Midnight Pursuits (6 page)

“I'm capable of a lot of things.” She met his gaze head-on. “Try not to forget that, kiddo.”

He didn't object to the nickname, but his nostrils did flare in irritation for a moment. “I take it he chose not to talk at first?”

“No, not at first. I only had to cut off one finger before he changed his mind.”

She'd revealed the gruesome detail in an attempt to shock him, but Ethan didn't even blink. Instead, he clasped his hands in his lap and said, “So, who's the client? Who hired Grechko to kill Zoya?”

Juliet hesitated.

“Oh, come on. Don't hold out on me now. Who was Grechko working for?”

She let out an uneven breath. “Are you familiar with Dmitry Orlov?”

He looked startled. “You've got to be shitting me.”

“You've heard of him, then.”

“Who hasn't?” Ethan shook his head in dismay. “No way. You can't get tangled up with that man. He's corrupt to shit.”

Ethan wasn't exaggerating. Of all the corrupt politicians on the globe, Dmitry Orlov made Juliet's top ten Don't Mess With list. The minister of defense in Belarus, he was a smooth, attractive man on the surface with the reputation of a coldhearted psycho beneath it. Whenever someone in the government opposed him, that person mysteriously disappeared or wound up dead in a Dumpster—deaths that always went unsolved because Orlov had the head of the police force in his pocket.

Back when she stole for a living, Juliet had made many trips to Eastern Europe and had heard her fair share of stories about Dmitry Orlov. According to her sources, Orlov had a tendency to use heavy-handed tactics to get his way, but he'd become drastically more violent since he'd lost his son in a terrorist attack that had dominated every global media outlet. The man's antiterrorist stance had only strengthened since then, and he now went to any lengths to eliminate threats to his country or his position of power. Blackmail, murder, rape, torture—the man had no qualms about using whatever method was available in order to achieve his goals.

“I know exactly who I'm dealing with here,” she replied with a shrug. “Orlov is a violent maniac.”

“Which is why you should stay away from him.”

“Not gonna happen, kiddo. He's responsible for my brother's death.”

“Are you sure Grechko was telling you the truth?”

“He had no reason to lie. He said he met with Orlov personally at Orlov's private estate.” When she saw Ethan's dubious face, she went on. “Orlov is known to use outside contractors—it's no secret he doesn't have much trust in his own government—and he wouldn't have been worried about Grechko talking out of turn. It wasn't in Grechko's best interest to advertise his arrangement with Orlov, not if he wanted to keep collecting millions by killing for the guy.”

“I see your point, but I still don't get why Orlov needed a pet hit man to begin with. Who were the other targets Grechko eliminated for him?”

“He told me the names of the targets he'd already hit, and three that he hadn't taken care of yet. Grechko said he's been on standby for Orlov this past year. He doesn't move on the target until Orlov orders him to.”

“Do you remember all the names?”

“I put them in my phone. Grab it for me, will ya? It should be in my duffel. You know, the bag that's sitting by your feet.” She couldn't help but roll her eyes. “You thought I wouldn't notice that you've been keeping my gear near you at all times?”

“For my own protection,” he shot back. Then he set his mug on the small table between the two armchairs and bent over to unzip the duffel.

When he pulled out a silver BlackBerry and held it up, she shook her head. “No, not that one. That's my second phone.”

He came up with a black Samsung Galaxy next.

“Not that one either.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Let me guess. That's your third phone.”

She shrugged as if to say
so what
?

When Ethan retrieved an iPhone in a sturdy black case, she nodded. “Jackpot. The password is two-nine-three-seven. Go into the notes folder, under the tab ‘grocery list.'”

Ethan's fingers swept over the touch screen, his eyebrows drawn in concentration as he read the contents of Grechko's hit list.

“Did you vet the names yet?”

“When would I have had time to vet them? I've been in an infection-induced stupor for the past couple of days. I was planning on asking Paige to check them out.”

Ethan studied the screen, a deep frown creasing his mouth. “Okay. Well, it'll be easy to gather intel about the nine dead targets, but they're not our biggest concern.”

“
Our
concern? As in, we both have a vested interest in this?”

He gave her a pointed look. “The three remaining names are the important ones. We have to track them down and warn them.”

Juliet stared at him. “Why would we do that?”

“Because they have contracts out on their heads.” He shook his head, looking frazzled. “They're in danger, Juliet. Don't you think they need protection?”

Oh, brother.

What was it with Morgan's crew and their need to save the damn world? Some of her own colleagues were the same way, Abby and Isabel, in particular, but for the life of her, she didn't understand why they felt it was their duty to rescue every poor, victimized soul in their vicinity.

“I'm not a bodyguard, kiddo.”

