“Wh-why am I here?”
“Oh, I think you know.” Ten feet away, Hughes held the gun level with her head. “You’re sitting on my son’s chair.”
Gulping down the bitter taste of bile, she dropped her gaze to the corner of her eyes and glanced at the table. Someone had covered the plastic surface with colorful squiggles—loops and whorls and zigzags that only a child’s hand could produce with such genuine enthusiasm. Amidst the collage, two stick figures framed a much smaller third. Their hands were joined in a tidy line.
“He was six when you killed him in that subway. On his way home with his mother, from a day at the museum.”
Her gaze snapped to Hughes. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
With a slow shake of his head, he tsk-tsked. The strange, singsong note of condescension crept back into his words. “Now, now, Sasha, we don’t tell lies in this house.”
No, they just killed people. She bit down on her tongue to stop the sarcastic retort. Now was not the time to lose her temper.
“I’ll forgive you this one time. If it happens again…” Hughes trailed off, the barrel of his gun swinging toward her father’s lifeless body.
Looking at her father, knowing less than ten minutes ago those sightless eyes had shone with love, made her sick to her stomach. She shut her eyes, squeezed out the image of his head slamming into the wall, the sudden, brief look of startled surprise that passed across his face. “I didn’t kill your son,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I swear it.”
“You built the bomb.”
“I did.”
A floorboard overhead squeaked, and Hughes’s attention shifted to the ceiling. He stared, thoughtfully quiet. Then a twisted smile lifted the corners of his eyes. “That must be your friend.”
Alexei.
Sasha’s heart skipped a beat.
“Let’s see what he’s doing, shall we?” He moved to a small radio/television combination atop a rusted dryer and pushed the button. The screen blipped on to the empty living room. Bending, Hughes flipped the dial. Rooms scrolled past—dining, kitchen, bedroom. The freak even had his bathroom wired.
He stopped on a small room outfitted with a large desk, file cabinets, and a painting of a dark-haired woman holding a boy with the same black hair. Beside the five-foot-tall oil painting, a door stood partly open. Alexei emerged beneath the camera, and Sasha’s breath caught as he reached for the doorknob. He was coming down here. Right into the heart of danger.
“Oh, look,” Hughes cooed. “He’s come to save you.” He gave the knob a spin, and his gaze swung back to her, dark with malice. “Too bad he’s too late.” Lifting the gun, he aimed it once more at her head.
“Wait!”
Ever so slightly, the barrel dipped. “You truly don’t understand why you’re here, do you?”
“What does my father have to do with this?” If she could keep
Hughes talking, maybe she could distract him enough to give Alexei an advantage.
Hughes shrugged. “He made things easier. When you refused to come out of hiding, he gave me the opportunity I needed. I almost had you in Moscow. Until the noble
Alexei
took you away.”
“For what? To kill me? Why? Killing me won’t bring your son back.”
The short laugh that slipped off his lips gave her the chills. “Of course it won’t. But when a child commits a wrong, he should be punished.
You
should be punished. Your father should have insured you learned right from wrong.”
“My father was a troubled man.”
“Troubled enough to abuse your love. I am so sorry, Sasha, that you didn’t have a real father. If you had, perhaps you wouldn’t be here now.”
She’d had enough of being talked down to, and Hughes’s superior attitude grated on her nerves. Fear gave way to annoyance. “You’re sick. You need help.”
“Daniel was such a model child,” Hughes murmured wistfully. “He would never speak to his elders with such disrespect.”
Yeah, and Hughes had probably beat him into submission too. If the boy had lived under this madman’s control, maybe it was a good thing he was now in heaven with the angels.
The squeak of the door stopped her retort. Her attention snapped to the doorway at the same time Hughes whirled around.
“Come in, Alexei.” He motioned his gun toward the interior of the room. “You’re just in time to see what happens when children misbehave.”
Alexei’s face was clouded with barely controlled fury as he stepped around the door. He left it open, Sasha observed. For reinforcements? Was Misha up there somewhere?
Oh, God please.
His gaze locked with hers, and for a moment, all the dark anger lifted as tenderness lighted behind his bright green eyes. But with his
blink, emotion vanished. His expression morphed into the flat, calculating emptiness of a man who knew what he was up against, and knew even the slightest hint of feeling could be his downfall.
