Hunted (29 page)

Morgan snorted. “You think I’m a hard case? No way is Amy going. Neither of us is, so forget trying to bribe her into it.”

J.D. would never understand the tie that bound the two women, but it was undoubtedly strong. He knew they emailed constantly and talked on the phone several times a week. A more edged, contrary woman he’d never met. One Amy Rodriguez didn’t give an inch in anything. He didn’t question their friendship, just accepted it.

“Morg, come on. This will be the biggest deal Gaelord’s has ever closed.” He propped a hip on her desk.

“All the more reason you should go, brother dear.”

He thought a minute then grinned. “Think of the shopping.”

If Morgan had one weakness she’d kept through everything it was shopping, or so he could see. She and Gideon went every few months and J.D. was glad her taste in fashion had matured from what it had been in her modeling days.

Today she wore a chocolate pinstriped pantsuit, the jacket narrow at the waist and hit mid-thigh. The French cuffs of her white shirt stuck out the ends of the jacket sleeves. She wore no jewelry except for the gold chain she’d worn since she’d come home. It had a plain gold band at the end of it. Normally she kept it tucked into her clothing, but he’d seen it on nights when he’d awakened her from nightmares. He had no idea what meaning it held for her and he’d never asked, though he’d wanted to. Plain gold bands said wedding, marriage, commitment. But he didn’t ask, he never asked.

She was the epitome of a confident businesswoman dressed to slay opposition if she desired.

He’d not lied when he said he was proud of her. She’d gone from being a terrified waif to a very beautiful, driven woman. Last year, after the fiasco at the mall, she’d told him she wanted a new computer and Gideon got her one, and from then on it was downhill—or rather uphill.

He noticed she was packing up files. “Where are you off to? We’re not done discussing this.”

She grinned at him. “Yes, we are. Tell Gideon to go.”

J.D. winced. For all the intelligence their brother had, his tastes were a little more . . . eclectic than traditional.

“Be nice,” she said, laughing. “He can’t do that badly.”

“Morgan,” he said, trying to get her to understand, “this is a very lucrative job. Gideon isn’t exactly what we need.”

“And I am?”

He ran his gaze over her face, the sharp intelligent eyes that were narrowed on him. “Oh, yeah.”

“Whatever. The answer is no and I just remembered I have a meeting at three with the president of the Women’s Help Coalition. We’re updating the website and adding more help links.”

She’d also taken to working on several women’s charities. A fact that amused and confused him. He was damn proud of her, but he didn’t know if he’d ever understand her.

“When are you coming home?” he asked, shifting out of her way. He hadn’t wanted her to move out of the ranch when Gideon suggested it, but J.D. had gone along, thinking maybe it would help in some way. He’d been more relieved than he’d ever have guessed when she refused. He’d heard her crying in the middle of the night, rocked her after nightmares, held her when she’d been so frightened she was ill. He knew the battles she’d fought had taken a toll, but she’d beaten them.

And even with her progress and the fact she was an adult, he still worried about her.

She shoved some files into her briefcase and he realized she was talking.

“What?” he said, shaking his head.

Morgan narrowed a glare at him over those glasses. They made her look like a lawyer or librarian, and he had to give up razzing her about them because she’d thrown a paperweight at him one day and he’d ended up having to pay for a new pane of glass.

“Yes, I’ll be home around six, probably. Depending on how long this takes, and then the meeting with the Adam’s Mark
rep.” She wagged a finger at him. “Jack, we have to hire someone to help Suzy. She uses the old carriage house, but after her heart attack I don’t like the fact she still wants to do it all.”

“You tell her we’ve hired someone else then.” No way was he facing
that
wrath.

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Idiot. You hire someone to
help
her. There is a huge difference. And let her interview whoever applies, that way she is in charge of it.” She slung a purse over her shoulder and grabbed her slim digital phone, sliding it into her pocket. “Just make certain she understands that if she doesn’t hire someone, we will.”

J.D. smiled and watched his sister stride out of the office, then talk to her secretary about tomorrow’s appointments.

