Hunted (7 page)

She saw Becca frown at Reyer and wondered what message they were trying to pass between them.

George cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him. “There, that was easy.” He filled another vial and one more, then pulled the needle out, swabbed, and pressed a cotton ball in the bend of her elbow, taping it down with a bandage.

At least she wasn’t a freaking junky. There was something to thank Mikhail for. Again the tears stung and again she sniffed. “I read once about heroin addicts and methadone.” He looked at her, his eyes hazel and sharp. “Back when I was in college,” she quickly added, wondering why she’d blurted that out.

“Well, if you’re not lying, then none of that will be a concern of yours.” He patted her hand. “Any other injuries we need to be aware of at this time?”

God, where did she even start? She only shook her head.

George tilted his head and studied her. “Not at this time, then? Well, when you’re in a safer location, we’ll run a full regimen of tests.”

She shuddered.

“I’ll give your antibiotics to John,” his soft voice continued. “The problem is that you can’t take it in your purse, like say acetaminophen or aspirin or something. The police frown on that. But you’ll have enough until the next safe stop.”

Next safe stop . . . The words echoed in her mind.

Was there a safe stop for her?

The memory of a cold gun biting into her neck had her reaching up to rub at her nape.

If Mikhail found her now, he’d kill her. Period. She’d simply attempted to escape him and she knew, had seen, that no one ever got away from Mikhail Jezek.

Chapter 5

Prague, Czech Republic; 2:51 a.m.

Mikhail Jezek did not like what he was hearing. He took a deep breath and looked out over the lights of the city. The luminous green lights of the castle hazed from the square. And somewhere out there . . .

“What did you find?” he asked.

“There is a Reyer registered at the hotel he mentioned, sir, but I don’t think it’s him.”

Still he didn’t turn around. He lifted the crystal tumbler in his hand and took a deep drink of the scotch. It did nothing to wash away the taste that things were going wrong. Very, very wrong.

He knew, knew when he saw the way Reyer eyed Dusk that he should not allow her to go. He should have just cut the deal with the diamonds and been done with it.

The faceted crystal bit into his fingers as he gripped the glass harder.

“Any sign of her?” he asked without turning around.

“No, sir.”

“Did you bother to apprehend the man who was passing himself off as Reyer?” He knew the answer before he asked it.

Luther cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’m sorry. We lost them.”

“Them?”

“The man and the woman.” Luther cleared his throat.

Mikhail turned from the window and leveled a look at Luther. “What else do you have to tell me? What is it you are afraid to report?” He tapped his fingers against the glass before taking another drink.

Luther didn’t drop his eyes to the floor. A reason that kept Luther with him. “The thing, Jezek—there’s a report from the police.”

He frowned, and the gnawing in his gut started to burn. His fingers bit into the rim of the glass. He picked it up and took another drink.

“There was a fire . . . A-a car, sir. And . . . ” Luther trailed off and cleared his throat again.

At the end of his patience, Mikhail snapped, “And?”

“There was a body inside. He was wearing one of our medallions.”

Mikhail bit down. Everyone who worked for him, for the bosses, earned a medallion. Those who lived and frequented the Devil’s Strip or Hell’s Alley
knew of the medallions. No matter which family the guard or drone worked for, essentially they were all part of the same team. The medallions had been his idea and the bosses liked knowing there was unity among them all.

He looked down at his ring. The design matched that of the medallions, which were simple silver pieces the size of a coin. An engraved
D—
a pitchfork and devil’s tail wove the letter together.

If someone had been found with the medallion, it meant one of them was dead.

“Explain.”

“Our informant said the car was a black limo, or appeared to be. The man was sitting in the front seat and appears to have been killed by a gunshot wound to the back of the head before the fire started. He was not certain though. The only thing known is the medallion found on the remains.”

Peter. He knew. Without being told, Mikhail knew.

Just as he knew that Dusk was gone.

Fuck!