“I had intended to do this later.” Hughes trained the matte black muzzle on Alexei. “But you’ve made it easier.” Even as he spoke to Alexei he returned his aim to Sasha. “Tell me, Alexei, are Black Opals really immune to death?”
Alexei’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. His hand took a firmer grip on the gun that Sasha wouldn’t have noticed had it not been level with her line of sight.
“Shall we find out?” Still staring him down, Hughes held his arm steady, the barrel trained on Sasha’s face. “Put the gun down, or we’ll see if her death can make you crack.”
D
istantly, Alexei heard the murmur of a muted voice outside. He lowered his gun just enough to make Hughes think he would comply. He had no intention of giving up his Sig. Defiance would get him killed, but it didn’t matter. Before Hughes could finish him, he could fire a fatal shot. He might die, but if he shot first and knocked Hughes’s arm aside, Sasha would live.
That was all that mattered.
Meanwhile, if he could stall long enough, that voice outside might make it here in time. He had no doubt it was Misha. Probably communicating with Clarke via an earpiece as well. As long as Hughes hadn’t heard the sound, things were looking pretty damned good.
“Killing her won’t solve anything, Hughes. You already took out the one responsible.” Alexei swept an arm behind his back at the lifeless body against the wall. “
He
helped with the shipment of the bomb. All you’re doing now is taking an innocent life.”
“
She
took thirty!” Fury turned his face a vivid shade of crimson. “She took my son, my wife away from me!”
“She didn’t.”
Hughes’s body had gone tight, his eyes as wide as a caged wild animal’s. The man was one step away from the edge—if he hadn’t already made the jump.
“Let her go, Hughes. Your record’s good. This can be cleared, I’m sure.” Clarke would see that the crazy fuck never left a jail cell, but for now, the lie sufficed. Anything to get that gun off Sasha long enough that Alexei could fire.
“You’re as despicable as she is! You want me to turn a killer loose? Eighteen families were destroyed in that blown-apart subway car. Children ripped to pieces! And you stand in front of me, telling me she’s
innocent
?
Her
bomb tore them apart! I’ve waited three years for her to be found and justice to be served.” His hand wavered, swaying between Alexei and Sasha. “My son deserves to have his death avenged.”
“Your son deserves peace, Hughes.”
“Alexei,” Sasha whispered. “He’s right. That bomb was my responsibility.”
Dumbfounded, Alexei blinked at Sasha. But in those wide blue eyes that shone bright with love, he read her intention, and a fist thumped him in the gut. Oh, fuck, no. He would not have her draw Hughes’s anger just to protect him.
Hurry the fuck up, Misha.
“Sasha, hush.”
“No. I won’t. I’m not about to let you get shot when Hughes is right.” She moved to the edge of her chair, turning a pleading gaze on Hughes. “Let him go. He’s just doing his job. You would. Any operative would do the same. Let him go, Hughes, and you can keep the relations between MI6 and the Black Opals intact. I made that bomb.”
If they managed to get the hell out of here, Alexei was going to have a serious talk with that stubborn woman. One that made it clear the next time she intended to be noble, it better not have a damn thing to do with losing her life. He bit back a growl and clenched his free hand in a fist. The other he lifted, aligning the muzzle of his gun with Hughes’s gut.
Footsteps echoed overhead.
Thank God.
If Alexei missed his shot, Misha would still be here to protect Sasha.
A low, raspy laugh echoed through the room. “This is really quite amusing. Each of you willing to die for the other.” He waved his gun between them both. “And your friend, coming to rescue the two traitors.” Laughter faded into silence, and Hughes’s expression hardened like stone. “It’s a damned shame he’ll have to join you. Now, what is the lesson, Alexei?” Cocking his head, he studied Alexei, brown eyes mocking. “Identify the threat, eliminate it, and proceed with the mission objective. Failure is not an option. That’s the bloody Black Opal creed, is it not?”
Before Alexei could answer, Hughes made a jerky swing with his arm and leveled the pistol at Alexei’s chest. “Center mass.”
So this was it. Steely cold settled into Alexei’s gut. A brief moment of regret for all the things he would never know with Sasha tightened his chest. But he pushed the wistful sentiment aside with the reminder she would still live, and he studied his target, watching for the telltale flinch of reflex that gave him the best opportunity to make the critical return shot.
