Tell Me No Lies (34 page)

He inched forward, and suddenly the man stepped out of the shadows beneath a tree to toss his cigarette and grind it beneath one heel. For a moment moonlight illuminated his face.

Yuri.

Recognition hit Hank like an electric shock.

Petrov was already there.
Jesus H. Christ.

So someone
had
arranged the fake phone call. Someone who wanted him out of the way.

He scanned the area, assessing the situation. Where was Mason? In the dark, Hank could see no trace of him. Had Petrov already gotten to him? Hank's jaw tightened at the possibility, but he didn't have time to find out. He had to know what was going on inside that cabin and before he could get there he had to take out Yuri. Quietly. No shots to alert others to his presence.

He closed his eyes, closing his mind to the silent promise he'd given Ben, the unstated message he'd heard from Rose. With soundless steps he crawled forward, working his way around Yuri's flank to his back.

When he was close enough to smell the tobacco on Yuri's clothes, Hank took a breath, steadied himself and his footing, then smashed the butt of his gun as hard as he could on Yuri's head.

The big man went down like a falling tree. Ah, the advantages of surprise.

Or a lucky streak that still held.

Quickly, Hank searched and relieved Yuri of his weapon a 9mm semi-automatic. If Yuri had killed Kholodov, he hadn't done it with this gun. Hank cuffed Yuri's hands behind his back, wrapped a plastic tie around his ankles, and removed Yuri's shoes, which he threw out of reach. Then he stripped off one of Yuri's socks and gagged him with it.

Busted and trussed.

That should hold him.

Relieved, Hank left Yuri on the ground and crept toward the cabin. No time for hedging bets; he needed to see exactly what was going on.

Crouching low, he inched toward the porch and almost tripped on the body at its foot

Mason, dead eyes staring up at the night sky, a nasty smile sliced through his throat.

Outrage sparked into wild, untamed enmity. Hank tightened his hold on his weapon and stared up at the cabin, using ironclad control to constrain the unmanageable fury. With grim determination, he slipped up the porch. Keeping clear of the door, which was wide open, he peeked into one of the front windows.

Petrov was there all right. And he had a gun on Alex.

"Don't be stupid," she was saying, her voice strained but calm, "I have a policeman with me."

Christ, if only that were enough.

Petrov stroked the gun, caressing it like a treasured possession. "I don't think your Detective Bonner will be back anytime soon. Family troubles." The latter said dripping with false sympathy.

"How did you "

"Oh, I know everything,
dorogaya.
I arranged it. A bit like God." He laughed, the sound smooth and filled with such conceit it foamed inside Hank like poison.

He ducked back down, hands shaking and slick with sweat. Adrenaline or fear?

"Tom!"
His voice echoed inside his head as though in a tomb.
"Tom, I'm coming in."

He closed his eyes, leaning against the cabin just below the window.

Not Tom, not the toolshed. Get a grip.

He was outside Mason's cabin.

Inside, Alex faced the door. Petrov had his back to it.

That was good. With luck Hank could get off a shot without Petrov knowing, and without his shooting Alex.

With luck.

But everyone's luck ran out eventually.

Instinctively, his hand pressed against his chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scar. His heart beat fast but steady. Whole. Alive.

He gazed blindly at the shadowed night, the harsh glow of lights on the lake, the mocking race of the moon.

Everybody had to die once.

Yeah, but he'd already had the privilege and lived.

Only on borrowed time, pal. Now the price was due.

He'd lost one woman he loved. He wasn't going to lose another.

He swallowed, took a breath, tightened his grip on his weapon, and launched himself at the door.

Sorry, Ma.

***

Like God.
Alex saw the megalomania in Petrov's eyes and was staggered by it. But overconfidence was as much a flaw as anything if only she could find a way to use it

"What a shame to waste our time together in violence." She spoke low, soft, hoping the heat in her voice would lull him while she edged toward the recliner.

He gazed at her with reptilian stillness, a snake about to strike. "Yes, I, too, would have preferred other ways to spend our time."

She threw him a seductive smile, eased against the arm of the chair. "We still can." One hand behind her, fingers creeping inch by inch, searching. She'd left the scaling knife there. Somewhere.

Petrov stepped toward her, a cool, calculating smile on his lips.

Movement behind him. A step. A shout.

"Petrov!"

Miki whirled around, gunshots exploded. Her fingers wrapped around the knife handle, and she ran, thoughtless, breathless. Seconds, she only had seconds.
Hurry, hurry.

Her arm was up, her hand plunged down.

The knife went in.

Again. And again.

Miki staggered to face her, blood shooting everywhere. His gun went off three times into the floor.

He sank to his knees, astonishment crossing his face. He raised the gun at her, arm shaky but straight. How did he have the strength?

She didn't. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Yebannaya suka."
Fucking bitch. The words were a hoarse, dry whisper. Eyes open, staring, he toppled.

She watched him hit the floor, heard the thud, saw him still and unmoving, and was filled with revulsion and shock.

Her teeth chattered, her skin icy.

Over,
her father's voice inside her head whispered.

It was over.

Not by Miki's own sword, not fine and elegant, but fcharp enough.

Die enemy from my hand.

My hand.

Her fingers opened, and the knife dropped, hitting the ground with a metallic clink.

She moaned. Knees weak, she sank to the floor, sobbing.

And then she saw who had plunged through the door.

***

The bullet hit Hank hard, the impact strangely familiar, almost a relief.

