Oceans of Fire (8 page)

It gave Aleksandr enough time to bring his gun into position as Ilya drew his secondary weapon and aimed between Aleksandr’s eyes. They stood face-to-face, both ready to die in a single heartbeat.

Aleksandr thought of Prakenskii stalking Abbey, plunging the knife into her or shooting her until her lifeless body lay bloody and broken. One move was all it took to prevent her dying, a slow squeezing of the trigger.

“I am merely the agent, not the sender,” Prakenskii pointed out, reading death in the other man’s eyes. “If you want her to live, you need me to return to the others and give them your message. They will not want you coming after them. It is that, or we both die here.”

“I think we both die.”

Prakenskii shook his head. “It is foolish of you to waste your life. I believe you will do as you say and come after anyone who harms her. I have no wish to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life. I will not touch your woman and I will deliver the message that she is to be left alone.”

Aleksandr studied Ilya’s expressionless face. He had known the killer to be many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. “Did you kill Danilov?”

There was a small silence. “I don’t know Danilov.”

“He was my partner.”

Ilya shook his head. “Not me. I’ve never heard of him.”

Aleksandr believed him and that made Prakenskii‘s presence even more of a mystery. “If you get in the way of my investigation, Ilya, or if you’re involved in any way, I’ll have to bring you in. You know that.”

“You can try, Aleksandr, but we both will end up with more scars and my arthritis will be bad in my old age.”

“If you don’t stop working for Sergei, you won’t live to be an old man.”

“I’m walking away, Aleksandr.” Prakenskii took a cautious step back. “There’s no reason to do this. I wasn’t here to kill the woman.”

“Why were you here?”

Prakenskii hesitated, a small smile touching his cold mouth briefly. “Curiosity. I wanted to see what kind of woman could have so many men tied up in knots.”

“Who?” The last thing Aleksandr wanted was for Sergei Nikitin to be interested in Abigail Drake. His mouth went dry at the thought. Prakenskii wasn’t the only killer working for Nikitin. And some of the others didn’t have Prakenskii‘s discipline or respect. They hadn’t trained with Aleksandr and didn’t know his reputation or capabilities the way Prakenskii did. “Why would Nikitin be interested in Abigail?”

“I’m going, Aleksandr. Stay out of my way.”

Aleksandr matched him step for step, the gun never wavering as they moved like dancers down the rough slope. “I heard my name was at the very top of a hit list, Ilya; is that why you’ve come?”

“I would kill you to defend my life, Aleksandr, but even I have a code. I’m not here for you.” The hit man shrugged.

His reply told Aleksandr that Prakenskii felt much the same way as Aleksandr did. They’d grown up together and had few people they were loyal to. It still mattered. It was one of the reasons Aleksandr never tried too hard to bring Prakenskii in. One never knew if he really was the killer he was reputed to be, or if he’d merely made powerful enemies in the wrong place. Just as Aleksandr had done.

“You work for Nikitin, and I’ve heard he is in bed with Ignatev.” Aleksandr threw the name out to see what came back.

“Women are trouble, Aleksandr, you should have remembered that.” Prakenskii risked a glance toward the cliff house. “Ignatev is a vengeful man and his hatred runs deep. He is a man who craves power and will get it any way that he can.”

Aleksandr kept his gun trained on Prakenskii and continued to move with him step for step, careful to keep him in sight. He was a dangerous man, but he had a strange set of ethics. Aleksandr couldn’t quite figure him out. They both had grown up in and been trained in the same school, both perfecting the art of killing. Aleksandr had grown weary of the politics of espionage and chose police work. Prakenskii had grown impossible to control and the government put out a termination order on him. Everyone sent against him had been returned in a body bag. Aleksandr and Prakenskii had known each other too many years and they avoided one another unless Prakenskii was on the wrong side of one of Aleksandr’s cases. Their meetings usually ended up in a bloody battle neither won.

Would she be safer with Prakenskii dead or alive? Killing Ilya would cost Aleksandr his own life. He had no doubt about that and his death would leave Abbey without protection against Sergei Nikitin. Aleksandr risked a glance up at the balcony. Abbey had gone inside, unaware of the two men facing off on the hillside leading to her home.

