by Roxie Rivera
The phone on Holly’s desk started to ring, the signal that would call Lana into the room. It would be Fox on the other end, of course. Lana jogged into the office, playing the role of Holly superbly, and slipped into the small closet on the left. He picked up the phone but said nothing as Fox played the recorded conversation from earlier. Her portion of the fake call that had aggravated Holly so much played over the phone line while Holly’s replies came through the speaker.
The earbud crackled against his eardrum. “Jarhead is on site.”
It wouldn’t be long now. Sixty seconds? Seventy? One or two nicely placed shots—and it would all be done. He controlled his breathing and listened intently, waiting for the whisper of a footstep or the creak of a door.
There! Finally.
The office door opened slowly. He held his breath now, straining to hear over the recordings. The fine hair along the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced away from the computer screen to stare at the darkened corner of the room to give his eyes time to adjust before he had to make a good, clean shot.
A hand gripped the back of his chair and spun it around with a quick burst of force. Finn Connolly dropped down to one knee, moving out of the line of fire. Kostya spotted the dark figure in the doorway and centered his muzzle on the target. He squeezed off two quick shots and the man in the doorway, the sicario who had been sent to trail and kill Finn—and Holly if Finn failed—fell forward.
Kostya shoved out of the chair, sidestepped Finn and rushed the doorway. He kicked away the gun still held in the cartel hit man’s hand and then crouched down to check the man’s pulse. He found only the erratic pumps of a dying heart and exhaled a pent-up breath. It’s done.
“Is he dead?” His gun pointed safely at the ground, Finn rose to his feet with only the slightest wobble before quickly finding his balance on that prosthetic leg.
“Yes.” He picked through the hitman’s pockets but found nothing interesting or useful. The dead man was a professional and had nothing on him that could identity him or tie him back to the cartel.
Finn moved closer—and then stopped suddenly, his entire body going rigid. Kostya lifted his head just as Finn tapped his shoulder, the silent signal alerting him to the sounds of another person approaching.
Shit.
Even before Kostya could react, Finn displayed those finely honed Marine instincts and grabbed the possible assailant the moment he appeared in the doorway. Finn slammed the man into the wall and pressed his forearm across the man’s throat.
“Hey! Hey!” Hector Salas lifted his hands while croaking the words.
Finn spotted the gun in Hector’s hand and stripped him of it before pointing his own weapon on the cartel’s new boss. “You have three seconds to tell me why you’re here.”
Fuck. The last thing Finn needed was to make an enemy of Hector Salas, a man secretly related to Finn’s new girlfriend, Hadley. Whether Finn was aware of that connection or not, Kostya couldn’t say.
Trying to head off a disaster, he tapped Finn’s hand. “Lower your weapon.”
As if realizing he didn’t know the full score, Finn frowned and did as instructed.
Kostya glared at Hector. “You’re late.
“It’s been a busy night.”
He could only imagine. “Did you get it done?”
“It’s finished.” Hector slashed his hand through the air. “It’s over.”
He harrumphed and nudged the dead man with the toe of his boot. “What do you want to do with this one?”
“That’s your specialty, not mine,” Hector replied easily.
“That’s right,” Kostya answered dryly. “Betrayal and treachery are yours.”
Hector flipped him off, but Kostya ignored it. He noticed that pensive expression on Finn’s face and decided it was time to get the injured vet out of there before he started piecing things together. The less he knew the better.
As if sharing his thoughts, Hector gestured toward the door. “You should go, Finn. This isn’t the sort of night you want to be without an alibi. Get back to the hospital. Hadley needs you. This is done. You’re free of whatever obligation you had to the cartel.”
“Wait.” Kostya reached into his pocket for one of his special cards. He handed it to Finn. “Consider it your insurance policy. Whatever you need, you call me. I owe you a debt.”
