Hunted (30 page)

Unease slid through him and he hated the fact he couldn’t pinpoint it. Picking up the phone, he dialed his mother. She answered on the third ring, slightly out of breath. “Hello?”

“Mum? All right?”

She half laughed, half sighed. “Why is it that is the very first thing you ever ask me? Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” He heard her shuffle something in the background and speak to someone.

“You busy?” He picked up a pen and tapped it.

“What? Well, no, just about to leave for a lunch date.”

He smiled. “Anyone I know?”

She laughed, then said, “No, and you’ll meet him when you come for a visit.”

“Can I at least have his name?” He frowned.

Her laugh danced out again. “Why? So you can run a check on him and find out what skeletons he’s hiding in his closet? Oh, Lincoln, my boy, I don’t think so.”

Linc relaxed his shoulders, thought about what to say and nothing came to mind. “Mum.”

“Don’t ‘mum’ me, Linc. I’ve found a man that makes me happy and he brings me flowers.”

“I make you happy and bring you flowers.”

She laughed again. “Yes, you’re the best of sons. But a mother has needs too.”

He winced. “Bloody hell.” The idea of his mother having needs and some unknown man relieving her of them had him fisting his hand. His mother wasn’t the most wary of people. She tended to see the best in anyone.

“You’re thinking. And I know that silence.” Her voice lowered, sobered. “Be patient. You’ll meet him soon enough. You are still coming next week, aren’t you?”

Linc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

“Oh, this will be wonderful, then you can meet his daughter.”

“Mum.”

She giggled. “Bye, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And with that she hung up.

Linc pulled the phone away and stared at it before he replaced it in its cradle. He shook his head and took a deep breath. His mother was entitled to her own life. And happiness. That did not mean he had to . . . It had nothing to do with approval. He’d made too many enemies and the thought of his cover having slipped, of someone using his mother against him, made nausea grease his stomach.

He snatched up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

“’Lo?”

Linc smiled. “Hello yourself. All right?”

“Not as good as I was two seconds ago before you rang me.”

“Hmmm,” he said, leaning back.

“What the blazes do you want?” Shadow’s voice had not changed since Linc had talked to him last year. It was still deep, yet smooth, like a slow-moving river.

“I need you to check out something for me.”

Shadow’s laugh graveled through the phone. “Ah.”

“I need you to check out someone in New York.” His mother would kill him if she found out, but that was fine. If she wanted him to like the guy, he had to know she was safe.

“New York? I’m in Edinburgh in case it’s slipped your mind.”

“So? It’s my mother. Find out who she’s seeing and run a check on him.”

Silence.

“Your mother?” Shadow asked after several minutes.

“Yes.”

“So why aren’t you running the check? You might be retired, but you have contacts, hell, you know enough to just do it yourself.”

He sighed. “She asked me not to.”

Shadow’s chuckle turned to another laugh. “Splitting hairs, boyo.”

“Bollocks.”

The laughter was cut off as Shadow hung up. Man had not changed. He’d never been big on good-byes or hellos, just appeared and disappeared. No wonder his street name stuck.

Lincoln tapped the pen he held. The phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Blade?” the man asked, his accent distinctly American.

“Yes.”

“This is Tarver.”

Noah Tarver of the American FBI. Lincoln’s Stateside contact many times when placing girls or needing American paperwork for them. They’d met a handful of times, the last being in Dallas when the man had handed him a firearm. The muscles in the back of Lincoln’s neck tightened.

“I’d like to think this was just some sort of courtesy call on your part, but something tells me that’s not the issue.” He leaned back in his chair and waited.

Silence again, then Tarver cleared his throat. “Yes, well, don’t we both. I’ve recently learned something I thought might interest you.”

Linc’s shoulders tensed. “Oh?”

Tarver lowered his voice. “We may have a problem.”

“Problem?”

“A girl is missing.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m assuming you’re not referring to just any female.”

“No. One of ours—yours. Hasn’t been seen in a week.”

“And?” There was more, he could feel it.

“Rumor is they found a body in a ravine in Arizona, in the southwestern United States, I’m running checks now.”

“Arizona . . . ” Linc took a deep breath.

