Nikolai Mateev wiped his lips with a paper napkin. “We have fast food in Moscow, you know. But even in America, the burgers are better.”
Oleg gestured to The Prow. “Once inside, I’ll get you an American beer to wash down your dinner.”
“I usually drink vodka, but as an American, I’ll drink your beer.” He chuckled.
Oleg laughed with him, yet found the conversation as dull and banal as Nikolai had looked when he trudged from the bus. But there was more to Mateev. There had to be. And until he revealed his true self, Oleg had no choice but to wait.
Oleg got out of the car and checked the street again. He found nothing amiss and rounded to open Nikolai’s door. As they approached the bar, Oleg’s stomach churned and he knew that later he’d regret having eaten all that rot to keep Nikolai happy.
Just as Oleg had left it, the front door was locked and a handwritten note about the bar being closed was still in place. After producing the keys, Oleg unlocked the door and held it open for Nikolai. Oleg stepped across the threshold into the darkened bar. It was a step Oleg had taken tens of thousands of times before. Yet this time was different. In helping Nikolai Mateev, Oleg had done what his grandmother always foretold—become an important man. He could almost hear the cheer of the crowds that filled Red Square, even though the adulation came from centuries long past.
* * *
Roman knelt in front of Madelyn and let out a long breath, a sense of profound relief washing over him. One arm was loose and the other attached to the chair by a flexi cuff. But she was alive and that was all that mattered right now.
“How’d you find me?” she asked.
“One part good analysis, two parts dumb luck.” He wanted to pull Madelyn to him and let his body melt into her perfect form. He had to resist the urge to be anything other than vigilant. Still, he needed to be honest with her. “I hope you aren’t mad, I went back to your apartment and when you weren’t there, I let myself in. I was worried that Oleg was alive and mobile, so I read the texts on your computer...”
“It was Ava,” Madelyn said. “She set me up.”
Tears filled her eyes and she worked her jaw back and forth. It was a bad betrayal and one that would haunt Madelyn for years to come. To give her comfort, he reached for her free hand. Her palm was sticky and covered in blood. Flesh had been sheared away, leaving exposed pink skin that filled with pinpricks of blood. The side of her wrist had gotten the worst of it, crimson blood freely ran from an open gash. Roman gripped her arm hard and lifted the extremity—both simple first aid measures to staunch the bleeding.
“There’s an exposed bolt under the seat,” she said, giving him an explanation of how her wrist had been injured before he had the chance to ask. “I used it to cut the flexi cuff and ended up ripping more than just plastic. Oleg tied me to this chair to beat me.” She shivered. Roman continued to hold her and gave Madelyn a moment to collect her thoughts. “It was awful and I was terrified.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say when he was coming back?”
Madelyn shook her head. “No. I was so worried that he was just going to leave me here to waste away.”
It was an interesting notion. Yet, Oleg had gone to an extreme amount of trouble to kidnap Madelyn. It meant that Oleg needed her for something? But what?
“He’s coming back,” Roman said. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Madelyn jerked her tethered arm as she tried to stand and run. The chair, bolted to the floor, rocked and then jerked her back to her seat. “Get me out of here,” she said, on the verge of sheer panic.
“Madelyn.” He gripped her knees. “It won’t do either one of us any good if you panic. I want you to breathe with me.”
She began to breathe slowly, deeply, along with him. Her struggles ceased.
“Are you better?”
“I am but...” She cast her gaze to the side. “Did you see Ava?”
He nodded. “At the university. She was high, but lucid enough to tell me she’d seen you. After that, I knew Oleg was involved. It’s how I found you.”
“Where is she now?”
“I grabbed a police officer and he’s holding her as a material witness.” Roman chose not to tell Madelyn that the cop was Jackson. “It’ll get Ava into the system and hopefully the help she needs.” He paused. “I hope that’s what you wanted.”
She nodded. “It is.” Both her movement and voice were small.
“But I’m worried about you,” Roman said. “Any other injuries?”
“Oleg knocked me out. It left my memory foggy for a little while, but I saw you and it all came back.”
