Hunted (14 page)

Mikhail rose and walked to the window, looking down onto the side lawns. The boy looked out over the snow-covered land and said something, pointing to the tree line.

Luther pulled a gun and shot him in the back. A clean kill, straight to the heart. Poor kid probably never knew what hit him. From here, with the moon washing the landscape in white, he could see the dark puddle creep across the snow.

A lead. About damn time.

He waited, saw another man come forward and drag the body away. Mikhail turned, strode across to the bar, and looked at the selection. After the last few days he had, he didn’t want to be soothed with a fine wine or the crisp bite of vodka. No, tonight he wanted absinthe—a bite from the green fairy. He poured himself a shot. At a hundred-twenty proof, the green Czech liquor should do the trick. Not that he wanted to get pissed. No, he just wanted something to take the edge off the rage. And this was as foreign a substance as he’d put into his system.

He grimaced as it burned a fire down the back of his throat. Many tourists said this was an acquired taste. He scoffed.

Mikhail didn’t turn as the door opened and then shut. He knew it was Luther.

“What else?” he asked, turning.

“I’ve a copy of the tape of the border crossing.” Luther held up the VHS and waved it as he walked to the built-in entertainment center.

Luther popped the tape in and Mikhail took a deep breath.

In black and white the huge screen sputtered, rolled, then righted. Luther picked up the remote and fast-forwarded through people coming and going at the border. Families, couples, college groups out to party. He waited.

Luther slowed the tape. There were several people who went through. No sound.

A group of college students laughed their way up to the counter and Mikhail tensed at the woman behind them.

Dusk. His heartbeat quickened, the blood thickened. He saw her lean toward the man beside her, whose face was still out of the range of the camera.

She looked different. Different-colored eyes, dark eyes, short hair. What the fuck did they do to her hair?

He fisted his hands. Bastards would pay.

She swallowed, fidgeted and walked up to the counter, the man beside her, his arm around her.

The college kids moved out of the camera’s range.

Something was said, passports were handed over. The guard said something and the man with Dusk leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

Rage licked through Mikhail.

Little more was said before they moved off and out of the camera’s range.

Damn it!

“Again,” he bit out. He fisted and flexed his hands.

He watched the couple. This time he paid attention to the man she was with. The man from the tape was possibly Reyer, or the man claiming to be Reyer. It was hard to tell. Something about the man told Mikhail it was indeed Reyer, but at the same time he looked nothing like Mr. John Reyer had looked, and didn’t exactly move the same either.

Damn.

But the woman. Stupid
kurva
. . . no matter the hair color, he’d know Dusk anywhere. It was in the way she moved, the way she held her head. No matter the color of eyes and hair and whatever else they tried to change, she would always be Dusk.

His.

He’d know her in his sleep.

Mikhail grabbed the remote and rewound the tape, stopping it, playing it and pausing it.

Just for a moment, she glanced up, right at the camera.

There was fear in those dark eyes, but there was also something he thought he’d destroyed.

Hope.

By God, when he found her, he’d make certain he broke her this time.

He asked one question. “Where?”

“Berlin,” Luther answered. “We got the car off the toll camera and have located it in Berlin. If I leave tonight, I can stop by there and . . . question the hotel staff where we located the car. Then tomorrow I’ll stop in Amsterdam.”

Mikhail nodded and waved Luther away.

He stared at the screen and shook his head.

“You promised.”

* * *

Safe house; East End, London; December 15, evening

Lincoln turned his chair around and looked out the window at the night. He was upstairs in the safe house. The houses across the street were busy with young, childless nights. People were getting ready, going to clubs, parties, dinner dates, and group meetings.

Perfect neighborhood. The turnover rate was steady enough that no one really paid attention to others unless they needed to. If the house had been in a family-oriented neighborhood, there would have been the proverbial busybody who watched what everyone else was doing, making certain the streets were safe for the children.

He heard Amy laugh about something in the next room as she packed. The two women had grown closer, were not nearly as terrified as they had been, but there was still caution and wariness in both their movements. Especially in Morgan’s.