Finn took the card and tucked it into his back pocket. He glanced at the dead body on the ground, shook his head and left the building without saying another word. Kostya hoped it was the last he ever saw of him.
Alone with Hector, Kostya glanced at the usurper who had led tonight’s coup. “You should get out of here, too.”
“I only came to make sure you didn’t put a bullet in my prima’s new boyfriend.” Hector’s gaze drifted down to the dead man bleeding out on the tile floor. The whitish blue light from the computer screen illuminated his confused expression. “There were supposed to be two of them. So, he either lied to my face or this one killed the other one before the job started to keep the money.” He paused and grimaced. “Or we’re missing a man.”
His pulse pounding now, Kostya tilted his head down toward the ID badge dangling from the front of his coveralls and rushed out of the office. “Did we miss someone?”
“Jarhead was trailed by one man.” Fox answered him quickly amid the tap of keyboard keys. “Sunny didn’t see anyone else. I haven’t picked up anything in the salon or at the rear or front entrances.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fox mentioned the entrances, and he realized he had forgotten to lock the front door of the coffee shop or set the alarm. “Do we have eyes in the coffee shop?”
“There’s no video link there. It’s just straight security with motion sensors.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “There’s a traffic cam with a view of the coffee shop. Let me see if I can—hell! It’s been knocked off line.”
Shit.
Fearing the worst, Kostya reached the door of the supply closet and rapidly knocked five times to make sure Lobo wouldn’t put a bullet in him the second he opened it. He twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
The scent of blood and worse hit him right in the face.
An invisible fist twisted his gut. He slapped at the wall to find the light and blinked away the momentary blindness from the sudden blast of brightness.
When his eyes focused on the bloody, messy scene before him, Kostya expelled an agonized breath. Fuck.
It seemed Lobo had a stomach for wet work, after all.
Chapter Three
DETERMINED TO KEEP Lobo a secret, Kostya slammed the door shut and spun around on Hector. The other man eyed him with suspicion and confusion. Kostya put a hand on Hector’s chest and gave him a slight shove. “You need to go.” He pointed toward the exit. “I work alone. Leave. Now.”
Hector looked as if he wanted to argue but didn’t. Maybe he was glad he hadn’t seen anything inside the room. The man had enough secrets of his own to keep and didn’t need another one. Backing away slowly, Hector said, “Good luck.”
Kostya followed Hector to the rear exit and locked it behind him. He ducked into the office and opened the closet where Lana had hidden earlier. She had tucked herself away in the corner, her knees folded demurely and her feet curled up beneath her. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but she seemed almost serene and completely closed off in her own head. Her bony little legs looked so sad and pathetic. He’d have to make sure this girl was eating well now that she was under his care.
“Come with me.”
She nodded and rose to her feet with effortless grace, her movements lithe and practiced. He didn’t have to ask where she had learned to move like that. He’d been inside enough private sex clubs to know that some men liked their submissive women to learn certain positions for kneeling and sitting and even more rules for how to stand or bend. Even if he had never seen the horrible bruises marking Lana’s body, her quiet feminine grace and her rush
to please would have been enough to make him suspicious.
Following close behind, Lana trailed him to the supply closet. He glanced back at her and frowned. “I hope you have a strong stomach.”
Her pale eyes glinted with a flinty hardness. She hadn’t lost that spark of strength he’d always admired in Russian women. Replying in their shared language, she lifted her chin and demanded, “Show me what needs to be done.”
Kostya stepped aside and opened the door to reveal Lobo, her face battered and her hands slick and red hurriedly wiping up the puddle of blood that had pooled next to the dead body. Moving closer, he put together the clues to form an idea of what had happened. The man had obviously come through the same access tunnel he had used earlier. Shampoo and conditioner bottles had tumbled off the shelves while Lobo fought the man. Lobo had put herself between the cartel’s man and Holly’s sleeping body. Something had happened—a kick or a slap—that had knocked her gun away before she could fire. Or, maybe she had hesitated to fire because she didn’t want to spook the other hitman in the salon.