The importance of his face being the key to unlocking her memories did not escape Roman. He placed a gentle kiss on Madelyn’s lips. “I need to find something to cut you lose,” he said. He riffled through the desk drawers looking for scissors, a knife—hell, he’d even be happy with a letter opener. Nothing. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
Roman gave her a wry smile. He loved her spirit and her sense of humor. He loved her strength and compassion. Basically, he loved her. Too bad the feeling wasn’t returned. With a final glance over his shoulder, he slipped across the hall and into the storage room.
It was just as Roman remembered—shelves filled with chips, salsa, cheap wine, popcorn. He rummaged through the foodstuffs for something sharp and was rewarded with a utility knife. The blade had been dulled by weeks of cutting boxes open, but was still sharp enough to slice through the remaining flexi cuff.
A noise came from above and Roman froze. The ceiling creaked, as if the floor overhead was giving way to a footstep. Then again and again. Someone was moving upstairs, of that Roman had no doubt. Which made the answer to the next question so important—was it Oleg? Or had Jackson found his ethics and brought in the cops?
He silently returned to Madelyn and cut the plastic band encircling her wrist. She rose to her feet and faltered. Roman held her steady. As if his hands needed proof that she was real, he ran his palms down her arms and encircled her waist.
She looked up at him, the harsh overhead light shone down on her like a halo. He drew her to him. She felt so good—soft and strong—but he wanted more, needed more.
Pulling Madelyn closer, Roman pressed his lips to hers. She sighed into his kiss and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She reached around his neck, her body fitting perfectly with his form. For a moment, he almost forgot about the intruder upstairs. Almost, but not completely.
He broke away from the kiss, determined to make two things happen. First, he had to get Madelyn out of the building. Second, if Oleg was upstairs, there was no way that Roman was going to let him escape again.
“Come on,” Roman said. He slipped his hand through Madelyn’s. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Me? Why not us?”
He didn’t have a lot of time to explain, so he gave her the basics. “There are people upstairs. I don’t know if it’s Oleg or the police. I’m going to investigate, but first I want you to get out through the back door. The code is six-one-one-two.”
“You aren’t leaving me,” she said, clinging to his arm. “I won’t let you.”
Her brows were drawn together in a look of determination. The injuries to her face pained his own flesh and the need to guard her was as essential as his next breath. “I can’t do what I need to without knowing that you’re safe.”
“If I’m with you, how can I be anything but?” Before Roman could argue that there were several ways, she continued, “Oleg Zavalov has been chasing me for the past twenty-four hours. He’s used my sister to trap me. I’m not going to keep running. If I do, I’ll never stop looking over my shoulder.”
In a way, she made sense. He handed Madelyn the utility knife
and he reached for his gun. “If I tell you to run, you have to do as I say. Got it?”
She tucked the packing knife into her back pocket. “Got it.”
Light from the office spilled into the hallway and chased darkness into the farthest corners of the corridor. It illuminated the bottom of the stairs and slowly the glow faded to nothing until the uppermost steps were lost in the gloom. Hand in hand, Roman and Madelyn ascended.
At the top, Roman held his ear to the door and heard two distinct voices in the room beyond, both male and one with a heavy Eastern European accent. Could it be Nikolai Mateev? He pressed into the metal, his cheek flat, his breath still, and heard no more.
Madelyn’s grip on his hand tightened. In the darkness, her mouth was against his ear. Her hot breath washed over his neck. “Don’t make me run,” she whispered. “I need to fight as much as you do.”
“Together,” he said, “we’ll take down these bastards.”
“Together,” she said.
He smiled. Gun drawn, Roman pushed the door open and stepped into the bar.
* * *
Oleg laughed at Nikolai’s latest joke with more amusement than it deserved and winced at the sound of his own faked merriment. He lifted the half-full beer to his lips and emptied the glass in one swallow. The drink landed in his gut like a liquid bomb and Oleg smothered yet another belch with the side of his hand. He was becoming disgusting.