“I thought you’d want to know. I already made some calls into Washington and the buzz is that our bosses wanted to know about the group that worked her case. Your Richards said a call had already been placed to push the paperwork through about getting you back.”

Nerves hummed under his skin, yet he remained still. “I’m out.”

Tarver
tsked
. “Haven’t you learned? We’re never out. We just take extended vacations.”

Bloody hell. “Keep me informed. “ He took a deep breath. “Do I need to head over?”

Tarver blew out a breath. “To be honest, I’d love to say not yet. We’re checking up on things, and people. Could just be a random act. I’ll let you know,” Tarver said, his deep voice deadpan and flat.

“But . . . ”

“But I won’t lie. It doesn’t look good and you might see or notice something. So yeah, if you’re free—”

He quickly ran through his week in his head, rearranging appointments, getting a flight. Hell. He’d just use his own plane. “I’ll be coming as me. Lincoln Blade, not with a task force.”

“As I said, your Richards is already doing the paperwork.”

Bloody hell. Which meant that Tarver was keeping something from him, otherwise his old boss would not be pulling him back in.

“I’ll see if I can fly out tonight. Though it may be early in the morning.”

Tarver clicked something in the background. “Sooner the better. And make certain you have a list of all your girls.”

“Why?”

“We may need it.”

With that Tarver hung up. Again, Linc sat and stared at the phone. Sighing, he redialed Shadow.

“Bugger it. What now?” Shadow snapped.

“I want to know where Jezek is.”

Silence. Then, “Any particular reason?”

“I’ll let you know.” He paused and without wondering why, he asked, “Will you do another favor for me?”

“Gaelord?” Shadow asked.

“You’re a bloody know-it-all.” Lincoln hung up the phone.

The slight hum he’d felt building seemed to web under his skin. One of his girls missing might be nothing. It could be nothing more than a coincidence. But if it wasn’t?

* * *

Miami; Inferno Club; November 4, 1:31 p.m.

Miami. Jezek scanned the closed club and grinned. Black chairs and tables, the walls painted black except for the splashes of pink and turquoise. Silver metalworks decorated the walls and corners, the dancing poles, the bar was all silver. The tangy smell of paint was too strong. They’d need to air the club before next week.

Capitalism was a wondrous thing. He rubbed a hand through his shoulder-length hair.

He leaned back in the chair and looked at the man beside him. Yuri Statchjastike was as Slavic as vodka. His wide, flat face, titled eyes and stilted English proclaimed to any of his ancestry.

Yuri blew a stream of cigar smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Are you happy to be here, my friend?”

“Of course. I’ve always wanted to see the United States. I didn’t think I’d be living here.” He looked around the room. “Inferno
will be a hit, I imagine.”

Dimotrov, or as he used to be known, Jezek, hadn’t ever thought he’d be living in America. But the powers that be wanted him to operate on the import end of the business rather than the export. They wanted their claim on the New World. Or rather in this part of the New World. So he would make certain shipments were met and smoothly handled so that little or no trouble arose while Yuri played the point man.

The only problem Mikhail had with his new location was the weather. It was warm here. Too damn warm to be late fall. This city was all too shiny and new for what he was used to. Modern. There were no narrow streets here, no age. The air smelled different here, but then perhaps it was the smog. Mikhail missed the narrow medieval streets of Prague, the cool weather promising snow, the chilled fogged mornings, the smell of
kolachis
baking, or the heady taste of Becherovka
after a hearty meal.

Yuri stood, slapped Mikhail on the back and said, “I’ll be back later. My massage therapist is here.”

Mikhail glanced over his shoulder to see a small woman smile slyly at Yuri. Poor bitch. “Enjoy your time, Yuri.”

He watched the man stride from the room. Over fifty, Yuri should take better care of himself. The man was starting to get fat. Mikhail took care of himself religiously. He sniffed and ran a hand over his shirtfront, smoothing his silk tie.

He shrugged and looked at his Rolex. “When is the informant to be here?” he asked his own man, standing just to side of him.

Vescilly said, “Should be soon. Any minute.”