“My name is Ethan,” he cut in, steel in his voice.

“Sorry. I'm not a bodyguard,
rookie
. I'm not risking my neck for a bunch of strangers.”

“But you'll risk your neck to kill Orlov?”

She cocked her head. “Who says I'm planning to kill Orlov?”

Ethan chuckled, deep and derisive. “You're telling me you're not going to get revenge on the man who's responsible for your brother's death? I didn't even know you had a brother, by the way.”

“That's because you don't know me.” Aggravation clamped around her throat like a vise. “We don't know each other, which means I don't owe you any explanations or have an obligation to share my plans with you.”

“You don't have to share a damn thing. I
know
you're going after Orlov.” He released an aggravated breath. “And it looks like I'll be going after Orlov's targets.”

“There's no reason for you to get involved. Once I eliminate Orlov, the targets will probably be safe.”

“
Probably
being the operative word. What if Orlov left orders for someone else to kill them if he dies? Or if he's already hired another hit man to get rid of them?”

She opened her mouth, prepared to argue about the utter stupidity of him getting mixed up in this insanity, but then she changed her mind. If Ethan wanted to stick his neck out for total strangers, let him. She had her own agenda, and she damn well intended to follow through on it.

Orlov had killed Henry. She would kill Orlov. End of story.

Except . . . aw, hell. Was that teeny pang in her stomach
guilt
?

It's not guilt. It's pain. You got shot.

Yeah, that was probably it. Of course she didn't feel guilty. She had no reason to.

“Fine. Well, it's your prerogative,” she said nonchalantly. “Warn them. Take them all to Morgan's awesome new bachelor pad if you want. Just don't expect me to tag along.”

Of all the reactions she could have received, the disappointment in Ethan's hazel eyes was not one she'd anticipated. No anger, no annoyance, not even disapproval.

Nope, he looked
disappointed
, as if he'd expected more from her and she'd truly let him down.

This time, the twinge she experienced was most definitely guilt.

“You really don't care if three innocent people die?” Ethan asked quietly.

Juliet swallowed, then donned a careless face. “Nope.”

“Fine.” His tone became businesslike. “Get your girl Paige on the phone and have her check out every person on that list. As soon as we get the intel, we'll go our separate ways.” An edge crept into his voice. “I'll be heading off to save lives, and you'll be going to take one. I guess that's what we call irony, huh?”

It was past one a.m. and Ethan was stretched out on the floor, feeling wide-awake and restless. It had been a ridiculously lazy day that involved too much sitting around as they'd waited for Paige to get back to them. Although he and Juliet had done some research of their own, gathering basic intelligence about the individuals on Grechko's list, Juliet's tech-savvy colleague was capable of conducting the kind of deep background searches they required.

Unfortunately, Paige still hadn't gotten in touch, and Ethan was now lying here after a long day of doing nothing, while Juliet slept on the bed. She'd been sleeping on and off during the day, which had surprised him. He'd figured he'd have to force her to rest the way he usually did with his teammates. Whenever they got injured, the men on Morgan's team griped and complained about being bed bound, demanding to return to action even if they weren't fully capable of it yet.

But Juliet was smarter when it came to her recovery. She knew that she needed to regain her strength if she wanted to go forward with her plan.

Her plan to kill the minister of defense.

Jesus. Talk about ambitious.

Not that he was worried or anything. Truth was, he had no doubt that Juliet could achieve her crazy goal. When you worked for Noelle you picked up a few tricks, and though he didn't know much about Juliet's previous assignments, he was confident that getting to Orlov would be an easy feat for the woman.

As for him, he couldn't in good conscience leave the country until he tracked down the three people Victor Grechko hadn't gotten around to killing. He didn't know who they were, but clearly they were important if Dmitry Orlov wanted them dead.

Too many questions ran through his mind, but Ethan tried not to get hung up on them. Like Juliet, he had to pick one objective, and the three innocent people with targets on their backs were the priority he'd chosen to focus on.

Apparently he wasn't destined to have a vacation. All he'd wanted was two weeks of peaceful, relaxing me-time, and somehow he'd wound up in Eastern Europe, about to play bodyguard to three strangers.

Life was weird sometimes.

“Goddamn you!”

Juliet's angry outburst penetrated the silence.

The sheets rustled, the mattress squeaking as she moved around on the bed. Fortunately, the room was dark, which meant he couldn't see her booty shorts and black sports bra—the indecent outfit she'd been wearing when she'd waltzed out of the bathroom earlier without a shred of modesty. His body, of course, had instantly reacted, but if she'd noticed the bulge in his pants, she hadn't commented on it.

“What did I do?” Ethan asked in amusement. “I've just been lying here quietly.”