A warm glow radiated from his middle, ending at the tips of his slightly numb fingers. How many beers, he wondered, would it take before he no longer cared about the pain he would be forced to inflict on Madelyn? Two? Three? Twenty?
The more time passed, the more he loathed the upcoming encounter. He may have enjoyed hurting Madelyn before, but he wasn’t twisted enough to enjoy killing her in cold blood.
Sometimes he had to block out parts of himself to do what needed to be done. But as he’d learned over time, violence was just part of business. To ingratiate himself with Nikolai, Oleg would do anything.
“Another?” Oleg lifted his glass.
“Da, da. Another.” Nikolai still held his Denver Broncos duffel, clutching it to his chest. He handed over the empty glass, then set the bag on the floor. Until now, the bag had remained in Nikolai’s grasp since arriving. To Oleg, it seemed odd. He wanted to ask about its contents. Drugs? Cash? Diamonds?
Moving to the end of the bar, he stopped. A form emerged from the shadows. The glasses slipped from Oleg’s hands and shattered on the floor. Roman Black stepped into the light, his gun drawn. How was he still in Boulder? Madelyn told Oleg that he’d left town. She’d been so certain. He’d been so certain.
“Who is this?” Nikolai demanded.
Roman said, as he strode farther into the room, “I’m an operative with Rocky Mountain Justice and you, Nikolai Mateev, are in my custody.”
“Rocky Mountain Justice,” Nikolai echoed. “You let me be taken by RMJ? How could you, Oleg? Predatel’skaya negodyay.” Traitorous wretch. “You will die for this.”
Oh hell. Oleg wished that Roman would shoot him now. It would save him from the agony that Nikolai Mateev promised to inflict. Where was the rest of the team from RMJ? Or the feds? Or even the cops? Surely, there had to be more of them.
But, no. No armed men rushed from the basement. The front door did not explode open, blown from its hinges by bits of charge.
Was it just Roman?
Oleg was trapped in a vise, squeezed by two deadly men. The need for self-preservation was like a thirst, but how long would he last—even in jail—if he made a deal with the law? No, he’d never betray his people, his calling, his destiny.
“Go, Otets,” Oleg said. “Get out of here. Save yourself.”
Roman twitched his barrel toward Nikolai. “Get on the floor, Mateev. Lie facedown and put your hands behind your head where I can see them.”
Oleg glanced over his shoulder. The godfather of the Russian Mafia looked not at Roman, the enemy, but at Oleg—his ally. He spat, hitting Oleg under the eye. Oleg flinched as if struck.
Nikolai kept his eyes on Oleg as he got slowly to his knees and then flattened on the ground. “Predatel’skaya negodyay.” Traitorous wretch. He repeated.
“It wasn’t me,” Oleg said. “I swear. This man worked with Serge. He was part of the group meant to betray you.”
“Shut up,” Roman growled, “and save your excuses for the judge.” Then over his shoulder, he called, “Madelyn.”
Madelyn materialized from the shadows. Had Roman only returned for the woman, his timing impeccably bad? Was Oleg now the one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?
“There’s a phone behind the bar. I need you to make a call,” Roman said.
She gave a wordless nod. Madelyn rested her hand on Roman’s arm as she passed.
Madelyn. Oleg cursed her name. It was her death that was to be his salvation. And alive? She was his destruction. Or was she? He’d only get one chance to make this work. As she neared the bar, Madelyn glared at Oleg. For such a small person, she had a fierce persona. He smiled. She narrowed her eyes.
One more smile from Oleg. It was not returned, yet he didn’t care. Oleg pivoted and grabbed Madelyn. Before she could scream or Roman could fire, he had one arm across her throat and the other at the back of her neck. “Put the gun down, Roman,” he said.
Madelyn wheezed as she struggled for breath.
Roman advanced. “Let her go.”