He let his breath out in a sigh of relief and continued to follow Prakenskii, hoping for a mistake on the hit man’s part. Ilya didn’t lose his footing on the steep slope, nor did he take his gaze from Aleksandr, as he made his way to the car hidden partially by a wild bramble of bushes.

“Watch your back, Aleksandr,” Prakenskii advised as he slid behind the wheel of the black Acura. His gun remained pointed at Aleksandr’s head. “There are things here best left alone.“

“Abigail Drake is best left alone,” Aleksandr replied.

“She is a weakness that can be exploited.”

“She is death for any who seeks to harm her.”

Prakenskii started up his car. “You have many enemies here, my friend. And they will not all look like enemies.”

Aleksandr slid his gun back into his shoulder harness as he watched Prakenskii drive away. Only when he was certain the other man was gone did he turn his attention to Abbey’s balcony and the open French doors. What was she thinking to leave an invitation to everyone? Especially after witnessing a murder and nearly being murdered herself.

He hurried up the slope through the trees to the house on the cliff. It was the replica of a villa he’d seen in the south of France, also with many windows, balconies, and a tower. The one in France was used as a hotel and was certainly large enough for it.

He looked straight up from the foundation of the building. The structure rose three stories high and, of course, Abigail’s balcony was at the highest point. He stood beneath the balcony and studied the vine-covered walls for the best way up. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fast, but he made it with a steady crawl, more annoyed than ever that anyone could have gotten into the house. Worse, he found finger- and footholds where there shouldn’t have been, almost as if an invisible ladder was stretching up the wall of the house for him,
or anyone else
.

Gaining the balcony, he went over the railing and sat for a moment on the floor, listening for sounds of movement. He took a few minutes to check the grounds below before going into Abigail’s room, in case Prakenskii returned. As he walked boldly through the open doors, he felt a curious electrical charge running through his body and the air seemed to light up with tiny sparks much like fireflies. He blinked and the peculiar sensation was gone, as if it had never been.

Abigail lay on the bed beneath a thick quilt, her fist clenching the soft folds. Her bright red hair spilled across her pillow and pooled on the sheets. He made no sound as he crossed the room and sank down onto the full-sized four-poster bed. Her lashes were spiky wet as if she’d been crying, but when she opened her eyes, there were no tears, only blazing hot anger mixed with panic as she launched herself at him.

He caught her and slammed her back down to the mattress, hissing at her. “You don’t want to wake your sisters.” Until that moment, he hadn’t realized the rage that seethed just below the surface. Maybe the night’s events fed it, maybe her careless actions and even the danger to her contributed, but more than that, it was her steadfast implacable resolve not to give him a chance. She had tossed him aside so easily, without a confrontation, without a single word spoken, without allowing for any explanations.

Aleksandr took a breath and let it out slowly, careful that his grip on her couldn’t possibly hurt.

Abigail stared up at his broad shoulders and familiar face. She loved his face. Loved the angles and planes and lines etched deep that spoke of hardship. Right now his eyes were ice cold and she knew he meant business, but she didn’t care. “You mean you don’t want me to wake them. They’ll call Jonas and you’ll be the one hauled to jail. It won’t be as bad as what happened to me, but you won’t like it.”

Aleksandr let her go. “Go ahead and scream, Abbey. Let your sisters call your annoying friend. Just know that I’m not in the mood to be generous tonight.” He leaned down to remove his shoes. “It’s on you if anything happens. I’m just too damned tired to care.”

“What are you doing?” Abigail sat up, her eyes smoldering with temper.

“I just told you. I’m tired. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m going to lie down while we talk.”

“In my bed?” Her voice was strangled with outrage. “I don’t think so.” She looked wildly around for her robe. “You’re such a pompous ass, thinking you can come into my bedroom and crawl into my bed like nothing happened. Get out before I lose my temper. You have no idea what could happen if I lost my temper, Aleksandr.” Neither did she, but for a moment she wished she were Hannah and could turn him into a reasonable facsimile of a toad.

