by J. B. Havens
“Yeah, that was Jones’s idea. After all, to even be considered as a member of the Bratva, they had to have been in prison. He’s looking for familiar faces.”
“Where’s the boss, Egghead?”
“What? I’m not good enough for you?” Putting a hand on his chest, he feigned offense.
“Of course you are, but I need to talk to Ian about this. It’s a lot to ask.” The sound of a door opening and closing in the background drew Brody’s attention.
“Shut the fuck up, Mic. We’ve got your six, no question. We’ll do what we can to scrape these assholes off your back.” Ian pushed Brody’s chair aside so that he could be closer to the computer.
“I owe you one, all of you.” I was dead serious; if they needed me for anything, I would be there.
“If it makes you feel better, then yes. I’ll be calling you. Enough of that shit. Do you want me to send a team over?”
“No. The last thing I want is for you guys to be on these bastards’ radar. Whatever help you can give needs to be from a distance and anonymous.”
“Understood. We’ll be in touch once we have more to go on. Keep looking at those files, Nickoli; every name helps track these fuckwads.”
The monitor went dark and silent. Nickoli kept clicking from photo to photo, muttering under his breath in Russian.
“Where’re Flynn and Pierce? Did they take care of the clients?” The sound of footsteps had me turning toward the door, where I saw Flynn and Pierce coming through the foyer.
“All done, boss. They were pissed, but no one demanded refunds, so I think we’re good. All except for the Secret Service guys. They were already en route, so not much I could do there. They left a day early for some fucking reason.”
“I suggested the hotel in the village, but they weren’t having it. Looks like we’re going to have houseguests against our will, Mic.” Pierce sat wearily, fatigue marking dark circles under his eyes.
“They can use the guest cabins. They are not staying in the castle.” This was not a good development; the last thing I wanted was more people added to this mix. “I will talk to them when they get here, try to get them to reconsider. There are plenty of touristy things to do.” Rubbing my temples, I could feel a headache coming on.
“Okay, Nickoli, do you have anything for us?”
“Yes. Just now. I recognize this man. He was one of the few who managed to escape arrest.” He pointed to the picture on the screen. A small man with the look of a weasel, he had greasy hair and a sly smirk. Heavy prison ink covered his neck and hands. Clicking on his file, Nickoli brought up the archives of his tattoos and list of offenses. “His name is Gregory Babkin. He has arrests and convictions for burglary, extortion, larceny, and aggravated assault. He is a suspect in at least five murders and two rapes, but they don’t have sufficient evidence to charge him in those cases.”
“He seems like a real winner,” Jordon said dryly.
“They always are. Nickoli, send his file to Brody and see what he can dig up. Do you have any contacts left in Russia who can help on the ground?” I stood behind him, placing my hand on his shoulder. I knew how hard this must be for him.
“I might. I need to make a call. To be honest, after Alexei, they don’t want much to do with me. We may be brothers, but they don’t want to get involved unless they have to. Interpol might have some information and be better help.”
“Good point. Jones, contact Interpol, bring them up to speed, and see what they have. In the meantime, we need to eat. Everyone needs to stay focused and keep our heads on straight. Flynn, what is the ETA for the Secret Service stiffs?”
Flynn didn’t even bother to stop staring at the ceiling and spinning around in circles in his wheelie chair. “Few hours, I think. I offered them a ride, but they refused, said they’d rent something. I warned them about driving on the wrong side of the road, but they said if they can do escape maneuvers in reverse with the POTUS limo, they can handle driving on the left.”
“That’s fair enough.”
I left the room and headed for the kitchen. Aunt Beatrice and Jackson weren’t back yet and I knew as that soon as they arrived, they would see that something was up. Jackson would want me to fill him in and let him help, but I’d be dammed if I would ask him for even a minute of his time. I opened the fridge and found the leftovers from yesterday neatly organized. I took out the turkey, mayo, and bowl of mashed potatoes and started making a plate. Chris joined me.
“Want some?” I was slathering bread with a thick layer of mayonnaise. Sandwiches from leftovers were the best part of meals like this.
