by Leslie Jones
No. Only greed would make Otis keep his word to a foreigner. “We have no choice.”
“He’ll come through. I know it.” Fyodor reached for her, his false bravado not fooling her for an instant. “Let’s celebrate.”
Fatianova shook him off. “Go get drunk, then sleep it off on the couch.”
He grumbled, but left her in peace as she mentally catalogued the things she still needed to do to make her auction a success.
And wondered, once again, when she could kill him.
Chapter 25
Sunday, February 19. 9:20 p.m.
Little Italy. Boston, Massachusetts.
Elliott watched the willowy redhead glide across the floor, her green silk dress molded to her killer body and tight ass. The short length and ridiculously high heels made her legs seem to go on forever. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Neither could any other man in the room.
As the hostess led the way straight toward them, he glanced across at Mikhail Kerghakov, whose gaze had locked onto the swell of her breasts. The pale man’s salt-and-pepper hair had been clipped short on the sides, but long enough on top so that strands covered part of his forehead. A crisp white shirt and black tie under an expensive suit partially hid his turkey neck. His ears stuck out, but his shrewd eyes countered any comical effect. No one with half a brain would underestimate him.
This time of night, the lights had been turned low and cast blue shadows across the room, creating an intimate ambience. The restaurant had been divided into distinct sections: a long bar area; casual family dining; and a much more exclusive section, separated from the main room by a long, looping shoulder-high cushioned wall. Small tables on one side of the barrier gave way to semicircular booths on the other, enclosed on three sides for maximum privacy.
As the woman approached, Kerghakov turned his face away, picking up his wineglass and swirling the pale liquid. His bodyguards, one on each side of the booth, snapped into high alert, hands dipping inside their jackets. Each stepped forward to block her approach.
Like Kerghakov’s guard dogs, her two bodyguards wore dark suits with the coats unbuttoned for easy access to their hardware, and sunglasses. What, was there some rule in the Bodyguard Handbook that said they had to blind themselves indoors?
The woman glided to a stop, arching her brows and letting her eyes droop in haughty boredom. Her lip curled slightly as she said something he couldn’t hear. One of the guards turned his head to the booth.
“She’d like a word, sir. Should I send her away?”
Kerghakov set his wineglass back onto the table without tasting it. “Let her through.”
The two bodyguards immediately dropped their hands and stepped away. One of her dogs tried to stay by her side, but the bigger of Kerghakov’s guards held out an arm to stop him. The man’s face hardened. Heather glanced at him, flicking a negligent finger in a “go away” gesture. He didn’t like it, but backed off.
“I’m Heather Langstrom-Reed,” the woman said in nearly accentless Russian. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Kerghakov.”
He looked her up and down, gaze lingering at the juncture of her thighs. “I already have a date tonight, thanks. Maybe tomorrow night?”
The guard dog bristled, but settled when she threw a frown his way. Were they doing the nasty on the side? He was good-looking enough, all chiseled cheekbones and six-pack abs.
“We have business to discuss,” she said.
“This is hardly the place or time for a meeting. Make an appointment with my secretary. I’ll see if I can work you in next week.”
“I’m afraid this really can’t wait.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Kerghakov replied, sipping his white wine. “I don’t know you.”
Elliott watched the interplay with curiosity. He knew how cagey Kerghakov could be. Would Heather be able to match him in what was clearly a battle of wits?
Heather cocked her head and looked down at him. “Nevertheless.”
He sighed. “What is so urgent you must interrupt my dinner?”
Her long hair hung in sweet curls over her shoulders and down her back, the perfect foil for the forest green dress. He’d bet his left nut she was a tigress in bed. Elliott’s gaze shifted to the possessive bodyguard, and found him glaring his way. He threw the guard an insolent smirk.
“Our business is private,” Heather said. She looked pointedly at him and Kerghakov’s latest slut, a hand settling onto her hip as she cocked a leg.
