acrid taste from his throat. Schooling his expression, he stepped beside the doctor’s chair. “Excuse the interruption.”

  “No excuse necessary,” Dr. Kosov replied. “You are an important man in our beloved country. I am grateful you had time to meet with me.”

  To the doctor’s credit, he groveled well. Especially since he was on borrowed time.

  “That call was about Petre.”

  The doctor straightened—a hopeful look on his face. “He has found the girl?”

  “He is dead,” Nikolai said coldly.

  Dr. Kosov paled, and the hand that lifted the tumbler to his lips shook so violently the glass chattered against his teeth. Clear liquid sloshed over the edges, causing Kosov to set the tumbler on the low table. “I…I don’t understand. What about Katya?”

  “Tell me again about this girl you are calling Katya.” Nikolai demanded. “Tell me exactly why you believe she is my daughter.”

  “But I already told Viktor Solonik,” the doctor said. “He is your American partner, yes?”

  “Tell me,” Nikolai demanded. “I wish to hear the words from your mouth.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened as he cleared his throat. “I was there at her birth. Byron O’Neal himself drove me to the cottage to deliver Yelena Orlov’s child. You know of Byron O’Neal. He worked for the CIA, yes?” The doctor’s watery eyes pleaded with Nikolai.

  “I know of O’Neal,” Nikolai confirmed. He didn’t expound on his personal knowledge of the man who’d been his American counterpart for the better part of twenty years. “However, that doesn’t tell me how you knew this woman was my wife.”

  The doctor betrayed his nervousness with a lick of his lips. “Before I left Russia, I heard of your marriage and promotion.”

  “The KGB did not publicly announce such information.” Nikolai’s voice was frigid.

  “I was the Defense Minister’s physician’s assistant. I learned many things not reported to the people.”

  The doctor’s reasoning made sense, but it didn’t quell Nikolai’s revulsion at the blatant display of pride. “You defected.”

  The doctor’s face fell. “It…it was such a long time ago”

  “Yes. It was,” Nikolai said dryly. “Perhaps you should speak of more recent events.” He sat opposite Kosov and leaned toward him. “Tell me how you can prove this girl is my daughter.”

  “I…I told you. I was there on the day of her birth.”

  “A fairytale without proof.”

  “Proof?” the doctor whispered. “Surely my word is…”

  “Irrefutable proof.” As much as Nikolai wanted to best O’Neal, he drew the line at kidnapping a girl who may legitimately be O’Neal’s daughter.

  Dr. Kosov gulped. “But the mother’s name was Orlov. I saw her pendant…”

  Nikolai’s heartbeat stuttered. Solonik hadn’t reported this. “Pendant?”

  “Yes. On your wife’s body.”

  Nikolai pinned the other man with a stare. A sense of foreboding darkened his vision. “Her body?”

  It seemed impossible, but the doctor’s face paled even more. “You did not know,” Kosov whispered, his eyes widened at the unwelcome news he’d just delivered.

  “Know what?” Nikolai’s patience grew thin.

  “Your wife died in childbirth.”

  Nikolai’s breath stalled. So many years after Yelena’s betrayal…to learn she was not living in America with another man. What strange twist of fate that he should learn of her death and confirmation of their child at the same moment. “You did not try to save her?” Nikolai demanded.

  The doctor seemed to shrivel. “She…she was already dead when I arrived.”

  “And the baby?” Nikolai asked. “How do you know my wife named her Katya?”

  “O’Neal’s wife was there when Yelena died. She spoke of the birth with me and her husband. Your wife lived long enough to see the infant and give her a name.”

  Nikolai leaned back in his chair and contemplated this new bit of information. “What happened next?”

  “The O’Neals took the infant as their own, giving her an American name,” the doctor said. “They helped me relocate and swore me to secrecy.”

  “A secret you did not keep, I see.”

  “I did. Until now. When I learned of my sister’s illness, I applied for passage to Russia. The paperwork…” Dr. Kosov licked his lips again. “My sister’s time is short, so I sought out Solonik. I told him what I am telling you. He assured me you’d be grateful—that you could get me home without papers.”

  “You defected!” Nikolai spat the distasteful words at the sniveling doctor. “Russia is not your home.”