Rather than explain the abrupt indictment, she let out a resigned sigh. “You remind me of Henry.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“A little bit of both, I guess.” An unmistakable chord of sorrow rang in her voice. “He wasn't my real brother, you know. We weren't blood related.”

Ethan didn't say a word. Didn't even move.

He didn't have to be a genius to know that Juliet didn't open up to just anybody. Or maybe to anyone. She'd barely revealed any details about herself when they'd met in Monte Carlo last year, and he was afraid that if he interrupted her now, she'd clam up again.

“We were placed in the same foster home when I was twelve. He was two years younger than me. Such a scrawny kid—really shy. He wouldn't have lasted a day in some of the group homes I lived in before I got placed with the Millers.” She made a disgusted noise. “Not that the Millers' house was any better than those previous homes.”

He held his breath, hoping she'd go on. Praying she would. Juliet Mason remained an enigma to him, but one he was determined to solve. He wanted a glimpse behind that smirking, I-don't-give-a-shit curtain she hid behind.

“They were pure filth,” she said viciously. “Shower mildew, toilet-bowl grime, soiled mattresses. That's what Deke and Maria were—all the unwanted filth people try to scrub out of their lives.”

“Did they beat you?” he asked gruffly, unable to hold his tongue anymore.

“From day fucking one. They started off small, just a spanking here and there, the occasional slap when we were quote-unquote bad. Deke liked to toy with Henry—he shoved him around a lot, taunted him because he was too skinny, that kind of shit. Eventually they both got meaner. Henry and I had our fair share of bruises, cuts, cigarette burns, but never in places that were visible to the teachers or caseworkers.”

She stopped abruptly, but Ethan refused to let her shut down on him.

“How did you and Henry get through it?”

The bedsheets rustled again. “We stuck together. Comforted each other when we needed comfort, cleaned up the cuts and bruises, put balms on the burns. I can't tell you how many times Henry had to stop me from slicing Deke and Maria's throats. I stole a knife from the kitchen once, was planning on killing those bastards in the middle of the night, but Henry talked me out of it. He was a good kid.” She paused. “I kept the knife, though. Slept with it every night.”

Ethan couldn't even imagine growing up in that kind of environment. He'd been blessed with two loving parents for eighteen years of his life, and losing them had been a blow he wasn't sure he'd ever recovered from. But the memories of his folks were priceless, those cherished moments getting him through some seriously tough times, particularly during his stint in the corps. His heart ached at the knowledge that Juliet hadn't been so lucky.

“How long were you with the Millers?”

“Three years, until Maria ran out on Deke. She took off with some loser she'd been fucking around with, and Deke couldn't handle the responsibility of two foster kids. He called the caseworker, insisted he could only take care of one of us, and, of course, it had to be me.” Bitterness thickened her tone. “I'd just turned fifteen, and let's just say that Deke liked what he saw.”

Ethan's muscles coiled tight with anger. “Did the son of a bitch touch you?”

“I didn't give him the chance. I ran away five hours after that bitch caseworker left the house with Henry. I lived on the streets after that, but I made sure to find out where they'd taken Henry. He was living in a new foster home, a good one. He really lucked out.”

There wasn't a single iota of envy in her voice. If anything, she sounded defeated.

“I used to meet him every day after school and walk him home, just to make sure he made it back safely, and—”

“You weren't in school?” Ethan had to interject.

“Nah, I'd dropped out by then. Couldn't exactly attend school when I didn't have an address for them to scribble in their little files. They would have called social services in a heartbeat if they knew I was a street kid. Anyway, we're getting off track. This is about Henry, not me.”

He swallowed his disappointment, wishing like hell he could steer the conversation back to where he wanted it to go. Juliet was the most interesting woman he'd ever met, and he had the strangest urge to find out every last detail about the woman. Find out what made her tick, what made her smile, what made her, well,
her
.

But in his experience, women who worked for the all-powerful Noelle kept everyone around them at arm's length.

“He was such a great kid. So smart and compassionate and he tried so hard to treat everyone with kindness and respect. I figured he'd go into social work, but he ended up volunteering with the Red Cross instead of going to college, and eventually he landed a permanent job with them. He was trained as a counselor and medic, and he traveled to needy areas of the world, working at hospitals and clinics and helping anyone he could. He was a goddamn champion for every downtrodden human on the fucking planet.”

She went silent, her soft, even breathing echoing in the room.

Ethan sat up on his makeshift bed. He knew exactly where she was heading with all this, and so he wasn't surprised when she finally blurted out what he'd been waiting for her to say.

“Fine. Let's find those people and warn them.”

He smiled in the darkness.

“I guess finding them could work to my advantage,” she added, as if trying to rationalize the plan to herself. “If Orlov wants them dead, then clearly they're important to him. Maybe I can use them as leverage, dangle them in front of Orlov in order to get to the bastard.”