He threw the glass against the wall, shards shattering down in a crystal fall. “Damn bitch!”
Zmrd—
the asshole. He’d find the bastard! And her!
Kurva!
Rage hot and thick roared through him.

He glanced around the living room of his home, not seeing the expensive furnishings of leather and silks, ignoring even the scantily clad women draped on the chaise. He kicked a stand that held a priceless Ming vase. It crashed to the floor and he stamped on the pieces that were left.

No one, no one left him. And by God . . .

His heart pounded in his head, roared against his ears.

This was the second girl this month he’d lost, if in fact . . .

He vaguely heard Luther say something, heard the clatter of heels as the women scurried from the room. He didn’t care.

Damn it all to hell and back.

The bosses would not be happy. He wasn’t to lose another. Mikhail Jezek didn’t lose
anything
. And he never let down the bosses. No one,
no
damn one made him look bad to the bosses. Not ever.

Dusk. He saw her fighting him, saw the anger in her, heard her screams in his head as she’d been taught her place.

He could still see the pale glacier eyes staring at him in fear and submissiveness as she’d begged for her life, as she’d promised not to ever escape.

“N-no. No, I promise, I won’t ever do that. I won’t ever escape
.
”

A roar ripped from his chest. He’d actually thought, actually believed he could change her, let her see all he’d give her, make her accept her place with him. He picked up the side table from the end of the sofa and tossed it, the lamp, its custom-made Moravian crystal shade, shattering as it hit the hard floor. He wished it was Reyer’s skull.

Bastard. How dare he take what was Mikhail’s. No one, not a single soul took what belonged to Mikhail Jezek. Reyer, or whoever the hell the bastard was, would pay and pay dearly for taking her.

Mikhail took a deep breath, trembling with the force of controlling his rage. When he opened his eyes and saw the destruction, he fisted his hands.

“Find them
.
”

“We’re checking the hotels in the city,” Luther said.

Mikhail took another deep breath. He’d have to report the loss of another girl. The bosses would not be happy.

He kicked a piece of the lamp out of the way. “You stupid fool. They’re not in the city. Get the word out. I want someone at every embassy, every bus station, the airports, and the border crossings.”

He’d known.

The calm look of Reyer had warned him. The man had been too calm. Too still.

Had she known?

Mikhail closed his eyes and thought about Dusk. That swarthy, exotic skin, the dark black hair, the icy eyes. She hadn’t known. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, the worry, even the hatred as she’d stared at Reyer when the man had touched her.

So who was he?

It didn’t matter. That man would die. Whether or not Mikhail killed Dusk right off was another matter. If she’d left willingly, then he’d make her suffer. If she was an innocent pawn in all this, some move against him . . . He’d see.

No one left Mikhail Jezek.

“Find them,” he lashed out again. “Contact me as soon as you know something.”

He walked across the room, the rage still riding him hard. He needed to get rid of it so he could think. Where were the women? He went in search of the stupid little pretties that would have to suffice for a current replacement of those who angered him.

Dusk . . .

* * *

Near the German-Czech border; 3:02 a.m.

The checkpoint was open this time of night. Why, she wasn’t certain and didn’t care. They would know. Someone would know. They always knew. How had she thought she’d get out of this alive? Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Mr. John Ashbourne, no longer Reyer, reached out and clasped her hand, leaning down to say, “It’s all right, darling.”

The name change didn’t really surprise her. For some reason, it seemed one of the more normal things of the whole damn night. Her brain couldn’t seem to wrap around everything. Not quickly enough. Things were going so fast.

Mr. and Mrs. Ashbourne. They were heading to Berlin to fly home after a mini vacation, but she had fallen ill. Good thing she looked the part.

Ice chipped through her veins and she looked around, not wanting to lean on Ashbourne, but not wanting to draw attention to them.

They had to get away. The feeling the noose was closing in on them would not go away. It was as if she were still forced to wear that damn collar, but this time, it squeezed, like angry hands. Waiting, just waiting for her to make one wrong move.