Would she ever trust him? For some unknown reason, he wanted her to.

At least he’d seen her smile today at something Amy had said. A small tilt of the lips, but a smile nonetheless.

He’d talked to George and gave a progress report on their tox screens. Morgan seemed to have no real ill side effects. Bloody good that. They were still waiting on the HIV tests.

Traces of ecstasy had been found in Amy’s bloodstream when they’d brought her in almost three weeks ago. Pump them up, and hopefully they’ll screw like rabbits, thus increasing profits. He knew what too much X could do to a person. How they began to crave the way it made them feel. How, no matter the warnings, they still popped the pills with whatever symbol was stamped on it. Just to feel good.

The pencil in his hand snapped in two. Blowing out a breath, he tossed the pieces down.

Morgan at least was clean.

He stood and paced. The shuffles and creak of the floorboards told him the women were pacing next door as well.

The door next to his clicked, then someone knocked on his door.

He turned.

She stood, dressed in simple jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, looking tired. Yet there was a glint in her eyes.

He tilted his head. “Yes? Need something?”

She took a deep breath and he couldn’t help but notice how the shirt molded her curves and her too-thin torso. He shouldn’t notice. He’d never noticed before with any of the other girls. Rubbing a hand over his face, he gave her his undivided attention.

“We were just talking,” she said softly. Dusk. That’s what her voice was like. Maybe that’s where the name came from. Still and quiet with just a hint of a promise.

Linc cleared his throat. “And?”

She put her hands behind her and leaned back against the open door. “Well, I was wondering if it would be all right if I could go to the airport tomorrow morning to say bye to Amy.”

Bloody hell. This was all he needed. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Her head tilted and the blond highlights caught the lights. Those icy eyes of hers could make lesser men tremble. With what, he didn’t want to contemplate. She really was beautiful.

“Please.”

He opened his mouth.

Amy stuck her head around the corner. “I told you there was no way he’d go for it. He’ll use the excuse next that he’s just doing his job, following orders.”

Linc wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Why not?” Morgan asked.

Lincoln looked from one hopeful face to one resigned. Settling his gaze on Amy, he said, “I wish we could do that. What lies ahead isn’t going to be easy. But if you’re going into the career we’ve set up for you, you have to understand that safety comes first and foremost. I cannot, no, I
will
not jeopardize either of you, or anyone else, just so you can say good-bye at the airport.” Shifting his gaze back to Morgan, he said, “And deep down you don’t want to either. So make the most of tonight, early morning, and that’s all I can do for you.”

Morgan frowned, nodded, and turned to go. Stopping, she looked back at him. “You’re right. It was selfish of me. I’d rather know she was safe, because if he tracks me here, he’d kill her just to hurt me.”

Linc raised his brows and wished he could convince her she was safe, but to be honest, the feeling that time was running short kept niggling at the back of his mind.

Chapter 11

December 16, 3:03 a.m.

Morgan tilted her head back and stared at the stained ceiling, at the light placed a bit off center of the room.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” she whispered.

“The academy.” Amy took another bite of ice cream. It was three in the morning and they had another two hours before Amy had to leave. “No, after that. Joining the force.”

Joining the force. Wearing a gun. Huh.

“What about you?” Amy asked.

“Just going home. If I still have one.” She rolled over onto her stomach and reached her spoon into the carton of coffee-bean-flavored vanilla ice cream. “For all I know my brothers sold the place and moved to town. Or they’ll disown me.”

Amy shrugged. “Their loss if they do, and if they do, get someplace safe, then in two months give me a buzz and we’ll hook up. You can come live with me wherever I settle.”

Morgan stopped. “Really?”

Amy looked to the door, lowered her voice, then grabbed a pen and paper off the nightstand. Morgan watched her write an email address.

Without a word, she ripped off three sheets, gave the top one to Morgan and stuffed the other two in her pocket.

Morgan smiled. Someone to talk to. Nodding, she folded the paper and put it in her own pocket.

“Well, that is if we ever find each other again,” Amy said.

