Into the Flame (32 page)
He had followed her.
He was the one who had watched her that night. He had scouted out the location of the Wilder home.
When she had asked him if he was there, he had lied to her.
Why? Why lie?
The answer was all too evident.
With new understanding, she looked around at the gleaming chrome, the leather seats, the state-of-the-art technology.
And when he had the coordinates, he’d sold the promise of information to the Varinskis. He had assured them he could deliver the Wilders’ location, and they’d paid him an advance on delivery. That was how a twenty-three-year-old orphan afforded a BMW, an estate, and a leather jacket.
He’d betrayed his family, his son . . . and his whore.
Because she was nothing more than that to him.
Taking the keys, the flashlight, and the pistol, she eased out of the car. She walked back into the house, skulking through the darkness, listening for trouble. Rage would not make her lose her caution.
She punched in the security code and walked upstairs to his office.
She had given
Douglas
information about the family and their vulnerabilities. She had let him know that they must have him on their side to win their battle with the Varinskis. She had trusted him when she shouldn’t, betraying the family that had raised her and given her everything, condemning her own son to death. Most important, without the fourth icon, the pact with the devil couldn’t be broken. Konstantine and the men she considered her brothers, and even her darling Aleksandr, were sentenced to an eternity in hell.
Douglas
information about the family and their vulnerabilities. She had let him know that they must have him on their side to win their battle with the Varinskis. She had trusted him when she shouldn’t, betraying the family that had raised her and given her everything, condemning her own son to death. Most important, without the fourth icon, the pact with the devil couldn’t be broken. Konstantine and the men she considered her brothers, and even her darling Aleksandr, were sentenced to an eternity in hell.
But this locked office door meant
Douglas
was hiding something. Without thinking twice, she lifted the pistol and shot the lock out of the door.
Douglas
was hiding something. Without thinking twice, she lifted the pistol and shot the lock out of the door.
Let
that
register on his security system.
that
register on his security system.
She stalked to his desk and was almost disappointed to discover it was open. She was more than ready to shoot more locks off.
She rifled through the drawers, and in the third drawer down on the right-hand side, there it was.
The fourth icon, tangled in the seaweed that had tried to choke her, drown her.
Each of my four sons must find one of the Varinski icons. Only their loves can bring the holy pieces home.
That had been Zorana’s vision.
But that was crap. Firebird wasn’t Douglas Black’s love. Because he had screwed her silly. He had told her he loved her. He had bared his heart and soul to her.
And it had all been lies.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Doug slowly drove the steep, dark, winding road toward the lookout, his powerful spotlight sweeping from side to side as he watched for the trap he knew had been set for him.
Yet in a separate part of his mind, he worried. He worried about leaving Firebird alone in his house. He worried about what Vadim Varinski had planned. He worried about his son, Aleksandr. Never before had he had anyone to worry about; now he discovered that having a family came with a price.
Remembering the cell phone in his pocket, and the number Firebird had programmed in, he changed his thoughts. Having a family came with a price—and a refuge. All his life, he’d had no one at his back. Now, how odd to think that if he were in trouble, someone would come to his aid. Or, at least, Firebird thought someone would come to his aid.
His spotlight picked up a debris field. He slammed on his brakes.
Nice fake-out.
He pointed his spotlight toward the edge of the road. And there it was, a car dangling off the edge of the embankment with its front tires off the pavement.
Maybe not a fake-out, after all. Maybe the Varinskis had been having a little too much fun. If that was the case, Foka would be having a hissy-fit. Or in Foka’s case, that would be a hisssssy-fit.
Doug laughed at his own humor, adjusted his spotlight, and examined the car for the driver or passengers. He couldn’t see anyone.
Where were they?
He pulled his service pistol and palmed his knife, then eased out of the patrol car. The stench of Varinskis struck him like a blow.
There had to be at least five or six of them out there.
Foka really overestimated Doug’s abilities. Or maybe this was a matter of pride. Maybe this time Foka wanted to make sure he killed him.
As Doug stepped away from the car, a massive wolf leaped out of darkness. He turned sideways and sliced with his knife as the beast drove him onto the pavement.
The Varinski’s howl of pain vibrated through him. He caught the snout that went for his throat, twisted the neck beneath his arm, and, as hard as he could, bit down on an ear. To his immense satisfaction, blood filled his mouth. He twisted harder, felt the legs kick, the claws scratch . . . the neck snap.
One down.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others gather. Three more wolves and two men, one slight and thin, the other a massive, James Bond bad-guy type.
He used the dead body to block his movement, brought his pistol up, and shot. The big guy went down hard, gurgled, and died.
Then, from behind, someone kicked Doug in the ribs.
His next shot went wild. His breath blasted out of his lungs. He coughed. He shot again, emptying his clip, sending one of the wolves into the forest yipping like a puppy.
The guy behind him clubbed Doug, and as his head wobbled on his neck, kicked the pistol out of his hand. Placing his massive foot on Doug’s neck, he turned him facedown on the pavement and held him there.
Six of them. Seven counting the dead wolf. That shit Vadim believed Doug had the icon, and he’d sent seven of his goons to retrieve it.
Doug slanted his eyes up and saw the twin of the guy he’d shot.
Great. Good way to win friends and influence people. Kill his twin.
The thin Varinski spoke quietly to his men. ‘‘Wolvesss are of no use here. I need men.’’
The two remaining wolves looked at each other in doubt.
‘‘Change now,’’ the thin one said. He didn’t raise his voice, but Doug saw the wolves take a step back and the transformation begin. ‘‘That’sss better.’’ He stepped forward, into Doug’s spotlight.