  “Please, Comrade Orlov. I have money to pay.” The doctor seemed to shrink even more. “My own wife’s death was unexpected. I must return before my sister—”

  Nikolai cut off the doctor’s protest with a look. “Describe the pendant.”

  “I…I only saw it briefly when O’Neal removed it from around Yelena Orlov’s neck.”

  “Describe it.”

  “It was silver—the royal crest…” The doctor’s voice faded, and his eyes grew wide with fear.

  “I am no longer KGB. I’m not going to arrest you for speaking of royalty,” Nikolai assured him. There was no proof any royalty still lived, although Yelena had believed her family were descendants. She’d kept the crest hidden in a small chest. It was the only thing she took when she left. “Tell me more.”

  “It was the Byzantine eagle.”

  “And the eyes?”

  “Made of gems. They were r…red. Blood red.”

  “You are certain?” Nikolai asked.

  The doctor nodded.

  “Da, that was my wife.”

  The doctor slumped in his seat. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “She was a traitor.” Nikolai slammed his fist on the table, reliving the anger and loss all over again.

  “But it proves the girl is your daughter.” The doctor continued, “I have provided the information you wanted. Now…now you can arrange for me to return to Russia?”

  “Not until I have the girl.”

  “But…my sister…”

  “When I have the girl. Not before.”

  Nikolai stood, stoically walked over to the mini bar, and poured himself another drink. The doctor was right, the pendant was proof, but he believed in absolutes. It wasn’t enough to take the word of a man who’d defected from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He was as much a traitor as the woman who’d died giving birth on foreign soil.

  Nikolai studied his drink for a long moment.

  So. Solonik had spoken the truth, and Nikolai had a daughter. Stolen by his old nemesis, and raised as an American.

  Hatred for O’Neal filled his chest. While Nikolai had worked for the Party, O’Neal had slipped through every trap the KGB set to capture the CIA agent. After the Iron Curtain fell, Nikolai thought he was finished with western spies stealing from the Russians. The news he’d learned today confirmed that O’Neal’s deception ran deeper than Nikolai could have imagined.

  When Yelena defected to the West, suspicio
n had fallen on Nikolai. Instead of the prominent appointment he had earned within the KGB, he was imprisoned. Shortly thereafter, the entire Soviet regime crumbled, literally saving his life.

  His party position and reputation in ruins, Nikolai escaped the political upheaval and embraced the capitalist opportunities. Establishing a black market trade came easy with his knowledge of areas ripe for exploitation. With Viktor Solonik in America, Nikolai had the means to supply the Russian black market indefinitely. He had wealth and power in Russia—the likes of which he had never achieved as a member of the KGB.

  What was it the Americans said? Revenge is best served cold. Da, bitter cold, like a Siberian winter. Nikolai would finally have his revenge on O’Neal and his wife’s treachery. And soon, he’d have his daughter.

  Solonik had sent Petre after the girl, knowing that taking her would hurt O’Neal and gain favor with Nikolai. A strategic move on Solonik’s part, but stupid.

  The police would certainly link Petre’s death to the missing girl. O’Neal would be drawn into the investigation. Nikolai’s hope was that the police would remain unaware of Petre’s connection to him. As long as his arrival in the States remained secret, he had the advantage.

  However, it was likely O’Neal would connect the pieces. Nikolai had never underestimated his old enemy. It would be foolish to do so now.

  First, he must deal with the doctor. Tossing back the last of his vodka, he carefully replaced the glass on the sideboard. A discreet nod brought forward a bear of a man from the shadows beside the spiral staircase next to the alcove.

  With shoulders like an American football linebacker, Marcos never failed to intimidate. “Sir?”

  “Marcos,” Nikolai said. “Please show the good doctor to his room.”

  “Of course, Mr. Orlov.” Marcos turned to the doctor, who stood. “Comrade Doctor. Come with me.”

  In soothing tones, Nikolai said, “Marcos will take good care of you. You will be my guest until my daughter arrives.”

  Dr. Kosov looked warily at Nikolai, then glanced at the confiscated cell phone on the sideboard. “May I have my phone to stay in touch with my sister?”

  Nikolai considered the risk, and dismissed it. Kosov wasn’t leaving this apartment until Katya was by his side. “Of course.” He handed the phone to the doctor.