An energy hummed through Mikhail. For whatever reason this person had contacted him, he was thankful. He’d found more in the last few months than he had in years searching. And what fun it was proving to be.

Apparently the informant was a bit on the greedy side, but then greed could have its uses. Greed allowed him to find his lost.

Through the darkened club, they heard the door open, and another of his guards escorted their informant in.

“You are late,” Mikhail said.

“Traffic.”

“Well, did you get what I needed?” he asked, his heart beating a bit faster.

For a moment the other said nothing, flat eyes staring down at him. The informant turned the chair and straddled it. “I have plenty of information. The question is what price you will pay for it.”

Mikhail pulled a Havana cigar from his breast pocket and lit it, drawing deep. He blew the smoke across the table into the informant’s face. Not a flicker, didn’t even blink. Brave or stupid that, Mikhail thought.

The informant pulled a folded paper from a jacket pocket and slid the paper across the black tabletop, keeping a hand on the sheet.

“There are only two here. I changed my mind.”

Mikhail took another drag, felt the punch of nicotine and whatever else these pretties were laced with. “You’ve changed your mind?” No one changed their mind. The excitement backhanded into anger.

“I want the amount we discussed for each.”

And he’d thought capitalism was wonderful. Greed could destroy. “Ten grand should be more than enough.”

The eyes held his. “Ten for today. After that, ten for each.”

Mikhail pulled on the paper until the informant’s hand released it. All he said was, “Vescilly, ten thousand please.” He opened the letter, read the names and addresses, saw the smiling pictures underneath and his heart picked up.

One he’d forgotten. She now resided in Orlando. Not all that far from where he was, all things considered.

The other he remembered, as she’d escaped all too damn easily. He knew the photo of the second woman. Oh, she’d changed her hair and something about her eyes. But he remembered her. Not that he’d ever had the pleasure of fucking her. Perhaps he remembered her because she’d escaped around the time Dusk had. He traced the woman’s nose—rather beautiful actually—and wondered if she remembered him and what he stood for. Not that it mattered; by the time he was done with her, she would remember him.

Without looking up, he told the other man, Ivan, “See our friend out and make an appointment at the same time next week.”

Already thoughts of a reunion danced in his brain and blood rushed to his groin.

No one left Mikhail no matter what last name he went by—or what name they went by. One by one he’d find them all. He’d already located three by sheer luck, another by the informant, to show him the lost were actually who the informant claimed they were, that the informant wasn’t stringing him along.

After the first, out in Arizona, he was to obtain the entire list. He still would. One way or another.

For now, he would plan for tomorrow and a trip to Taos, New Mexico.

Chapter 22

Dallas, Texas; Gaelord’s; November 6, 9:42 p.m.

Morgan sat down at her computer and moved the mouse, her wave screen saver fading to the desktop. The office was quiet. Gideon had a meeting with some of the tech guys—she called them the nerd squad. Jack was in Canada, still disappointed he hadn’t talked her into going. Darkness closed in and she sighed, rolling her head, trying to get the muscles to loosen.

She’d hoped to already be at home, but she’d run a bit behind thanks to traffic, talking with her instructor and then the president of the local women’s coalition calling. Now she needed to finish an assignment and figured doing it here was as good as at home since she was still going on energy.

Signing in, she noted she had email. Busy with clients, meetings, and school, she hadn’t bothered to check it yesterday. Clicking the icon, the inbox opened. Yesterday there had been several from Amy. Then again, Amy was always sending her mail, or forwarding jokes. She saw to the side that bladediamonds
sent her an email. Smiling, she opened it, her heart settling as it did every blasted time the man contacted her. Stupid, she knew, but he was a friend and she rather enjoyed hearing from him. Sometimes he sent her little quotes or motivational sayings. She saved every one for some reason she didn’t care to analyze.

His note was short, as they usually were.

Dear Morg,

I hope all is well with you and if it’s not, you better bloody well tell me or there’ll be hell to pay. Things have been hectic on this side of the pond. How’s Texas? How’s school? Still angry at the history professor over his lack of knowledge in the field of antiques of the Edwardian era? Do be well and keep in touch. Send me some cowboy jokes, they’re a bit of a hit over here. Take care, luv.