Kerghakov shrugged, voice soft as he told the girl to go wait at the bar. She scowled, shot Heather a murderous look, and slid reluctantly out of the booth, hovering there until Kerghakov narrowed his eyes in warning. She stalked away toward the bar. Kerghakov flicked his fingers, and his bodyguards moved out of earshot. So did hers.
“Elliott stays,” Kerghakov said.
He hid his surprise by taking deep swallows of his beer. Why? Maybe Kerghakov trusted him.
Wishful thinking.
Heather took her place across from Kerghakov, moving aside the nearly full plate of spaghetti and resting her forearms on the table. “It’s true we’ve never met, but I’m given to understand we might have a common business interest.”
“I have many business interests.”
“I heard a rumor, though, that you may know something about a particular item, one that’s made its way into Boston from your mother country.”
Kerghakov halted in the middle of bringing a prawn to his mouth. He set his fork aside, a forefinger idly nudging the handle along the edge of his plate as he regarded Heather.
“Then your rumor sent you on a wild goose chase.”
“Your body language suggests otherwise.”
“Fuck my body language. I have nothing to say to you.”
Elliot ate his lasagna in small bites, ready to speak if needed. What would the woman do now?
She leaned forward, giving Kerghakov an eyeful down her dress. His eyes dropped, but to his credit, he met her gaze again.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, Mikhail,” she said. “I know you have an interest in this item. So does the organization I represent. My boss would like to talk to you. Now, you have two choices. You voluntarily walk out of here and have a pleasant conversation, or you decide to be stubborn and die tonight.”
Kerghakov laughed, his soft voice making the sound ghoulish. “I’m not afraid of your threats. Look around you. Would your boss really risk my men opening fire in this very crowded restaurant?”
Heather pursed her lips and nodded, as though he’d said something clever. “You could go that route, certainly. And, most certainly, you would be caught in the crossfire; I can make sure of that. Or, I can ensure your safe passage, and your family’s safety. If you’re straight with us, I can guarantee your family will not be arrested, or hassled in any way. I will also guarantee you won’t be detained, arrested, or prosecuted. We want information; nothing more.”
Kerghakov looked down at his barely eaten spaghetti, then took a healthy swallow of his wine. He sat back, one hand resting on the table and the other in his lap. Elliott could see the gears moving in his head. At long last, he snagged a clean wineglass and poured from the bottle sitting between them. He handed it to her.
She swirled the liquid in the wineglass before sipping. “This is an excellent Chablis.”
“Who do you work for that you so idly threaten my life?”
Heather sipped again before setting the glass down. “I’m here as an intermediary for the FBI.”
Elliott started, surprised, though he kept his face expressionless. It was a gutsy move, coming right out and saying it.
Kerghakov twirled some pasta onto his fork and ate it. “Unlikely. Federal agents wouldn’t authorize a murder.”
She gave a gentle smile. “The FBI surrounded this restaurant before I came in. My task is to convince you to exit peacefully.”
He scratched his earlobe, eyes puzzled. “You’re honest. That’s refreshing for a F
ed.”
“I said I’m an intermediary. Come on. Leave these people to their meals. Come talk to us.”
“No. Why should I?”
Heather shrugged and crossed her legs. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be arrested and held as an enemy of the state, and disappear into the military prison at Guantanamo Bay.”
A small smile crossed his lips and vanished. “You think you can make any charge stick? I’ve done absolutely nothing illegal.”
“Also, your family would be brought in for questioning, and would be publicly charged with a variety of crimes. We would make their lives very difficult.”
Kerghakov’s brows snapped down and his eyes grew icy. “That’s a dangerous threat to make. You better be damned sure of your position.”
“I don’t mean to make more threats. I’m just telling you what the FBI plans to do if they can’t get your voluntary cooperation. I don’t want to go that route. As I said, I’m hoping we can just talk.”