“You won’t shoot me. To get to me you have to shoot through her.” Oleg tightened his grip on Madelyn’s throat, cutting off even more air. She reached for the constricting arm and pulled. She tried to turn her neck into the crease of his elbow. He held her head steady against the solid bone of his forearm. He tightened his grip, pressing harder into her larynx and her hands fell away. “If you don’t drop the gun, I’ll break her neck. Letting her die seems to be the one thing you refuse to do.”
Roman didn’t waver and Oleg began to sweat.
“Don’t play with me,” Oleg said. “I will break her neck. One. Two.”
Pain erupted in Oleg’s forearm and his hand went numb. He saw red. Red walls. Red floor. Red blood flowing out of a wound cut by a red knife. Madelyn dropped to her knees and stumbled toward Roman.
Oleg gripped his arm. A packing knife was in his flesh, driven in to the hilt by Madelyn’s free hand. Blood seeped through his fingers. He dropped to his knees. In that instant, Nikolai rose, a black submachine gun in his hand. The barrel was short and the grip was tucked into his side. A long magazine, with more than one hundred bullets, hung down from the stock. Within a second, Nikolai could end every life in the room.
The Colorado Mustangs duffel lay open at Nikolai’s feet. At least now Oleg knew what had been in the bag.
“You,” Nikolai said to Oleg. “You and I will leave here and collect all my money.”
“There’s cash behind the bar. It’s in a safe,” said Oleg. “It’s enough to get you out of town.”
“I’m glad to see that my trust in you wasn’t completely misplaced.”
Despite the pain, Oleg couldn’t help but smile. He should’ve known that it would all turn out in his favor. Greatness was in his blood and could not be ignored. He bit back a scream as he pried the knife from his arm and then tossed the blade aside. He stood and fished the car keys from his pocket, ready to start the next chapter of his life.
“Girl,” Nikolai said to Madelyn. “Get my money.”
“Bottom shelf,” said Oleg. “Behind all the bottles, there’s a trap door. It’s in there.”
Madelyn set all the bottles aside and had the trapdoor open within a minute. Oleg gave her the combination. With the safe open, Madelyn withdrew two stacks of bills—all C-notes—to the tune of one hundred thousand US dollars. She stood, the money in her hands.
To Oleg, it seemed as if each had somethin
g the other wanted. Madelyn held the money. Both Roman and Nikolai were armed—their guns trained on the other. Oleg had a means of escape.
“Come to me, girl,” Nikolai said. “And bring my money.”
The Russian still had his gun trained on Roman and Madelyn hesitated only a moment before coming from behind the bar and stepping in front of Nikolai. Hands full of bills, her arms were outstretched.
For Oleg, a million things happened separately and all at once. Madelyn tossed the stack of money in the air and bills surrounded them like a blizzard. She struck fast and precise. Reach. Twist. Break. Flip. The gun was in her hands, not Nikolai’s. Mateev dropped to the floor and scrambled for the bills as they floated to the ground.
Upright again, Nikolai rushed for the door.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” Roman said.
Nikolai didn’t heed the warning.
Roman’s finger moved to the trigger.
Oleg wasn’t about to let his legacy be that of the man who led Rocky Mountain Justice to Nikolai Mateev. He was the descendant of the czars and knew when personal sacrifices needed to be made. He lunged forward, pushing Nikolai out of the line of fire. A stinging sensation drove through his back. Then another and another and another. He fell to the ground, his legs no longer under his command.
Nikolai bent to grasp the car keys from Oleg’s open hand. Hurriedly, he pushed the front door open.
Oleg clawed to the filthy concrete outside. Above, he saw an evening sky streaked with pink and red and purple. At the curb was his own car. Oleg watched as the most important man to come out of Russia since Stalin slid behind the driver’s seat and sped away. Roman gave chase on foot. Two bullets were fired. Pop. Pop. Then the car rounded a corner and was gone. In the distance, he heard the wail of sirens.
The sun slid behind the buildings across the street. The last light of day blinded Oleg and he shut his eyes. He didn’t feel the warmth of the rays, only the cold and biting wind of the Siberian plains. In the distance, he heard the howl of the wolves. And the howl of the wolves. And nothing.
Her Rocky Mountain Defender Page 19