Hughes’s finger tightened.
Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye stilled Alexei’s reflex. Time moved in slow motion as he turned his head. Sasha lunged out of her chair. Hughes pulled the trigger. A shot rang out, and Alexei braced for impact.
The sharp cry that filled his ears sent the world crashing around his shoulders. Sasha fell to the ground, yanking his heart straight out of his chest. He dropped his gun and hit the cold stone on his knees. “Sasha!” As her name tore from his raw throat, he cradled her in his arms. He held her, staring in shock at the crimson stain spreading slowly across her abdomen. Blood wet his fingertips. “Damn it, what have you done?” He dragged her close, willing the wound to close, wishing he could transfer it to himself.
A second later, glass shattered behind him. Another shot rang out, and Hughes fell over backward. His gun clattered to the stone, skittered a foot or so away where it lay smoking from the bullet he’d put in Sasha’s gut.
Alexei bit back tears and buried his face in the silken wealth of her hair. “Sasha, you pretty little fool.”
Against his ear, her voice was a faint whisper. “Foolish for you.”
The sweet remark only made her wound more painful, and Alexei choked back an unexpected sob. He had been seventeen the last time he’d shed tears. Leaving his mother in the care of a Russian neighbor who had often acted more like a father than a friend. Setting out to sell his soul if that’s what it took to see she received chemotherapy.
Sasha’s fingers tightened in his shirt. Her lips fluttered, but he couldn’t hear her soft voice. The words he made out, however, scored into his soul.
I love you.
Footsteps barreled down the stairs at skipped intervals, two and three steps at a time. Misha barged into the room, gun drawn, tensed and ready for whatever lurked within. His gaze scanned the confinement, lighting on Yakiv, Hughes, Sasha, and then finally coming level with Alexei’s disbelieving stare.
If it wasn’t Misha who fired…then who?
Turning over his shoulder, Alexei looked to the tiny window near the ceiling. The left pane was shattered on the floor, and through the opening, he made out a frighteningly familiar face. Kadir winced against his own pain as he withdrew his arm and rolled onto his side.
“What the fuck?” Alexei looked to Misha.
“I’ll explain in the car. Let’s get her out of here. She’s bleeding badly.”
Too much so, Alexei realized as he glanced down at her injury. As it was, a gut-shot posed threat enough. If that bullet had hit an artery though, she’d bleed out in minutes. Faster than they could get her across town.
More than willing to wait for answers, Alexei swept Sasha into his
arms and rose to his feet. With Misha applying pressure to the bleeding hole in her belly, they made their awkward way up the stairs. Outside, stars broke through the lavender sky. He stared at one twinkling light, hesitating for a second.
Please, God, let her live.
V
oices carried to Sasha’s awareness, muffled, indistinct, more vibration than any precise sound. She strained to hear the words, make out the meaning. Each one came more clearly. A slow, confusing channel of syllables that finally, after what seemed like a mountainous struggle, made sense.
“Come on. I know you’re in there.”
Masculine. Familiar.
Sasha opened her eyes, blinking. The light hurt her eyes. Set off pounding in her head. Lower, beneath her ribs, her body felt like she’d been relentlessly beaten by a professional boxer. She let out a low groan and struggled to bring the looming face into focus.
When a splotch of black gave way to cropped hair, a tanned face, and pitch-black eyes, she drew back with a gasp. Panic grabbed her, trying to drag her back into that endless place of night where nothing hurt, and the man who’d been trying to kill her for the last several days wasn’t sitting at the edge of her bed.
“Get away from me!” She struggled to sit upright, to swing her legs off the bed and run. Oh, God, she had to get out of here, away from Kadir, before he could point another gun at her head and finish what Hughes started.
“Stay still!” Kadir clutched at her hands, trying to hold them in place. “You’ll rip out your IVs. Sasha, I’m a friend. I swear.”
Friend? She stilled for a millisecond. Then, after too many days of not knowing who to trust, she was struggling again. Plucking at the
lines in her arms that held her captive, oblivious to the burning in her gut.
“Shit,” Kadir hissed. “Would you calm down? Alexei’s going to tie my balls in knots if you hurt yourself while he’s getting coffee. I swear, I’m harmless.” Moving over her, he gripped her shoulders firmly and gently held her to the bed.