In For the Kill (41 page)

Misha stared at the gun, then at Sam's face.

“I won't kill you,” Sam said. “But I will turn your quadricep into red paste. And trust me. It will never be the same again, no matter what they do to it. You have ten seconds to pull that icon up again.”

Misha gazed at him for a long moment, his face expressionless. “Do you remember the man who was with me when you and Sveti came to the house a few days ago?” he asked.

Sam did not lower the gun. “Yeah,” he growled. “Why do you ask?”

“That was Andrei,” Misha said. “He was the closest thing I had to a friend. Of course, he would have put a gun in my mouth if my father had told him to. But I do not blame him for that.”

“That's big of you,” Sam said grimly. “What about him?”

“My father was angry when he found you had been here. Andrei was just a warm body, not very smart. No one told him anything. But I knew. Papa had Andrei beaten to death in front of me. To punish me.”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered. “And you're telling me this exactly why?”

A smile flashed over Misha's face. He opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out a dagger with a jeweled handle, and laid it down. Then he took out a Walther PPK and a full magazine. He slid it into the gun, locking it in place. As if he didn't give a fuck whether Sam shot him or not.

“Put that down,” Sam scolded. “You're fourteen, for Christ's sake.”

“I would like to reach fifteen,” Misha said. “I grew up around men who would shoot me in the leg if it was convenient for them. I know these men. You are not one of them. You cannot shoot my leg, Sam Petrie. Do not tell me that you can. It makes you look stupid. We are wasting time, and Sveti is in danger. This argument is finished.”

Sam lowered the Glock. Christ, his groin hurt. His jeans were blood soaked to the knee, starting to dry stiff. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“It is not a bad thing,” Misha said, by way of consolation. “I did not mean it as an insult.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” he growled.

C
HAPTER
28

T
he heavy drone in her head hummed beneath the images of blood and bones. Not until the drone lowered in pitch and she began to bump and lurch did she pull it together consciously. She was in the trunk of a car, and they'd turned off the highway, onto a smaller road, with stomach-churning twists and dips. She was folded up, arms still bound. Her shoulders hyperextended. Her hands were almost numb.

Liv's ring. She struggled to get the little blade snapped out, but no matter how she twisted and strained, she could not get her forefinger positioned so that she could get the blade near the plastic ratchet tie.

She snapped the blade back into position as the car slowed and finally rolled to a jolting stop. Car doors popped open. She heard the rumble of masculine voices. They were arguing. What a surprise.

The lock mechanism rattled. The trunk popped open.

Hazlett and Renato gazed down. The look on their faces reminded her of the hot glow that had always been in Yuri's eyes after beating her. To think she'd scolded Sam for playing dominating power games in bed. With what breath she had left, between one screaming orgasm and the next. But she'd scolded Sam out of sheer habit. To keep him at a distance. To keep her feelings for him in a little locked box that she could open or close at will. Embarrassed by her desire for him, ashamed of his power over her body. Now she could see Sam's passionate generosity so clearly. It shone in her memory like a star, compared to the less-than-human emptiness that squirmed in these two men's eyes.

She closed her eyes against it. She had no one to blame but herself. She'd fucked up colossally. She'd failed everyone: Mama, Papa. Her Seattle family. They were flying blind into a death trap, just because they loved her. The little girl in the cave, flowers twining around her rib cage, abandoned and unavenged. The entire goddamned city of Rome, for fuck's sake. She'd failed them all.

And Sam. She wondered if the killer had gotten to him yet. If Sam were sedated, or even aware enough to defend himself. He would have no reason to suspect someone in a lab coat, handling his IV.

“Awake already, I see,” Renato said. “I gave you less than a half dose. I want you awake when we detonate the bomb.”

“Fuck you,” Sveti croaked hoarsely.

“Oh, please. A young lady of culture can do better than that. Josef, take her inside.”

Josef sauntered up between them. The distilled malevolence on his scratched, swollen face made her shudder. One of his eyes was bandaged. “I am going to make your death last a long time, cunt,” he said in Ukrainian. “And I will pay special attention to your eyes.”

She looked up at Hazlett. “Sam?”

Hazlett frowned. “Your pit bull does nothing but give me trouble. When my person stopped by, he'd already left the hospital. And in his condition! The man is deranged!”

Tears sprang to her eyes. It made her dizzy. Hope, fear, in equal measure. The more hope roared up, the more fear tried to quench it.

If Sam was on his feet and moving, he had a chance. Oh, please.

“I will find that son of a bitch,” Josef rasped. “I will do things to him that you could not even imagine.”