Yeah, she was doing good. Maybe he’d come up with some way to get her to go to Canada.

* * *

Prague, Czech Republic; late October

Do you want the lost?

Mikhail stared at the screen of his laptop. That was it. That one sentence was the entire email. There were only five words.
Do you want the lost?

Lost? What lost? The lost girls? Or the loss in drug busts, the loss in what?

He tapped a finger on his chin and wondered how to trace the email. Perhaps Luther would know.

The lost.

He hoped it was girls. Deciding to play the game, he clicked the reply button.
What
lost? There were few things that piqued his interest anymore. One thing was the girls that had gotten away. He’d always chosen the ones that were hard to break to take for himself. The battle of wills was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. The fact he knew that in the end he would be the victor, be the winner, be their
master
was worth it all. That look, that one look in a woman’s eyes—the look that said clearly,
I concede
.

For the last year, he’d quietly been looking for those who escaped him, either here in Prague, in Cheb, or in the Moscow holdings. So far, he’d found two. Both had been taken care of. One had been a drug addict. Her demise was not hard to create. The other hid away, admitted to an institution. She’d been fun to scare in little ways. He’d learned a bit of patience with her. Not that he’d taken care of either himself. That he’d left to Luther. They’d been too broken for Mikhail. There was a fine line between utterly ruined and breaking just enough that the hatred in them kept them a bit spirited.

He looked at the two words on the screen.
What lost?
Shrugging, he hit send
.
Would he even get a reply? Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . .

“Sir,” Luther said from the doorway. “We need to leave for the meeting.”

Mikhail checked his watch, and so they did.

Shutting the program down, he rose, grabbed his dark blue Armani jacket and slipped it on. “We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.” Straightening his collar, he motioned to the laptop. “We need to find someone who understands their way and can get around computers and servers, or services or whatever the term is.”

Luther’s brows pulled down.

“I want to find out who sent me an email, Luther. Just find them.”

Luther, dressed in a similar dark suit, but with a plain white shirt, nodded. “Yes, sir. You’ll have a name by the end of the day.”

Smiling, he walked out of his office and wondered of the big news Romanovsky had hinted at.

What lost?

* * *

Prague, Czech Republic; one of the clubs on the Devil’s Strip

Mikhail Jezek looked around the table, at the thirteen in attendance at the meeting.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Romanovsky eyed him. “We want to expand. We’ve been negotiating and have obtained permission to set up a strip in the U.S.”

The U.S.?

Mikhail stood and listened as they outlined the plan that would take the next year to fully complete. Already projects were under way, buildings purchased, renovations being made.

“In several weeks the first new club should be opening since it was almost complete upon purchase.” Romanovsky, his dark slanted eyes zeroing in on Jezek, said, “We’ve decided we want you to go.” He leaned back in his chair. “We need a man
there
with a reputation whom we trust without question. That man is you, Jezek.”

Mikhail took a deep breath, honored and a bit surprised he hadn’t known of the initial deal for the new strip. He glanced at Luther, who quickly looked away.

Luther had known. Why?

Romanovsky cleared his throat. “We want to keep Luther here, as the women associate him with you. You’ve helped him build a reputation of his own here.” A smile creased Romanovsky’s blunted, squared features. “However, we want you there, seeing to things, making certain things on that side of the Atlantic run as smoothly as they do here. You can have Vescilly and Ivan if you want. Or choose new men to take with you.” He motioned around the table to all those present. “I’m sure any of us would be happy to supply you with men.”

Still not certain why or if there was something else behind this, Mikhail merely bowed his head. “Thank you all.” It was an honor. There was no question in that. Many would kill to be in his position. “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”

Several of the men scoffed. Others muttered compliments, jokes on others in the business being disappointed. Romanovsky held up a hand. “You are the best. We just don’t want any trouble, Jezek.” Again those eyes narrowed. “Understand?”

Mikhail knew a warning when he heard one. Did they—or at least Romanskvy—know of or suspect about the dead women? “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Romanovsky smiled. “Good. Good. Then let’s get down to details. The strip will be in Miami.”

Miami . . .

America . . .