Kerghakov exhaled through his nose and looked up at the ceiling. “Just talk? Nothing more?”
“Just information.”
“And immunity?”
She laughed. “For anything you say tonight, yes. Not for anything you’ve done in the past or may do in the future.”
“I thought I might catch you out on that one. Do you really have the authority for this?”
“Yes, I really do.”
He ran his thumb and forefinger over his chin. “If you arrest me, I’ll deny it all. If you harm any member of my family, I will bury you.”
“I understand.”
“Everything I say is off the record?”
“Everything. You have my word.”
He nodded, making his turkey neck wobble. “Ask your questions, then.”
Heather leaned back against the padded semicircle. “I’d prefer you to talk with my boss. I’m just a messenger who happens to speak Russian.”
“No. It’s you or no one. Now, or never.”
Heather smoothed her dress along her thighs and recrossed her legs. Elliott recognized the nervous gesture. He did the same with his jeans.
“I have your word you’ll answer honestly?”
Kerghakov stabbed a prawn. “It’s beyond me why I’m even giving you the time of day. By all rights, I should have my men kill you here and now. But,” he added quickly, holding up a hand as fire flashed through her eyes. “I don’t want to ruin my dinner. And you remind me of my daughter. She, too, is bold. Daring. And very outspoken. She does not, however, threaten to kill me.”
Heather looked him squarely in the eye. “I’m sorry for that. I knew I had only moments to make my case. I needed to get your attention.”
He patted his lips with a napkin, then dropped it back into his lap. “You have it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. This item—is it in Boston already?”
“You think I’m selling it?”
“Or you know who is.”
Kerghakov rubbed a hand under his chin. “I believe it’s here, yes.”
“All right. Are you the seller?”
He shook his head. “No. An interested buyer.”
Her lips parted just the tiniest bit. “Do you know who the seller is?”
Kerghakov shrugged a shoulder. “Not precisely. I have a contact. A broker.”
“Broker?”
“A middleman. It keeps us all protected.”
Heather nodded her understanding, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table. “You said you wanted it. For yourself? An organization? A cause? What do you intend to do with it?”
He chuckled. “That’s a lot of questions all at once.”
She smiled, her eyes lighting in amusement. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome. Also, if I don’t come out soon, the cavalry will ride to the rescue.”
“Then, by all means, let’s be quick. I want to get back to my dinner before it gets cold.” He glanced down. “Although I think it might be too late.”
Heather chuckled. “I’m sure the kitchen will reheat it for you.”
He looked at her in horror.
She reached for her wineglass, but didn’t drink. “So why do you want it?”
“I’m entering the auction on behalf of a client.”
Heather cocked her head. “And who would that be?”
“No one to concern the FBI.” He ate another prawn. “Ahh. Still warm.”
“Mikhail—”
“No. I won’t compromise him. Your promise of immunity doesn’t extend to him.”
Heather blinked, leaning away from him. “Are you a lawyer as well as an accountant?”
He breathed an eerie laugh. “No. Just a lowly, unimportant bean counter.”
“I thought you agreed to be truthful,” she said in reproach. “You have a legitimate CPA firm, yes. But your average accountant isn’t in the market for a bomb of this particular nature.”
His shrewd gaze roved over her face. “I told you—I’m just a proxy. What do you intend to do with this information?”
“Well, find the bomb and stop the sale,” she said. “Obviously.”
He smiled. “Obviously. But I meant, will the FBI enter the auction to stop any of the rest of us from getting it?”
“I don’t know what their plan is at the moment. I’d imagine they’ll want to get it off the market any way they can. What does your client want with a nuclear bomb, Mikhail?”
“I don’t know what his plan is at the moment.”
“I said immunity,” Heather said. “All this is off the record. And no one will mention your involvement. Period.”
Kerghakov sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, I can’t discuss anything my client will do or not do. Now I have a question for you. Who gave you my name?”