The old building was probably built back during the Cold War and hadn’t changed too much since. Scuffed and scarred linoleum, no longer a color other than gray, covered the floor. There were four people in front of them, all college students from the laughter and sounds of things. One was sick, still drunk and swaying, but still grinning. She vaguely wondered if they’d just hopped over the border from Germany to have a bit of fun like too many others she’d known. Maybe so, but they seemed harmless enough.

Harmless? What the hell did she know of harmless?

Every face she saw as a potential danger. Someone watching her too closely.

A shudder racked through her and Ashbourne pulled her coat tighter around her and kissed the crown of her head.

She was so exhausted, so weary that she felt herself leaning into his warmth.

She didn’t want to. The man was a man. Helping her or not, he was a man. She’d learned that men had a way of taking what they wanted, regardless of what she wanted.

The foursome moved off around the checkpoint and through the other door at the end of the building.

She trembled again.

Their turn.

Oh, God, she couldn’t do this. There was no way. They’d know, they’d know . . .

“Passport or visa?” the man asked.

Ashbourne handed them over. The man yawned, flipped through them, looked back up and stared at her.

“Mrs. Ashbourne? Are you feeling all right?”

John’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “She’s been ill and we’d like to return home.” He leaned and kissed the top of her head again. “We took the vacation as a last getaway before kids, ya know, but bless her, she’s not feeling at all the thing. Are you, darling?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Things we can’t control aren’t things to regret.” He smiled at the night man.

The other guard was watching some rock band wail in German on a small television set off into the corner. She took a deep breath, the smell of dirt, old building, stale coffee and cigarettes filled the air.

The guard asked, “Where are you headed?”

“Back to Berlin for the night, or rather day. Our flight to the U.K. leaves in a day.” Ashbourne laughed. “Hopefully, she’ll get to enjoy the rest of the vacation before we have to get back to work.”

The guard smiled at Ashbourne, typed something into the computer, stamped their passports and handed them back to them.

“Thank you,” she muttered, still leaning on Ashbourne, the trembles growing, her breath coming faster.

He squeezed her shoulders as he drew her closer to him. She could smell his aftershave, woodsy and clean.

He took their passports, handed hers to her, which she managed to get into the brown backpack purse hanging from her arm.

“You both have a good night. Thank you.”

“Prosím
.
”
The guard smiled at her. “Hope you get to feeling better, Mrs. Ashbourne.”

She nodded and mumbled, “I do as well.”

“Enjoy Germany.”

They walked through. Her legs were shaking so badly, she didn’t know how she didn’t fall. Waiting . . . Waiting for them to yell, “Stop!”

Please, please, please, she silently begged. The air outside bit into her face and she realized snow was starting to fall. She shivered again as Ashbourne walked them back to the car.

“Keep going.
Don’t
look back.” He tightened his hold around her waist and she hissed, her ribs still sore from two days ago and the client that liked to punch as much as thrust.

She shoved the thought away and let Ashbourne help her.

What if the guards knew?

They still had to actually drive over the border. The car started without a problem. She glanced into the side mirror, saw the man who had helped them was not at the desk in the now empty building. The other guard who had ignored them talked on the phone. From here she saw him frown, look up then scan the lot, his gaze focusing on them as the car rolled forward. The border and toll booths loomed large in front of her. The steel and metal a cold skeleton.

They drove through.

She sighed and leaned back against the seat.

The phone call . . .

“That was close,” he muttered.

She saw no reason to answer him, to voice what some part of her knew.

The phone call . . . the guard who hadn’t so much as looked at them . . .

Mikhail knew. She could feel it. He knew she was gone.

A shudder racked her body and she looked out the window even as Ashbourne leaned over and flicked on the heater and the stereo. Like the drive up to Děčín, she remained silent and simply stared out at the night.

The dark German landscape blurred by in indiscernible shadows. She leaned her head back against the seat, trying to relax. She focused on the sound of the classical music playing softly on the speakers.