He stumbled, went down on one knee, managed to keep hold of his gun. Sweat filmed his eyes. He squinted tight, aimed, but before he could depress the trigger she was there. A wild avenging Valkyrie, ice blond hair flying. Doing something to Petrov. Something...

His eyes refused to focus.

Jesus Christ, she was...

He tried to get to her, tried to crawl to her. Instead, he found himself on his back, looking up at the cabin ceiling. Pine beams. He saw pine beams above him.

He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing.

Someone murmured something he couldn't understand.

Something fell hard.

All far away. Nothing to do with him.

Then hands touched him.

"Hank, oh my God. Hank!"

Her voice. Distant but there. Alive. She was alive.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, or thought he did.

She was crying. Why were those tears on her cheeks? Didn't she know everything was all right now? The scales had been reset, the balance righted. She would be safe.

He tried to tell her, but she put a finger on his lips.

"Don't move. Don't talk."

That was fine with him. The words didn't seem to want to go from his head to his mouth anyway.

He closed his eyes. Fading. Happy to fade.

"Stay with me. Stay with me!"

He heard the 911 call. And then he heard nothing.

20

A lex watched the approach to Manhattan through the air-plane window. The October day was clear and bright, a far cry from the gloom she'd left behind in Moscow. There, winter had hit early, and the city had been gripped in gray. The Moskva had already frozen into massive slabs of dingy ice, and the streets had been rimmed with soot-smudged snow.

It was a jolt to see the sun again. She stared through the lace of cloud at the New York ciryscape far below. Framed against blue sky, the island's contours cut sharply into the water, the land a thick web of building and greenways vying for space.

The view pulled at her, the city chugging and pulsing, alive with imagined rhythm. Life tugging her back from all the deaths.

She was done with weeping now. She had cried her last over her father's grave. Visiting him had been her final stop before leaving Russia. Standing over the small, unkempt plot, she'd shed tears for all she'd lost and all she'd won. And in a voice thick with emotion she had read him the headlines. Headlines from all over Russia. Words that shouted his name again, this time in vindication and truth.

Except for one tiny omission. One more secret to keep.

A grim satisfaction tightened her chest as she recalled the look on Dashevksy's face when she'd played the relevant section of Miki Petrov's last moments. They'd met privately in a squat building that ironically had once housed the Soviet Ministry of Trade. She'd invited him to lunch and hinted that she'd brought some new and highly lucrative investment ideas with her.

But instead of a lavish spread, she fed him the truth and watched while he listened, stone-faced.

"So you killed my father and Dashevsky moved the money for you."

And Petrov's open acknowledgment. His assertion that he had the prime minister of Russia in his hip pocket.

Perhaps she shouldn't have used that information. By doing so, she was as much a blackmailer as Petrov. But Dashevsky deserved it. He should be in jail. Fortunately for him, she needed him. And his support for the oil bill.

She sat back in her seat. Yesterday at two-fifteen Moscow time, the bill had passed. With unqualified support from the prime minister.

All of Petrov's assets would be sold including his huge stake in Petroneft with two stipulations. First, a percentage of profits from the sale would go into a public trust in Russia so that the money stolen from the Russian people could be returned. Second, the deal to market Renaissance Oil to the United States would stand. Sokanan would have its chance at prosperity.

Thanks to Dashevsky.

And the secret about him that would now remain secret.

She only hoped her father understood.

She closed her eyes, seeking a whisper of his presence. Every nerve ending alert, she listened closely for some sign that he knew what she'd done and approved. But all she heard was the pilot's voice over the loudspeaker, telling the flight crew to prepare the cabin for landing. The past was over, her future about to begin.

***

The drive from the airport north was a slow, unraveling journey. She'd splurged on a limo and then talked the driver into taking the long way via the parkway. The rolling vistas burned with color, trees a glory of golden fire and ageing green in the crisp autumn sunshine.

But soon the trees would be stripped bare as she had been. Her old life fallen away, her secrets released, her purpose fulfilled. She was naked. Ready to be reborn.

Into what?

So odd to have a dream come true. To see her goal reached, to have the reason for which she'd been living come to an end.

She felt free and light, but also adrift. As though tethered by nothing, she could vanish in the breeze.

The car took the first exit for Sokanan, and as they approached the outskirts of the city, she noted the contrast with the colorful parkway. The dreariness of the strip malls peppered with empty stores, the run-down gas stations. They passed the old GE plant, and it struck her how much work would be needed to turn the city into the showplace it was meant to be.

Hard work. Work someone had to undertake.

She recalled Ben Bonner's words.

"We need someone to bring jobs to Sokanan. Someone smart, an insider who can talk to business in their own language."

They'd been in the hospital, her clothes still stained with blood, Hank's and Petrov's mingling together.

Lori had scolded her husband. "Not now, Ben."

But Alex had understood and been strangely grateful. "It's all right. It's good to think about something else." Something besides the new loss she was bracing herself for.

A nurse came to bring them to the surgeon and Alex tensed, they all did, the short walk to privacy as grueling a moment as any she'd suffered.

Then the words that made her knees crumple.

"He made it through,"

Tears burst out, and they were all smiling and hugging each other, she and Ben, she and Mandy. she and Trey and Rose.

A family holding each other up.

"He'll be okay then?" Rose had asked.

"Too early to tell. It looks good, but we'll just have to wait and see," the doctor had said.

Now the car headed out the other side of the city and she leaned forward in her seat, gaze glued on the road that would take her to Apple House.

They weren't expecting her. She was supposed to return tomorrow, but she couldn't wait and took an earlier flight So when the limousine pulled into the dirt parking area beside the fruit stand, everyone stared.