At the not-so-gentle shove on his arm, he turned to John—currently known as Jean Tabeier, his bodyguard.
“We’re just here to walk down that alley and into that abandoned shop.”
The walk would undoubtedly take them right in front of one of the most notorious clubs in the district. Also run by one of the families who controlled holdings in Cheb, Prague, Berlin, and Moscow.
Near the entrance they did what they had rehearsed—arguing, drawing the attention of several people, including the two bouncers who were standing guard outside the door.
Petrolov saw the gun holsters beneath their jackets and the bulge of their guns.
He even recognized one bouncer, who had accompanied his boss on several occasions. The man’s eyes widened and he immediately pulled out his cell phone and made a call.
Knowing his job was done, he took off across the street. Hopefully no one would get hurt in the explosion. The fact he was willingly walking into a rigged and wired building was not one he wanted to contemplate.
“You’re such a likeable chap,” John muttered. “We’ll be lucky if his boss doesn’t—bloody hell.”
Dimitri looked over his shoulder and saw the guard start after them. They reached the building and pulled open the door. Darkness beckoned beyond.
Both of them had memorized the layout on the ten-hour-plus flight over here. They walked to the right ten steps, then opened the door, down the fourteen steps. Sixteen across the basement.
“I don’t fucking like this, by the way,” John muttered.
He ignored him and felt the wall. The door handle was just there.
“Shh,” John said.
They heard the squeak of the door above and the groan of floorboard. The guard.
He cursed above them and asked a question. Dimitri currently didn’t care. He felt the door on the wall, found the handle and wondered if they’d go up in flames if he pulled it.
“Wait.”
John turned his small flashlight on. Wires ran around the perimeter of the room and plastic explosives sat in the center of the table.
“I’m ready to bloody leave now,” John said.
They checked the door didn’t see any rigs.
Both took a deep breath and he opened the door. Nothing happened.
They both exhaled, shut the door and hurried up the back-alley steps.
The shadows didn’t move, but instead of heading back in the way they’d come, they walked across the alley to the other door and pulled it open.
“We need to hurry,” he told John. Again they moved through a dark abandoned building and out a door leading into a different alleyway. No lights shone down on them.
They walked two more streets over, and Petrolov pulled off the wig and wigcap, running his fingers through his hair. John jerked off his own blond wig. When they reached the canal, they split.
Ian Kinncaid, traveling on business and enjoying an evening in Amsterdam, heard and saw an explosion as he stood waiting on a boat.
Dimitri Petrolov was dead.
*****
Seneca, Maryland
November 18, 1:04 a.m.
Rori yawned and closed the door. She was tired. For the second night in a row Darya had awakened screaming bloody murder, bringing every adult within the house running. She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. She wanted a drink of something.
She hadn’t heard from Ian, didn’t know if things had gone as planned or not. And it was driving her bonkers. She’d never been a worrier before and now she fretted. She hated to fret and brood.
His parents asked her if she’d heard from him. His brothers.
She cracked the door back open to check that Darya was still sleeping. The little girl lay on her side, the photo clutched in her hand, the teddy bear under her arm. They were starting to worry about her. Since dinner yesterday evening, she hadn’t eaten a single bite. Darya gave a new meaning to the word “stubborn.” She didn’t want to go to bed, just sat on the bottom step and stared at the front door. Or she sat in the living room near the windows. She was always watching . . . waiting . . .
Rori didn’t want to be gone long. She strode down the hallway and down the stairs. The house was quiet and dark, lit by the low-lit lamps sporadically placed. The hallway to the kitchen was lit with a nightlight near the floor.
The smell of cookies still hung in the air. Even Becky couldn’t tempt Darya with a pumpkin cookie.
Roth sat at the kitchen table dunking cookies into a glass of milk. “These are really good.”
She shook her head and walked to the industrial-sized refrigerator. The shelves were neatly organized and stocked full. She chose a bottle of protein juice and water.
Taking them both, she walked to the table, and sighing, plopped down in the chair next to Roth.
“You get her back asleep?” Roth asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
His gaze ran over her. “You look beat. You should get some sleep while you can.”
She twisted the cap and drank the juice.
“Heard from Tanner?” she asked, setting the bottle back on the table.
He nodded. “Yeah, called and checked in from some Southern plantation. Said he felt like he was on the set of Gone With the Wind or some such.”
Rori had seen the movie and had never understood the rave behind the bloody flick. But then that was her.
Roth stretched, his back popping. “At least Brayden and his family are safe.”
“True.” She studied him for a moment. “You have any luck yet on finding out where Darya came from?”
Roth grinned and rested his temple on his fisted hand. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Why not?” She snatched one of his cookies.
“Ian would have my ass.”
“You don’t tell me, and I’ll have your ass.”
Roth’s eyes narrowed on her. “No, I haven’t.”
Not a big surprise. If someone wanted to get rid of a kid, they’d hardly advertise they were looking for them. Some did, but then those cases tended to be an altogether different issue.