“Sure. God knows it’s the only meal you’ll ever make me.” Bumping my shoulder, he smiled, flashing his dimples.
“I resent that. I can cook some stuff.” His forearms were exposed where he’d pushed up the sleeves of his Henley. As quickly as I could, I wiped the butter knife across his arm, leaving a long white trail.
“Well that was mature.” Wrapping his other arm around my waist, he jerked me back, trapping my arms down at my sides. He lifted his mayo-smeared arm up, close to my face.
“If you wipe that on my face, I swear to God, Chris!”
“You’ll what? Huh?” Laughing like mad, he followed through with his threat. The condiment was cold and nasty-feeling on my cheek. A squeal poured from my mouth against my will.
“Ewww! So gross! Chris, let me go, dammit!” I was jumping around, trying to shake his hold. I could escape easily enough; we both knew it, but I wasn’t willing to hurt him to get away.
“Hold still, baby.” Dipping me backward, he reached out with the tip of his tongue to lick the mayo off.
“That’s even grosser! Oh fuck; get away, you creep!” Even as I tried to be mad, I couldn’t. I was laughing so hard my chest hurt. “Yuck!” His tongue was warm and wet as he swiped my cheek clean. Goosebumps broke out all along my shoulders and back, making me shiver.
“Here, let me make it up to you.” His voice had gone husky and deep as he stared at my mouth. I closed my eyes and sighed as his mouth crushed against mine. He tasted salty and sweet, the remnants of the mayo a tangy bite on his tongue.
“Hey! No sex in the kitchen. It’s unsanitary, dammit!” Flynn flung the swinging door back in an effort to slam it, but it just swung back and forth a few times. “For fucks sake, you two. You have a room; go use it!” Pushing past us to the fridge, he pulled out his own fixings for lunch.
“Fuck off, Flyboy,” Chris snapped, moving to kiss me again.
Laughing, I put my hands against his lips, stopping his movement. “Nope. Flynn has a point. Plus, I’m starving and you distracted me.” I finished getting my plate together and took a seat at the small kitchenette. I didn’t care for the huge dining room on special occasions, let alone just eating a friggin’ sandwich.
“Flynn, you’re a cock blocker,” Chris griped, taking a seat next to me.
“Anyway, enough of that crap. How’s Red?” I looked over the sandwich I held at Flynn, saw his blush, and chuckled. “Good, huh?”
“You guys know that I’m a bit of a screw off, but Red… she’s different. And no, I haven’t talked to her yet. She’s been off counting bullets with Roza half the day.” Flynn shoved a huge bite of potatoes in his mouth; it was a wonder he didn’t choke.
“Talk to me about what?” Red stepped into the kitchen. Flynn sputtered and I could see what was coming.
“Oh no.” I scooched my chair back as far as I could, just as he spit mashed potatoes all over the table and some landed in the space my chair had occupied moments before. “Dammit, fucking Flynn!”
“What, Jeremiah? Did I surprise you?” Red took a seat beside Flynn and handed him a napkin which he used to clean the table and himself.
“Who the fuck is Jeremiah?” Chris looked back and forth between Flynn and Red, trying to put it together. “You? Is that your name, Flynn?”
“Fuck off. And yes, it’s my first name. You really didn’t think Flynn was my first name, did you? Mic
calls you Chris; why can’t Red call me Jeremiah?”
“Ha! Jerry!” Jordon laughed.
“Fuck off, Christopher!” Flynn tossed a piece of bread at Chris, which he caught and proceeded to eat.
“Knock it off, the both of you.” I elbowed Chris, trying to get him to shut up. “For once, can we please eat a meal like adults and not as if we’re a bunch of high school kids in a cafeteria?”
“Sure thing, Mom,” Flynn sneered, earning an elbow from Red.
“Speaking of first names, what’s yours?” I pointed to Red with my spoon. She didn’t have a plate, just a cup of coffee which she cradled with both hands.
“I don’t know that I want to tell you. If you’re all going to give me shit about it. Thanks anyway.” She took a drink and tucked a piece of silver-streaked red hair behind her ear. The salt and pepper look from before was gone.