Ugly
. Shit, this guy was ugly. Narrow forehead, pointy snout, sharp teeth, wide neck—he looked like a huge, mutated lizard from a bad SF flick. And Doug recognized the voice. This guy had been in charge of the attack on the cliffs.
. Shit, this guy was ugly. Narrow forehead, pointy snout, sharp teeth, wide neck—he looked like a huge, mutated lizard from a bad SF flick. And Doug recognized the voice. This guy had been in charge of the attack on the cliffs.
‘‘Foka,’’ he said.
‘‘How flattering. You know my name.’’ Foka’s tongue flicked out to touch his lips. ‘‘You’ll scream it soon.’’
‘‘What do you want?’’ Doug asked.
‘‘Goga, explain to our American cousin what we want,’’ Foka said.
Goga dug one hand into Doug’s hair, wrapped one around his throat, and lifted him to face level. In a blast of garlic, he shouted, ‘‘Where’s the fourth icon?’’
‘‘Where’s my hundred million dollars?’’ Doug asked.
‘‘You are not in the position to negotiate,’’ Foka said. ‘‘The fourth icon. Tell us now, and we’ll ssslaughter you right away. Hold out, and you will sssuffer.’’
Doug got his feet under him. He seized the hand that held his throat. Used his other hand to jab Goga’s windpipe. As Goga released him and fell backward, gagging,
Douglas
kicked up and out.
Douglas
kicked up and out.
His foot glanced off Goga’s shoulder.
Goga wrapped his elbow around Doug’s knee and twisted.
Doug felt his knee crack.
Pain. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before.
The other two Varinskis growled and advanced.
Doug paid them no heed. Instead he did a fast low crawl and punched autodial number four.
Behind him, Goga bellowed with laughter.
Even Foka chuckled as he asked, ‘‘What are you going to do? Call for backup?’’
No, asshole, I’m passing information to my family about you and what you want. I’m sending them to rescue Firebird, and maybe . . . to rescue me. And kill you.
One of the wolf-men kicked the phone out of his hand, and as his fingers broke, he heard a woman answer, ‘‘Hello?’’
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘‘H
ello? Hello?’’ Zorana sat up in bed.
ello? Hello?’’ Zorana sat up in bed.
‘‘Wrong number?’’ But Konstantine didn’t believe that for a second. Not now. Now with the stench of Varinski growing strong in his nostrils.
‘‘I don’t think so. You have to listen to this.’’ She turned on the light and put the call on speakerphone.
‘‘Sure.’’ What with planning the battle, he hadn’t been sleeping well anyway. He might as well have a conversation with—
‘‘Where’s the fourth icon?’’ a deep voice bellowed, but at a distance. ‘‘Give us the icon!’’
‘‘I sold it to the Wilders.’’ The voice that shouted an answer sounded strange, yet familiar.
So did the sound of breaking bones.
‘‘You had better be lying.’’ The voice was quiet, but the menace carried clearly into their bedroom.
‘‘What do you care?’’ that almost-familiar voice shouted. ‘‘Vadim says you’re going to attack them before the month is out. When you do, get it back.’’
‘‘You ssstupid fool. We attack today, once Vadim arrives. That’sss enough time for them to unite the icons and—’’ That soft, horrible, sibilant voice broke off. ‘‘I must call Vadim. Goga, Dimitri, Grigori, Lyov—make sure our little cousin is not lying to me.’’
Zorana muted the phone. ‘‘What is it? Who is it?’’
‘‘Someone’s getting the crap beat out of him by a bunch of Varinskis, and I’d guess’’—Konstantine looked at his wife, so pale, so brave—‘‘I’d guess it’s our son.’’
Zorana pressed the warning alarm beside the bed.
‘‘What are you doing?’’ Konstantine asked. As if he didn’t know.
‘‘I’m going to send someone to save him.’’
Adrik arrived first, wide-awake and fully dressed. He advanced into the room slowly, listening to the repeated demands for the fourth icon. ‘‘Somebody’s getting the stuffing beaten out of him.’’
‘‘Your brother.’’ At this first sign of her missing son, Zorana pressed a hand to her heart, but her voice was steady.
‘‘I figured.’’ Adrik rubbed his shoulder. ‘‘I wonder if I can get a bead on the GPS in that phone.’’
‘‘I can.’’ Ann stood in the doorway. She wore pajamas and a robe, but her eyes were as alert as Adrik’s. ‘‘Put it on hold. I’ll pick it up on the living room computer.’’
‘‘Great!’’ Adrik headed out.
Jasha stood behind her. ‘‘What can I do to help,
kasatka
?’’
kasatka
?’’
She turned toward her computer setup in the living room. ‘‘Put on the coffee.’’
Jasha followed her out, complaining, ‘‘ ‘Make my coffee. Type my letters. Chase me around my desk.’ You treat me like your secretary.’’ But before he stepped out, he grimly looked back at his father, and his message was clear.
He had information to pass along, intelligence he’d learned last night on his foray into the Varinski-filled forest.
Konstantine nodded. They would speak later.
‘‘I’ll start breakfast,’’ Tasya said.
‘‘I’ll help.’’ Karen followed Tasya toward the kitchen.
Konstantine had been blessed in his children and their wives.
Rurik arrived, yawning. ‘‘What did I miss?’’
‘‘You, lazy son, you can help me up.’’ Konstantine cursed the weakness that tied him to a wheelchair and slipped like evil through his bloodstream.
But all night, he had been plotting another tactic. . . . He waited until Zorana had gone into the bathroom before asking in a low voice, ‘‘How many detonator caps do we have left?’’
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