“I see we weren’t the only ones with midnight cravings,” Jock said from the doorway.
Rori turned and smiled at them—Jock in a worn navy robe, the elbows faded and frayed, Kaitlyn in a silky ivory dressing gown. “Sit down, I’ll put on some tea.”
She stood and helped Kaitlyn set the kettle to boil.
Roth looked at her, then at them, and said, “I’m going to check in with the guys outside, then head to bed.”
She nodded, and waited. She knew what was coming.
“Did you ever get Darya to eat anything?” Kaitlyn asked, sitting at the table.
Rori shook her head as she sat down in her chair. “No. She won’t touch a bit of food.”
“Maybe she’s coming down with something,” Jock said, frowning. He reached for the plate of cookies and grabbed three.
Kaitlyn slapped his hand. “One will suffice, dear.”
He kept two.
Rori grinned.
Jock speared her with a look. “She had nightmares last night all damn night. She’s already woken up screaming. What the hell’s going on?”
And there it was.
Rori took another drink of her juice and wished she’d gone upstairs.
Some appliance started to hum and they both looked at her expectantly.
What the hell did she tell them? Nothing.
Kaitlyn looked down at her hands, then back up. “After the kids were kidnapped last year, they both had nightmares for weeks. Tori woke up crying for months.”
Rori nodded.
“You said she was adopted, but the other night Ian acted as though something had happened to her.”
And last night she’d been in the cupboard again.
Rori sighed and rested her head on her hand. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Maybe not, but it would help if we understood,” the woman said.
Rori lo
oked from one to the other. “Sometimes people want to know things, then wished they didn’t know them at all. Darya’s story isn’t a pretty one.” She rolled the bottle between her palms.
“Just spit it out, damn it. Who the hell hurt our little girl?” Jock barked.
Rori looked at him. “I don’t know, Mr. Kinncaid. We have no idea who she is. We found her on a child porn set hiding in a space we could barely get her out of.” She shook her head.
“What?” Kaitlyn asked, leaning forward. “You mean to tell me . . . that poor girl . . . they . . . Did she . . .” She snapped her mouth shut and stood, hurrying to the stove.
Rori swallowed.
“What happened to her? Was she raped?” Kaitlyn asked from behind them.
Jock’s face hardened, and in that instant she again saw where Ian got it. That hard, unforgiving expression.
“As far as we could tell, no. Thank God. Evidence from the house did show she’d been filmed in a new batch that thankfully never made it to the market.”
“Poor, poor little girl,” Kaitlyn said, sniffing. The kettle moaned then whistled. She slammed it down. “Bastards should be shot.”
Instead of answering that they would be, she merely took another drink of her juice. The look in Jock’s eyes said he knew what she wasn’t saying.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to tell them all of it, at least as far as Darya was concerned. “There’s more.”
“More?” Jock asked. “What could be more?”
They didn’t have a clue. “Her sister was brutally raped and murdered.”
“Oh, God.”
“Darya witnessed it, and when she ran, they tried to catch her.”
Kaitlyn, her hand to her mouth, sat down hard in the chair, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Why?”
Rori shook her head. “There are some very evil people in this world, Mrs. Kinncaid. Darya was lucky she could run and hide. God only knows what they would have done with her.” Though she had altogether too good an idea after seeing the room, the video, her own bloody memories.
Jock cleared his throat. “How old was her sister?”
Rori shrugged. “We have no idea. Probably thirteen is our best guess.”
A tear slid down Kaitlyn’s cheek. “I just can’t fathom. I just . . .” She shook her head and stood up, pulling her hand from her husband’s.
“So when we found her in the linen cupboard, that would be why,” Rori said.
Kaitlyn slammed the cups down on the counter. Then she turned to Jock. “Well, Ian might not be home, but by God, that little girl is going to have some fun. Tomorrow we’re going shopping.”
Rori didn’t think that was a very good idea. “Mrs. Kinncaid, with all due respect, I understand where you’re coming from, but I really think it would be best if . . .”
She swung back to Rori. “I’m going and that’s final. You and a contingent of guards can either come with us or stay here. But I’m taking my newest granddaughter shopping for clothes and toys. Period.” Kaitlyn turned back to the cups.
Jock leaned over and patted Rori’s hand. “It’s no use arguing, trust me.”
“Mrs. Kinncaid, it’s simply easier to keep an eye on you here and it’s not safe for Darya.”
Kaitlyn whirled. “I want to show her, that . . . that . . .” Tears tracked down her face. Jock started to get up, but she waved him down and carried the tray over to the table.
She sat at the table and wiped her eyes. “Jock, I want to redo her room next week.” Then she pierced Rori with a look. “And you will all still be here.”
Rori’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am. But about tomorrow. I won’t allow you to put her in danger. Darya’s safety is my first priority. When it’s safer, you can take her to Schwarz if you want.”
She looked like she was about to argue, but Jock put his hands on hers and squeezed.
*****
Jock squeezed his wife’s hands and tried to let her know it would be all right.
Christ, his blood was boiling. If not for all his meds, he knew his blood pressure would be skyrocketing.