Whatever had happened, it was clear Lobo and the assassin had battled to the death before she had stabbed him repeatedly with the green handled screwdriver from his toolbox. Her face was a fucking mess, and she moved slower than usual and favored her left side. She needed to get those ribs checked.
Lobo finally looked up at him. She wiped her bloody nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry about your screwdriver.”
The sound that escaped his throat came out as a strangled, rough laugh. “I don’t give a shit about that screwdriver.” Crouching down in front of his protégé, he cupped her face and forced her to meet his inquiring gaze. “Are you all right?”
She reached up with a trembling hand and jerked his gloved fingers off her face. “Not now,” she all but ordered. “Don’t be nice to me now.”
He understood what she meant. She needed him to keep her in the mission mindset, to keep her running on those adrenaline fumes. Later, when she was alone, she could fall apart. And she would fall apart. A first kill? It was always the hardest.
Kostya rose to his full height. It was too much to ask of her, but he had no other choice. “Get this body wrapped, and clean up this fucking mess.” He looked back at Lana. “Get in here and help her.”
Leaving the two young women to work, he walked over to Holly and knelt down at her side. He checked her pulse and studied her face. She was still out cold. Glancing at his watch, he figured they had a two- or three-hour window to get everything cleaned up before she started to stir.
He moved away from Holly and plucked a pair of surgical booties from Lobo’s backpack that he quickly slipped over his boots. Grabbing the wipes and disinfecting spray he preferred, he said, “I’m going back to the office.”
“Here.” Lobo handed him a neatly packaged tarp and a roll of duct tape from her backpack.
He took the tarp and tape and headed for the office. With the practiced efficiency of a cleaner, he wrapped the body in the plastic and sealed it tight. When he was done, he began spraying down the office. The fluid degraded DNA but didn’t leave any residue or scents. He followed the same methodical routine. From the ceiling to the floor, he cleaned every surface before finely detailing the room. It was mindless work, the kind he had completed so often he could do it on reflex.
What would happen tomorrow? South of the border, the war would just be kicking off come sunrise. Hector had come here to take out the power players north of the border. Back home in Mexico, he had a bigger, messier and more dangerous war to win. It wouldn’t be easy, and the cost would be high in lives, bribes and product.
Kostya doubted all that carnage would stay in Mexico. Everyone in the underworld would know that Nikolai had given permission for Hector to turn the streets of Houston red with cartel blood. Knocking down the head of the biggest drug cartel? It wouldn’t be popular among the other families in Houston.
Besian and his Albanian crews would fall in line because Nikolai had given them a heads-up and the offer of a little taste of that drug money. Nickel Jackson would have to be given a small piece of the action from Hector or else he’d find another supplier or make trouble with the Hermanos street gang tied in with the cartel. Mr. Lu and the Asian syndicate wouldn’t like this new development at all, and any solution offered by them would be expensive. Mueller would be easier to push into line—for now. He was the new face in town and hadn’t been able to find an ally for any power plays. Eventually he would figure out the game. Kostya needed to make sure he had the intel Nikolai would need to stay five steps ahead of Mueller.
Finished with the office, he dragged the wrapped package out into the hall and left it next to the rear exit. He returned to the supply closet and found Lana sitting quietly next to Holly. Seeing them side by side, he was even more shocked at the resemblance. As much as the old man fucked around, he probably had children spread across Russia, from Sokol to Novorossiysk.
Maybe I should take her DNA for testing, too.
“Where is Lobo?”
Lana pointed at the open access panel.
He crossed the supply room and knelt down in front of the panel. With a short whistle, he called for her. She didn’t come immediately. When she did appear on the other side of the access panel, she had a wet shirt and a wrench in her hand. He realized she was clearing out that clogged drain. “Do you need help?”