“And when did you change your hair color?” Chris tipped his head sideways, just now noticing the difference. Typical man.
“This is my natural color. When you saw me before, it was dyed. I thought it would make me look more my age, but it made me look older. And are we really talking about my fucking hair? Is this a beauty parlor or something?”
“We could talk about your name.” I scraped the last bite of food off my plate and leaned back in my chair, rocking it up on two legs.
“Fine. Mary Constance. But everyone has always called me Red since I can remember. Happy?”
“Sure, thanks. It’s a beautiful name, by the way. No need to pick on you about it. If we did, I think Jerry here would have a problem. Speaking of, how long are you planning on staying?” Direct and to the point, with the subtlety of a hammer to the face. That was me.
Coughing out a laugh, she looked over at Flynn and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll stay as long as I’m welcome. I really have nowhere else to be, no jobs at the moment and no family. If Liam calls, I’ll go on assignment; but otherwise, I thought I could help out around here. I know it’s presumptuous.”
“I can’t help but notice you don’t apologize for that presumption.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “No. I don’t and I won’t. Let’s be frank.” She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table.
“As long as I don’t have to be Shirley,” Flynn quipped.
“Honey, seriously?” She threw her hands up in the air and if I bothered to look under the table, I bet she’d be tapping her foot.
“Okay, fine. I’ll be quiet. But serious conversations make me twitchy.” He crossed his arms over his chest and mimed zipping his mouth shut and locking it.
Chris leaned closer to me, whispering, “It’s really weird hearing someone call him honey.”
“Oh my God, enough out of you both. Either shut the fuck up or go somewhere else!” Red snapped.
I tried to cover my laughter with a cough and failed miserably. “Please, Red, go on.”
“As I was saying.” She glared at Flynn for a moment before continuing. “It’s obvious I have a serious thing for Flynn; I wouldn’t put up with him otherwise.”
“Hey!” He tried to sound offended, but we just ignored him.
“I also know that I can’t just stay here and not bring anything to the table. I can be a backup pilot and I shoot pretty well. I’ve been with MI-6 for almost twenty years. I’m mostly retired now and fly people like you around on occasion. I have value and expertise that would be very useful, both with your training and the problems you’re dealing with right now.”
“Fair point. This isn’t just up to me. I don’t care if you stay, as long as you pull your weight and contribute. Chris?” I turned to him, wanting his opinion.
“Fine with me.” He shrugged and gathered our plates to take them to the sink.
“You’d better put those in the dishwasher. If Beatrice comes back and finds dirty dishes in the sink she’s gonna go bananas.” Flynn slung his arm over Red’s shoulder, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. The tenderness and care he was displaying was unlike anything I’d ever seen from him. Since I’d known him, he’d been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Now this woman had snared him and was changing him for the better. Who would settle down next? Pierce? Jones? Fuck, if this kept up we’d need a bigger castle.
chapter 13
Dimitri boarded a private jet headed for Paris. Once there, he would meet up with some members of his organization and work out how to get into the United Kingdom. They knew that the members of Steel were somewhere in the country. Time was ticking and challenges to his authority were coming more frequently.
“Welcome aboard, sir. Please relax and do let us know if you need anything. April will be your flight attendant and once we reach cruising altitude, she will provide anything you desire.” The pilot, whose name he didn’t bother to learn, spoke from just outside the cockpit. His crisp white and black uniform with gold braid on the shoulders matched the professionalism of his voice. A black-haired beauty stood next to him, her eyes respectfully downcast.
“Good. Thank you.” He walked down the short aisle and took a seat, leaving his luggage for the attendants to deal with. This was the easiest way to fly across borders and a simple bribe would ensure that his weapons and name would not be noticed. The plane sped down the runway and his stomach dropped unpleasantly as they achieved lift. It wasn’t long before the aircraft leveled out and the fasten seatbelt sign was turned off. April strode toward him, her high heels making her slender legs appear even longer. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and tucked some strands behind her ear.