Rori stood, tossed her bottle into the glass bin and grabbed her water. “I should get back upstairs. I don’t want to leave her too long.”
Kaitie nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry for going on so.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes again. “Makes me so furious!”
“Well, Ian might not be happy I told you, but I figured you had a right to know what’s going on with your granddaughter.”
“Damn straight,” Jock said, nodding.
She smiled at him. “Good night, then.”
The phone shrilled and they all froze. He reached over and grabbed it just as it rang a second time.
“Hello?” His heart slammed in his chest. One a.m. phone calls were never a good sign.
“Dad?” Gavin asked.
He sighed, then straightened. “What? What’s wrong? Is it Taylor? The baby? Ryan?”
Gavin laughed. “Taylor’s in labor and we’re on the way to the hospital. I just wanted to call and let you know.”
He smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let your mother know.”
“Well, it’s early yet and I’ve had her walking for several hours. Maybe you could stop by in the morning?”
Jock nodded. “All right. I’ll let her know so she doesn’t demand we come over there right now.”
Gavin chuckled and Jock remembered that feeling of giddiness, of nervousness—the overall excitement of looming fatherhood.
“How’s it feel to be on this side?” he asked his son.
“Different,” Gavin answered.
Jock laughed. “Keep us updated or we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“I know,” Gavin said.
Jock heard the mumble of Taylor’s voice in the background as he hung the phone up.
Kaitlyn was watching him. “Taylor?”
He nodded. “Gavin said to wait until the morning to go to the hospital.”
He looked to the door and saw the slight disappointment shift across Rori’s face. “I’m off to bed, then.”
“Good night,” he and Kaitie said at the same time.
They listened to her soft footfalls down the hallway. For a moment neither said a word, then Kaitlyn propped her chin in her hand and looked at him. “I like Rori.”
He grinned. “I know, so do I.”
Her russet brows furrowed. “I think she understands Ian.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t. I don’t know that man. Sometimes I glimpse our son, but . . .”
He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “Time.” He half expected her to still be angry at him, but she only looked at him.
“He found that child in hell, Jock. And I’ve heard Ryan and Tori talking. John was in Colorado. I know Ian sent him and I’m still so furious with Aiden for never saying a word. Not a single word in all this time.” She took a deep breath and he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand.
“Kaitie. Time.”
She nodded. “I know. I know.” She grinned and that dimple he’d always loved winked at him. “I still want them to stay here.” She sipped her tea. “No one’s bought the Cooley place, have they? Maybe Ian would be interested in purchasing—”
“Kaitie, what did you just tell me this morning?”
She ignored him and sipped more tea.
He shared a smile with her.
“I want to get to know our granddaughter,” she admitted.
“And our son?”
“And his wife.”
Their grins grew. “I have a feeling Ian knows the Cooley place and I seriously doubt he’d want it.”
Kaitie chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. “Maybe not. But the entire family knows what a great child’s psychologist Dr. Petropolis is.”
He chuckled. “Kaitie, you’re hopeless.”
“I know, and you still love me.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “That I most definitely do.”
Chapter 27
November 19, 1:04 p.m.
Rori looked at the silent child, who still hadn’t eaten since Ian had left two days ago. She still hadn’t heard from him and she didn’t want to worry.
She hated to worry.
The little girl was pale, but her eyes seemed overly bright.
“All right, Poppet?” She reached her hand out and felt the girl.
Darya was hot. Rori cupped her face in both her hands and Darya looked at her miserably.
“Oh, baby. You don’t feel well, do you?”
No one was in the house. Roth had taken the Kinncaids to the hospital, where Taylor was still in labor. Rori had the fleeting thought that perhaps not being able to have children had some strong points—mainly avoiding hours upon hours of labor.
She picked Darya up and walked down the hallway with her. They had been in the living room, Darya playing with the blocks Ian had bought her, glancing out the window every few seconds. When she’d stopped playing, it drew Rori’s attention. For Darya to be quiet was one thing, but she’d become withdrawn since Ian’s departure and Rori so wanted to be able to communicate with the girl. No one had apparently thought of that fact. But they had gotten along well enough until now with only a couple of glitches. The nightmares and the fact she wouldn’t eat. To get her to drink something, they gave her bright colored glasses with swirling straws—Mr. Kinncaid’s idea.
But this . . . she was hot.
Fear thrummed through her. Probably just a fever. But what if it wasn’t? What the hell was she to bloody do?
Becky was still here.
Rori carried Darya down the hallway and into the kitchen. The little girl put her head on Rori’s shoulder, her arm slung over Rori’s back. Becky was humming and rolling something on the center block.
“Becky?” she asked.
Becky turned and smiled. “Lonely, are you? Don’t worry, they’ll call. You should have gone to the hospital with them.” Her grin grew. “Babies are such a joy.”
“Becky,” she said, walking up to the woman. “I think she’s sick.”
Becky’s round face frowned. “What?” She wiped her floured hands on a dish towel.
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