She shook her head. “I’m done. It was just a washrag stuffed down near that bendy part of the drain. Give me ten minutes. I’ll get this cleaned up and then move the van around back.”
He nodded and replaced the access panel. There was a lightweight shelf that usually sat in front of it so he dragged it into place. Taking a moment to check the room, he found it damn near sterile. The girls had gathered up a bag of trash that would need to be burned.
“They might notice the missing towels,” Lana said quietly. “Some of them were sprayed with blood.”
“They might,” he agreed, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Turning back to Holly and Lana, he started removing the medical equipment they had placed on her. She was tolerating the sedative well and would be metabolizing the last of it very quickly. He handed off the equipment to Lana who hurriedly packed it away in Lobo’s bag.
“She offered me a job,” Lana said, her voice carrying surprise. “She doesn’t even know me, but she offered me a job.”
Kostya’s expression softened as he gazed down at Holly. “She’s a good person.”
He couldn’t imagine what task Holly would assign Lana, but he supposed having Lana here would be a good thing. She would be a full-time set of eyes on Holly. “You need a job. This is as good a place as any to work.” Casting a sideways glance at Lana, he warned, “You’ll have to work on your English. It’s terrible.”
Her hopeful expression deflated, and she shrank inside herself. “Yes, sir.”
Blin. Hating himself for being such an asshole, he was glad Holly hadn’t heard him just now and that she couldn’t understand Russian, even if she had. Her disappointment would be harder to bear than her anger.
With the most encouraging smile he could manage in such grim settings, he said, “Working here is a good way to practice. I’m sure you’ll learn quickly.”
Her bruised feelings didn’t recover quickly, but what else could he expect after what she had suffered since being trafficked? She was used to being told she was stupid and worthless. Knowing he wasn’t any different than the bastards who had hurt and used her didn’t sit well with him, but somehow, he couldn’t make himself apologize for hurting her feelings. He had been raised to sniff out weaknesses and prey on them, after all.
“Are we ready?” Lobo appeared in the doorway behind them. “I’ve got the van all the way up against the back doors.”
Shit. He hadn’t even heard her come back into the building or open the doors he had locked. As if reading his mind, she waved the key she’d had made earlier that morning. She was get
ting good.
Maybe too good, he worried with a bit of paranoia. Someday the student would overtake the master and then what?
“Watch Holly while we get the packages taken out to the van,” he instructed Lana. “When we’re done, you’ll have to go with Lobo.”
Putting on Lobo’s backpack, Lana glanced back at the dead man and shrugged. “I’m not afraid of dead men.” She turned her attention back to Holly. “Dead men can’t hurt me.”
Kostya ignored the little twinge in his chest at that remark and grabbed the heavy end of the tightly rolled package. Lobo lifted the feet, and they carted the first body out to the van. She hopped up into the van’s cargo area and guided the corpse into the right spot before jumping out and following him to the second body. This one was heavier than the first, but she didn’t complain or make him carry more weight. It seemed the cardio and weight lifting regimens she followed were working.
When they were done, he peeled out of his coveralls and booties and tossed them in the trash bag. While Lana climbed into the back of the van, he pulled Lobo aside in the hallway. He settled a fatherly hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You did well tonight. I’m very proud of you.”
Lobo stood a little straighter, but her eyes betrayed the shock starting to take hold of her. “It was harder than I thought it would be.”
“I know. We practice and practice and practice so that we react on reflex when the shit hits the fan—but it doesn’t make washing the blood off our hands any easier.” He lightly chucked her chin, lifting her battered face and forcing eye contact. “If you wake up tomorrow and decide this was too much, you just say the word, and I’ll help you start over in a new place. It’s all right if you discover this work isn’t for you.”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s not what has me scared. I think—I mean—God.” She closed her eyes and her expression turned dark with self-loathing. “I think I liked it too much. All of this—the planning, the sneaking in, the hiding, the drugging, the wetwork. It felt good. It felt right.”