“How may I be of assistance, sir?” Her voice was like liquid honey and he doubted that her duties were limited to passing out peanuts and champagne.
“Tell the flight crew we don’t wish to be disturbed.” Nodding her understanding, she retreated the short distance to the cockpit, where she spoke softly to the crew. Shutting the door behind her, she unbuttoned her white blouse on the way back to his seat. Her full breasts were cradled in pure white lace. As she dropped her skirt, he saw that she was wearing panties to match. “This is going to be a pleasant flight,” he muttered as he pulled her down to him.
A few hours later, he disembarked from the plane, leaving a sleeping April behind. He had considered taking her back to his hotel, but hesitated at the distraction she would present. If he wanted another whore later, it would be easy enough to find one in Paris. An SUV was waiting for him on the tarmac. He climbed into the backseat as his men loaded his luggage. “Take me to the hotel first, then I want to know how I’m getting into the UK.”
The doors slammed and in seconds they were speeding through the streets of Paris.
****
Everyone was gathered in the war room watching Brody on the screen as he gave his report. “We searched the name Nickoli gave us and now we have the identity of the new head cheese. Dimitri Kozlov was Yusef’s second-in-command. He took power after you guys set up Yusef. I’m not sure how Dimitri wasn’t arrested, bribes maybe. Who knows? Anyway, he’s the one after your asses right now. Furthermore, he’s in Paris. A private jet landed at a small airport, but no passengers were checked in. Suspicious enough on its own, but if you add in the satellite footage we were able to obtain…” Brody hit a few keys and an image popped onto the screen. It clearly showed Dimitri exiting a small private jet and climbing into a waiting SUV.
“Okay boys and girls, game on. I want round-the-clock patrols and Maggie is on vacation until this is resolved. Aunt Beatrice and Jackson need to go back to their summer home.” Running a hand through my hair, I could feel the stress bubbling up inside me. It was happening all over again. “Brody, what else?” I barked.
“We have the hotel they are staying in. We could hit them there.” Windows appeared on the screen with floorplans and photographs of a luxury hotel.
“No.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Mic.” Rook spoke up.
“Of fucking course it’s a terrible idea. We’re civvies now. What happens if we ge
t caught? Do you want to spend the rest of your life rotting in a French prison? Because I fucking don’t,” I snapped in aggravation. “There has to be another way. I won’t put any of you at risk.”
“The guilt of Phillips is clouding your judgement.” Pierce spoke softly from behind me where he was seated.
“The fuck you just say to me? The fuck, Pierce!”
Cries of “Whoa, calm down!” Came from the monitor, which I ignored.
“You heard me. You’re so guilt-ridden by Phillips’s death that you are hesitating. This isn’t like you. Shake it off and let’s get some shit done. Call fucking Liam, get us to Paris, and allow us to protect ourselves. Or do you want a fucking war here? At our home?”
A steady beeping came from the monitor near Jones; it was the first stage of the alarm system. We tensed, waiting to see what the cameras showed. Jones put the feed up on the big screen. We watched a generic looking sedan come down the drive and stop near the door. Two men stepped out, dressed in wrinkled suits. They surveyed the property as they collected their luggage.
“Jones?”
“It’s the clients.” He showed me their files, which included photographs matching the men standing in the drive.
“Let them in.” Wearily, I ran a hand down my face in an attempt to push aside my exhaustion and force myself to focus on the present. Jones shut off the alarm and went to open the door for them. Our conversation stopped while we waited for the agents to come down the hall. I smacked my fist against the table in frustration. Disregarding the flaring pain in my knuckles, I walked over to the men standing by the door. They looked like two kids who had walked in on their parents arguing. “You’re the Secret Service guys, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The agent who answered was surprisingly short, only five foot five or six. He might have weighed about a hundred and thirty soaking wet. “I’m Brad Russo; this is my partner, Vincent Fry.”
Fry was the polar opposite of his partner. Reaching the top shelf would be no issue for this guy. He was easily six foot three and heavily muscled. Fry was black, while Russo was pasty white. If I didn’t have Jackson to compare him to, I would say he was one of the largest people I’d ever seen.