He had to laugh. “I see. So as long as there's something in it for you, then you're totally on board. You can't just do it out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

“What heart?”

“You don't have to keep pretending with me. You can drop the heartless-bitch act, you know. It's okay to care about other people.”

“But I don't care,” she answered flatly. “I still don't give a shit about those strangers. But Henry would have cared. He would have gone out of his way to protect them from Orlov.”

“See, you
do
care. About your brother, at least.”

She grumbled in irritation. “Stop trying to find the good in me. Truth is, I
am
a heartless bitch. Self-preservation is the only thing that matters to me.”

“If that were true, you wouldn't have dropped everything to race to your brother's bedside. And you wouldn't be risking your own life now to avenge him.”

She let out a sigh. “Make no mistake, rookie—if it had ever come down to protecting Henry or protecting myself, I would've chosen me.”

Ethan held his tongue. If she wanted him to think she was a cold, emotionless bitch, then fine.

But he didn't believe it for a second.

•   •   •

“The Wolf's dead.”

Those were the last three words Dmitry Orlov expected to hear when Kirill entered the room. It was nearly midnight, and Orlov had left his office several hours ago to hole up in the expensively furnished study of his palatial estate outside the city. He often worked from home in the evenings, preferring the lavish surroundings to his cold sterile office in the House of Government. Perhaps he would be more inclined to spend time in the capital if he had an office as grand and luxurious as President Belikov, but alas, he was just the lowly defense minister and undeserving of such grandeur.

Soon,
a little voice assured him, dimming some of the bitterness.

“What do you mean, he's dead?” Orlov scowled as he rose from his leather chair and rounded the desk, arms crossed tightly over his tailored double-breasted suit jacket.

The bulky, fair-haired man in front of him met his gaze head-on. As usual, Kirill remained expressionless, a standard look for the former KGB operative who now worked exclusively for Orlov under the guise of head security officer.

But Kirill did far more than protect his boss and oversee the Presidential Security Service guards that had been assigned to Orlov—he handled all of his boss's unofficial business, and although Orlov considered himself indebted to no one, he couldn't deny that Kirill had contributed greatly to his rise to power.

“I found the body at the farmhouse,” Kirill said in his monotone voice. “The Wolf was tortured.”

Orlov did his best to hide his shock. Tortured? He hadn't expected to hear that either.

“Tell me precisely what you found.”

Kirill proceeded to recite the night's events as if he were reading from a macabre textbook. “I went to the farmhouse and found Grechko secured to a metal chair with a gunshot wound to the head. Everything prior to the bullet suggests that he'd been interrogated by a professional.”

Orlov's cheeks hollowed in displeasure. “I see.”

“I cleaned up the scene and took care of Grechko's body. I assume that's acceptable to you?”

“It is.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, thoughtful. “Do you think he talked?”

“I have to assume so. The damage inflicted on him would have been substantially worse if he'd held out.”

Disgust rose in Orlov's throat. In his dealings with Victor Grechko, Orlov wouldn't have suspected that the man could be broken so easily, and yet the Wolf's demise only confirmed what he'd always known, which was that most men were weak. Most men snapped in half like a pencil if one applied enough pressure on them. Most men were pathetic.

“We also have to assume that Grechko revealed your name to the person who executed him,” Kirill finished.

“Of course he did.” Orlov waved his hand. “But that's inconsequential. I've faced accusations of wrongdoing my entire career. If someone comes forward to accuse me of conducting business with Grechko, nothing will come of it. I'm beyond reproach, Kirill.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What I'm more concerned with is who took it upon himself to eliminate my wolf. Is the Harkova woman's death in the news yet?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Good. Oleg will be inconsolable, I imagine.” Satisfaction surged through him. “That useless moron worshipped his daughter. I'll pay him a visit tomorrow. After all, I know what it's like to lose a child.”

The memory of his son's face flashed through his mind, evoking a rush of emotion. Sergei had been his pride and joy. Such a good boy, destined for greatness. But those bastards had stolen that promising future from him, and they were still going unpunished. Colonel General Durov had abandoned the investigation into the bombing months ago, calling it a dead end. The head of the city's
militsiya
had given up, for Christ's sake.

Was it any wonder Orlov had been forced to take matters into his own hands?

Setting his jaw, he banished all thoughts of his son, for it was inappropriate to lose himself in memories when Kirill was standing there, awaiting instructions.

“Find out who killed my wolf, and when you do, bring him to me. Perhaps I'll give him the same treatment he gave Grechko, as punishment for interfering with my plans.” A frown puckered his mouth. “As for Grechko's outstanding assignments, locate someone who can take over the job.”