Before she could get her hands on her robe, he bunched it in his fist and tossed it across the room. “You were parading around on your balcony for the entire world to see—including a Russian hit man, a particularly efficient one.” He glared at her. “I don’t think you need a robe to talk to me.”

That stopped her. She stared up at him, horrified. “What do you mean, a Russian hit man? Here? After me? Are my sisters and my aunt in danger?” She slipped off the bed to pace across the floor. Aleksandr wouldn’t lie to her about something like that. “Because of what I saw? What I heard?”

“What did you hear?”

“A name, that’s all. One was called Chernyshev. I told you what I saw. Why would they send a hit man after me?”

“I don’t know that he was after you. I only know he’s a very dangerous man. Chernyshev is a fairly popular surname in my country.” He sighed heavily. “If he belongs to the mafia, they are very violent.”

“He was very violent. He was shooting everybody and everything, including the dolphins.” She swept her hand through her hair as she paced. “I’ve got to leave, get away from my family. I won’t put them in danger.”

“Slow down, Abbey. We don’t even know what’s happening yet.”

“What’s going on? You have to know or you wouldn’t be in Sea Haven. All of a sudden we have Russians killing each other and hit men are hanging around outside my family home? Why are you here, Sasha? Why would you come here?” She came back to him, knelt on the floor beside the bed, and stared at him with her incredible eyes.

He had forgotten how her eyes looked up close. They could be as clear and beautiful or as turbulent and wild as the sea she loved so much. Kneeling there with her abundance of rich red hair cascading to the curve of her bottom, she looked the witch some people called her. The witch his people had thrown out after first putting her through hell.

He had called in every favor owed to him, had even used old contacts and routes he had long ago given up for police work, to get her safely out of the country. She didn’t know the risks he’d taken or the consequences of his actions. She didn’t know about the bloodbath left in her wake. But she knew he was responsible for the government picking her up in the first place. He was responsible for a lot of things. Mostly for putting the wariness into her eyes. The fear. She had never really been afraid until she met him.

“You returned every single one of my letters unopened.” He lay back, his fingers linked behind his head.

“Why are you here?” she repeated.

“Because you’re here.”

Abigail closed her eyes, briefly allowing pain to wash over her. She’d lived with heartache for so long it was a part of her. She detested pathetic, weeping women who couldn’t live without the man who broke their heart. She was always strong. She never had a problem walking away. And no one pushed her around. Until Aleksandr. She was weak-willed with him. Was it just because she wanted the chance to lie beside him, feel his raw strength, his warmth, just one more time?

Aleksandr turned her well-ordered world upside down. He could make her body come alive with one smoldering look. With a touch. Just by walking toward her. She’d actually become that pathetic. Fury swept through her, temper rising to give aid to her instincts of self-preservation. She wasn’t going through hell again. She had some small measure of self-respect. Well… maybe not. Maybe it was self-preservation, because he’d almost destroyed her. He’d ruined her joy of life, and he’d shattered her trust in herself. He’d damaged a lot of the qualities that defined Abigail Drake and he’d left her an empty shell.

“Damn you, Sasha. Go away. My home is the only refuge left to me.”

“All you had to do was read my letters, Abbey. You didn’t even do me that courtesy.”

She turned her head to look at him, suddenly furious. It welled up, a hot fountain of rage, and she allowed it to boil over. She leapt up, detesting the image of a woman kneeling at his feet. “
Courtesy
? Do you think I owe you courtesy? You let them drag me off and treat me like an
animal
. You knew what they were doing to me. Do you want to know how many times they hit me? How many hours I was interrogated? Slapped? Spit on? Do you want the ugly little details? Or do you already have them?” She stared down into his face. His handsome, chiseled face that never gave anything away. She wanted to slap him so she twisted her fingers together and fought for control. “You
betrayed
me. You betrayed everything we were together. Damn you for that.”

At the sound of footsteps running down the hall, Abigail turned toward the door and waved her hand. Locks clicked in place.

“Abbey!” Hannah’s voice cried out. “Are you all right?”

“Stay out,” Abigail ordered. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not all right,” Joley insisted. “We can all feel you.”

“I’m handling it,” Abigail said. “Please, just go back to bed. I need to do this.”