Unfortunately, with her background, her imagination was unusually fertile. But that was a road she didn't want to go down.

Josef stuck his enormous hand between her legs and got a painfully tight grip on her crotch. He hoisted her over his shoulder.

Her face bumped Josef's massive back. She twisted and strained to get a sense of her surroundings. They were at the coast. She smelled salt in the air. She caught glimpses of a house. More modern and more modest than the Villa Rosalba. She heard the dull, faraway roar of waves crashing before she was carried indoors.

Lights flicked on, assaulting her eyes. She was tossed onto the floor, smacking her skull against the tiles so hard, she almost fainted.

Josef knelt next to her. “I don't think you're tied tight enough, bitch,” he said. “Let's turn you inside out. Make those pretty tits pop.”

He seized her feet and cuffed them with one of the plastic ties, ratcheting it tight. He jerked her ankles up and fastened them to the bindings at her wrists, bending her backward into a bow. She couldn't curl up to protect herself if he kicked or stabbed her. He sat back on his heels and pulled out a knife. Held her shirt out taut, slicing the fabric. Buttons popped and rattled on the floor.

“This is just the beginning, you sneaky whore,” he whispered as he spread her shirt open. “I can't wait to play with you.”

The tile was so cold against her bare skin. It burned, like ice.

He cupped her breast. Pinched her nipple until she cried out.

“Not now, Josef,” Renato snapped from somewhere across the room. “You'll have all the time in the world to play later, but you have to set up this video equipment for us! Stay focused!”

Josef snorted in annoyance. One final, horrible pinch that made her writhe and flop, and he left her, shuddering with horror.

Facing away from them, she couldn't see what they were doing. All she could do was stare out through glass doors that opened onto a veranda. Some minutes later, Renato and Hazlett strolled over to look down at her twisted, exposed body. Both were sipping brandies.

Hazlett clucked his tongue. “Josef, Josef. What have you done,” he chided. “Embarrassing the poor girl.”

“What a bad, bad boy,” Renato said.

The two men exchanged glances and sniggered.

“Nothing like a pair of lovely breasts to greet the day, hmm?” Hazlett offered.

“A chi lo dici.”
Renato lifted his glass.
Clink.
They laughed.

Sveti had never hated them more violently than in that moment.

“It is finished,” Josef said, from the other side of the room.

“Excellent. Josef, lift Svetlana up, so we can all see the setup.”

Josef's hard fingernails dug into her armpits. He hoisted her up, giving her a swift glimpse of the terrace before she was turned to face the rest of the room. It was large, extending out onto a rocky headland. Beyond that, nothing. The sky had lightened, from black to deep blue.

The place had the air of an abandoned vacation house, deeply chilly, with the faint hint of damp and mold. A large monitor was set up, connected to a laptop on a nearby table. It had a split screen. On one was a view of the Spanish Steps, and the Trinità dei Monti church at the top. Near it was a handsome flesh-toned building, presumably the Hassler. The other screen's vantage point was from an angle. It zoomed in on the hotel's elegant but understated lobby entrance on the street.

“We'll know the minute they arrive,” Hazlett said, sounding pleased with himself. “That will be our cue.”

Sveti coughed to loosen her throat. “Where's the camera located?”

“An apartment owned by Cherchenko,” Renato said. “Conveniently located to give us this visual. Isn't that handy?”

“Do you see that white Telecom Italia van parked by the gate?” Hazlett asked. “That's our bomb. Josef assures us it will take out the entire hotel and a good bit of the buildings around it. It's wired to a phone inside the van. All I do is dial a number, and ka-boom.”

“All that death and destruction, just to entertain you.” Her voice cracked with loathing. “You sick, perverted son of a bitch.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I'm as clear as a bell. Destruction is not necessarily a bad thing, my dear. It's always good for someone. I'm just careful to make sure that someone is invariably me.” He sipped at his brandy and glanced at his watch. “Almost time. It'll be so stimulating to watch this with you, Svetlana. You have the biggest stake.”

“And me?” Renato asked sourly. “I have a beautiful apartment and two priceless Picassos that will be worthless in a half an hour!”

“I said I'd compensate you, Renato. Don't nag and carp, please.”

“You can't compensate the loss of a Picasso!” Renato bitched. “You have no soul, Michael. You cannot possibly understand that kind of loss.”

Hazlett waved that away and turned back to her. “Although I don't feel emotions the way you do, I enjoy watching them. The dread, the terror, the buildup.” He chuckled. “Rather sexual, come to think of it.”

“You call the destruction of irreplaceable property and priceless artwork sexual? I call it stupid and wasteful!”