Maybe he’d get lucky and run into Dusk and permanently end his worry with Calsonone.

Chapter 21

London, England; November 4

Lincoln Blade stood in his office staring through the window to the floor below of the London shop. There were several customers in the jewelry store. More than several. Jewels glittered up from their cases, rings, necklaces, earrings and special showcased pieces handcrafted by contracted artisans. Right now Blade’s was seeing a surge in antique and what he called pagan jewelry. The clean-cut bright pieces that reflected modern life were still a big gain for them, but many customers were wanting older-looking pieces reminiscent of what their grandmothers or great-grandmothers wore. Men wanted pocket watches again.

A knock at his door had him turning as Rachel walked in.

“I have those bloody project reports, a copy of the ad proposals and the latest sapphire price ranges out of Sri Lanka.” Her fair hair and bright blue eyes at first glance made her appear soft with her pleasantly plump smiling face, but he and everyone else with Blade’s knew differently. Rachel was a shrewd businesswoman who had put up with their grandmother’s dictates while the old matriarch ran the company until she died. By that time, she’d begged Linc to come back into the business. Rachel didn’t mind working for Blade’s. She wanted no part in being in charge of it.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

Since he hadn’t, he asked a question of his own. “Are you and Harry going skiing next month over the holidays?”

Her face softened, her cheeks blushing. “We thought we’d go up to the Cairngorms. We both love it.”

“When are you leaving?” he asked, walking to the desk.

“Oh, probably a few days before Christmas.” She shifted. “I know the family deal is big and all but I’m tired of dancing to . . . ”

Linc held up his hand to stem her flow of justifications. “Rachel, I’m not Vivian, nor my grandfather. Uncle Malcolm might not like it, but I really don’t care one way or the other what everyone is doing for the holidays. I’m
not
hosting a bloody thing.”

She shook her head. “Dad’s just brassed because he wants your job.”

Linc grunted. Lincoln had been the CEO of his family’s business, in what should have been his uncle’s job—or so his Uncle Malcolm believed.

Lincoln now devoted his full attention to Blade’s. He couldn’t slink around in disguises and through the shadows forever. He did what he could and then he got out.

There really hadn’t been anything else to do after the last assignment with Morgan Gaelord. Once his covers had been compromised, the task force hadn’t exactly wanted him working out in the field again. There were times he missed it.

“Hey, you okay? You seem bummed.”

He waved her away and sat again in his chair. “I’m fine. Just have things on my mind.”

She tapped the files she put on his desk, the only thing marring the wide, deep expanse of teak. Lincoln liked order and neatness and that had never changed.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Reports. He’d rather have looked at murder photographs. “The reports, I’ll look over them tonight and know tomorrow what we’re going to do.”

“I like the ad for the engagement ring.”

“Which one?” he asked, flipping the file open.

“The grandmother giving the grandson her ring, then saying how all of us don’t have grandparents to pass things on, et cetera, but Blade’s will help you start your own traditions.”

He grinned. “I remember now why we hired an advertising firm.” He looked up at her. “Blurbs are not your forte.”

One corner of her shell pink lips lifted. “Never said it was.” She turned and walked to the door. “You need a vacation, Linc. You should try skiing yourself. Relaxes you.”

He grunted again, scanning the papers she’d given him. He heard the door shut behind her and waited a few more minutes before tossing the file onto the desk and tapping his fingers.

There was a charge in the air, that spark right before the storm that most don’t see, but one could damn well feel.

He looked back out the window to the busy sidewalks and shoppers, hurrying along New Bond Street
.
The holidays were just under two months away and already shops were seeing an increase in sales.

He wondered who they bought them for. Family most likely. For all his relatives, he didn’t feel like he had any family. His mother was still in New York, happy with her own life, with her own jewelry designs. He proudly contracted her to make their most prestigious pieces. A fact he knew would infuriate the old Blade matriarch if she were still alive. Call it juvenile but he rather liked it. And his mother damn well deserved it. People came in asking for an Annalise pendant or earrings. His mother was booked for the next three years with Blade’s orders and others that she took on as she wanted.