Heather shook her head. “I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed to slits, displeasure flashing through them. “Don’t lie to me. It’s obvious I have a leak somewhere.”
“Maybe. But I truly don’t know. They didn’t tell me.”
Kerghakov thrust his plate aside. “Well. This has been interesting. Are we through?”
“Almost. Mikhail, who is your contact?”
He reached across the table to snag his slut’s unused napkin. Pulling a ballpoint pen from the inner pocket of his suit coat, he wrote something in block letters across it. Handing it back to her, he said, “Would you send my friend back over on your way out?”
Heather stood. “Thank you for your time, Mikhail. I apologize for interrupting your dinner.”
Heather looked just as stunning walking away. Elliot couldn’t tear his gaze from her ass. As she and her guard dogs reached the bar, the good-looking one saw the slut and jerked his head back toward Kerghakov. She scowled, but slid off the stool and carried her drink back toward the booth.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Kerghakov asked. Elliott jerked his attention back to the booth.
“Not really, no,” he admitted.
Kerghakov grimaced and gestured toward the departing party. “I’m on their radar. I’m sure I’m under surveillance, and they probably have a wiretap on my phone. I can’t meet with Mr. Sokolov, and I certainly can’t go to his home. There can be no link between us, do you understand?”
The lightbulb popped on over his head. “You want me to tell him what you talked about tonight.”
Kerghakov nodded. “Wait until a large party leaves the restaurant, preferably one with children. Mingle with them, talk to them. The FBI won’t pay any attention to a family with kids. Get into a taxi. Go to someplace crowded, like the House of Blues or, better yet, the Machine Nightclub.”
Elliott blanched. “That’s a gay club.”
“So? It’ll be crowded, and that’s the point. Get lost in the crowd. Wait at least two hours. If anyone’s following you, they’ll be bored by then. Pick someone up and leave with them.”
He knew better than to argue further. “What about my car?”
“Leave i
t. Pick it up tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do? Slip out the back?”
Kerghakov dropped his napkin onto the table and stood, holding out a hand to the slut, who had finally reached the booth. “Me? I’m walking straight out the front door. Make sure you brief Mr. Sokolov tonight.”
Chapter 26
Monday, February 20. 10:00 a.m.
FBI Field Office. Boston, Massachusetts.
“Boss wants us.”
Lark looked up at Jocelyn. “I just saw him. He’s being nice to me. It creeps me out.”
Jocelyn laughed. “Not Melvin. Doug.”
She closed out her email and locked her computer onto a screensaver showing various scenes of zebras running, playing, and in general looking cute.
“What’s with the zebras?”
Lark giggled. “They’re impossibly adorable.”
Jocelyn cast a sideways glance at her. “Back in 2009, someone hacked into the power grid of the nuclear power plant outside of Greensboro, Massachusetts. The systems sustained no damage, but the first thing users saw when they logged on was the rear end of a zebra.”
“Really?” Lark dropped her eyes, afraid her friend would see the guilt in her eyes. “I guess someone else likes zebras, too. Anyway, I’m sure that person just meant to help the company improve their systems security.”
“Sure. That must be it. Doesn’t everyone like zebras? Here, we’re in the big conference room.”
“We? We who?”
Lark followed Jocelyn inside and stopped, startled. People filled the room almost to capacity. Some had seated themselves at the conference table, but it held only twelve, leaving many to stand or lean against the walls. What was going on? As she looked around, Lark realized she knew a lot of them. She saw the five section chiefs, as well as senior agents from the satellite offices. With a jolt of surprise, she spotted John McTaggert and Alex Wood.
And Mace.
He smiled warmly at her. Her brow knitted, bewildered, but she returned the smile, instantly feeling better for seeing him. It didn’t, however, alleviate her confusion. What was he doing here? What were any of them doing here? Much as she wanted to go to his side, Jocelyn pulled her to an unoccupied patch of wall instead.