Josef tossed her to the ground with a bone-rattling thud. The other two men were too busy with their bickering to notice. She'd fallen facing them this time, so they wouldn't see what she did behind her back. If they saw her move, they'd probably focus on her breasts.

She had no hope of living through this. All she hoped was to hurt one of them, and maybe earn herself a quicker, cleaner death.

She worked Liv's ring open again. She couldn't get her hands free, but she could pick at the plastic strip that bound her ankles. With one hand, she seized the hem of her jeans, so that her bowed position would not snap suddenly loose and draw attention to her when the plastic finally gave way. She sawed away at it, heart thudding heavily.

They had forgotten about her for the moment, though Josef turned often to leer and grab his crotch. He started toward her just as the binding that held her legs together gave way. She clutched the hem of her jeans with all her strength, willing him away, away, away.

“Feeling lonely, bitch?” he crooned. “Want some attention?”

“Don't get distracted,” Hazlett snapped. “Did you set up the other TV? I want to hear the live news coverage, too. Hurry, please.”

Josef turned to obey. Tears of relief sprang to her eyes. If she got her moment, it could only be when someone was bending over her, thinking her still trussed. But not Josef. She'd have a better shot with the complacent Renato or Hazlett, rather than a feral, twisted creature like Josef. She had to just blow on that tiny, secret flame of rebellion. Keep it alive until she could burn out, all at once, with everything she had. Until then, she'd concentrate on looking helpless and terrified.

The role came to her very naturally, under the circumstances.

 

“She's in that house at the top of the drive,” Misha said. “There are no other houses near.”

“Great. Thanks for your help,” Sam said. “This is the part where you tell me you'll be good and stay far away.”

Misha just looked at him.

Sam sagged, exhausted. “Goddamnit, Misha,” he said. “I can't protect you up there! I don't even know what I'll be facing.”

“Josef is there. I tagged his car,” Misha said. “He followed Sveti to the middle of nowhere yesterday and stayed for hours after she left. Now he is here. I think Sveti led him to The Sword of Cain.”

“So the charming Josef now has nuclear capability,” Sam said. “What a stimulating thought. And you want a reunion with him?”

“No,” Misha said. “I want to kill him.”

A sharp groan of dismay hissed from between Sam's teeth.

“Josef has been back in Rome all day, at one of my father's properties. A storage facility with large supplies of ordnance. Josef is good with explosives. He might have already built a bomb.”

“Not my problem,” Sam said curtly. “Only Sveti is my problem.”

“I am coming,” Misha said. “This is my problem, too.”

Fuck.
Sam let out a slow breath. “I will tie you down.”

“If you die, they will find me tied, and they will kill me slowly.”

Sam counted down from five. “Listen to me,” he said. “If I go in and I don't come out, and you're not out here watching, there's no one to warn the world about the bomb, and no one to help Sveti. Sasha will have died for nothing. You're my only hope if it all goes to shit. This is the best way to help Sveti. Do this for her, and for Sasha. Stay back.”

Misha considered this, and pulled out his Walther. “But I must come closer,” he persisted. “How can I bear witness if I do not see?”

Goddamn stubborn butthead. It made it that much worse that he was actually starting to like the weird little freak.

He gestured at Misha's pistol. “Watch it with that thing. All I have is surprise. Play it too soon and we're done for.”

They got out of the car. Light glowed from the large windows of the boxlike modern structure far above them on the ridge.

“We hike up this hill and circle around the back,” Sam said.

Misha followed gamely behind him. The kid made a lot of noise, stumbling in the dark. The sky was lightening, and it was chilly and damp. Sweat had cooled on Sam's back. The bandage was leaking. He felt wet warmth, on his chest, his groin. Waves of nausea. He was running a fever. The scarring in his lungs from his old bullet wound made him struggle not to cough.

He pressed on, stopping periodically to wait for the panting, stumbling Misha, until the house came into view again from above. There was an outbuilding up the hill for the landscaper. Gardening tools leaned against it. He almost knocked a shovel over in the darkness. Caught it, just in time, as the door of the house opened.

He sank down, silently waving for Misha to get behind the building. Josef came out, walked to a black SUV parked in the driveway beside a sleek silver Porsche. He opened the back, hefted a big box and hauled it into the house, leaving the hatchback open. Other equipment was visible inside. It looked like he intended to come right back out again.

Sam gestured to Misha, whose eyes were big and scared in the shadows. He pointed fiercely at the ground.
Stay put, goddamnit.
He grabbed the shovel, darted across the driveway. Crouched behind the Porsche. If he took Josef down silently, his odds would be better.