Amy didn’t have to say that their room might be bugged. Not because they weren’t trusted, just the powers that be probably wanted to know more. Then again, maybe they were both paranoid, but paranoia kept people alive as well.

“I wish you weren’t leaving. Selfish of me, I know, but there it is.”

Amy nodded, set the ice cream aside and stretched out on her stomach beside Morgan. She bumped Morgan’s shoulder with her own. “We’re going to be okay, you know.”

Did she know that? It sounded fine to state it, but did she believe it? That was too vague, too ambiguous to think about. Mikhail could find her tomorrow and put a bullet in her brain, or she could step off the curb and get hit by a damn bus.

“Yeah,” she answered instead.

For a moment, neither said a word.

“Okay, let’s not feel sorry for ourselves.” Amy laid her head on her folded hands, looking at Morgan. “Tell me your favorite childhood memory.”

Morgan smiled and thought.

“No, that’s too cliché.” An impish grin teased Amy’s dimples out. “Tell me the worst lay—not in Prague or where the hell ever. Just the worst date, lay, you ever had.”

Morgan took a deep breath, not knowing if she should be offended, amused, or just confused. “You’re weird.”

Amy’s laughter chuckled out. “I know, so spill.”

Morgan thought about. “I don’t know . . . ”

Amy rolled her eyes. “No woman is lucky enough to have a great amazing lay every time. So yeah, you do.”

Allan Brown. She grinned.

“I knew it. Spill.”

“He thought he was so . . . ”

“Every woman’s fantasy?”

Morgan felt herself smile. “He actually swaggered.”

“Next you’ll be telling me he favored silk half-buttoned shirts.”

Morgan laughed. “No, that would be Sean.” And those silk shirts had been fun to play with—back when sex was fun . . .

She frowned, shoved the thought away and looked at the clock. “Your turn.”

Amy laughed. “Justin Davis.” She giggled again. “God, we need a beer or two to be having this conversation. And he swaggered as well, strutted more like.”

They shared a look and smiled. Morgan felt relief at the knowledge of the paper in her pocket. At least somewhere there would be someone she could talk to.

The remaining hours passed too quickly, and before either realized it, Shadow knocked at their door.

“This sucks,” Amy said, shoving a book into a backpack purse.

Morgan nodded, twisting her hands. Feeling the stupid tears prick the back of her eyes, she grabbed the carry-on as Amy opened the door.

Shadow gave them a small smile. “You’ve got five minutes. Then we need to get moving. Becca’s waiting downstairs and the cab should be here shortly.”

Morgan blew a breath out. They all trouped downstairs. It was still dark out, but she could see cars moving already along the street, the lights across the way from other people getting an early start.

Morgan handed the bag to Amy and saw Ashbourne talking to Becca.

Looking out the window, she saw the black cab pull up. Damn. Amy grabbed her in a tight hug. “Tell me it’s going to be all right,” Amy whispered, and her voice quivered.

For the girl that had been her rock the last few days, Morgan froze, then wrapped her arms around Amy. “You’ll be all right. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

Amy squeezed her tighter. “Don’t tell them, but I’m so damn scared.”

Morgan knew that feeling. “I know.”

“It’s time,” Shadow muttered.

Amy nodded against her, gave another squeeze and said, “Thanks.” When she pulled back, Morgan saw the tears in the other young woman’s eyes. “I didn’t realize how lonely I was until you showed up. Be strong, Morgan Gaelord, and don’t ever give them anything else.”

Morgan nodded, leaned in for one last hug and whispered, “Be careful, Amy. Please.”

In too short a time, the house was quiet. Morgan stood at the living room window and watched as Amy climbed into the cab, as Shadow said something and handed Amy her black bag. Morgan crossed her arms and held her elbows. Why did it feel like her best friend was moving away and never coming back?

Amy lifted a hand, and Morgan returned the wave, watching as the black London cab pulled away and down the street, its taillights winking in the early predawn.

She huffed a breath out and wiped her eye.

“You didn’t get a wink of sleep, did you?” Ashbourne asked behind her.