Midnight Pursuits (17 page)

He would have preferred to go in first, but she beat him to it, sauntering through the beat-up door of the Black Swan as if she was walking into a friendly neighborhood pub rather than a terrorist nest.

Ethan stepped in after her, taking a second to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The bar was minuscule, just one open room with a wooden counter spanning one wall, and less than a dozen tables scattered in the space. Classical piano wafted out of the speakers, completely out of place in the dank, musty-smelling room.

The bar's only occupants were male. Three at the counter, four gathered around one of the tables. Ethan noted that they were all openly armed—nobody was making an attempt to hide his firepower. And all eyes landed on the newcomers as they strode inside.

“Friendly bunch,” Juliet murmured.

He ignored the harsh scowls and suspicious looks aimed in their direction. The patrons ranged in age and appearance, but they shared a common animosity that hung in the air like a pollution cloud.

Unfazed, Juliet went over to the counter and addressed the man behind it. He was in his late fifties, his hair more gray than blond, his skin pale and wrinkled.

“What do you want?” he demanded in Belarusian.

“We're here to see Ilya.” She slid onto a stool, settling her delectable ass on the torn cushion. “We have an appointment.”

The bartender looked her up and down with a veiled expression. Then he nodded and grumbled out the words, “Wait here.”

“So far, so good,” Ethan muttered as they watched the older man disappear through a door behind him.

The disgruntled bartender wasn't gone a minute before he returned, still sporting a deep scowl. “Ilya will not see you,” he informed Juliet. “You were supposed to come alone.”

Irritation flickered in her eyes. “Do me a favor. Go tell Ilya I didn't come all the way here to be sent away. I
will
be seeing him today—he can either invite me or I can shoot my way to him. Tell him to take his pick.”

Ethan hid a smile. Christ, the woman had balls. He suspected that Juliet Mason could easily handle any roadblock in her path. She was fearless and resourceful, two traits that he was beginning to find incredibly appealing.

Still, he wasn't crazy about the way she threw herself headfirst into dangerous situations. Maybe it made him an antiquated ass, but he didn't like the idea of Juliet placing herself in danger while he stood beside her like a chump. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to get the job done—he knew she was perfectly capable of it—but if someone was going to put their neck on the line by threatening a group of terrorists, he preferred it be him.

Without a word, the increasingly pissed-off bartender turned on his heel and stalked through the door again. He was gone for much longer this time, but when he reappeared nearly five minutes later, he jabbed a finger at them and snapped, “Come.”

Ethan and Juliet quickly rounded the counter and followed him through the door, which led to a fluorescent-lit corridor that stank of stale alcohol.

The bartender escorted them to another door at the very end of the hall, where a pair of armed guards awaited them. He didn't linger, just nodded at the two men before marching off.

“Who is the man?” one of the guards inquired, his annoyed gaze focused on Juliet.

“My bodyguard,” she said coolly. “I don't go anywhere without him.”

The guards donned identical frowns.

“Spread your arms and legs,” the second one ordered. “You can't go in until we search you for weapons.”

Juliet grinned. “I'll make it easy for you boys—I'm carrying a nine-millimeter Beretta under my jacket, four five-inch KA-BAR blades in my boots, a seven-incher on my belt, and a grenade in my pocket.”

Ethan choked back a laugh.

“My companion is carrying two nine-mil Sigs and three knives,” she added. “But I can assure you, neither one of us will so much as touch our weapons unless the situation calls for it.”

Ethan noted that she didn't offer to relinquish the weapons, and fortunately, the guards didn't demand it of them. Since they were both carrying AK-47s, they probably felt secure that they could best their visitors in a gunfight.

“This way,” one of them muttered.

They were taken to a small room, empty save for a single square table and four plastic chairs. Ethan conducted a visual sweep, immediately pinpointing the three cameras mounted on the walls and the deadly wires running along the ceiling. The room was rigged with explosives. Lovely.

The guards gestured to the chairs, ordered them to sit, and left the room.

When they were alone, Ethan and Juliet exchanged a look.

“A real second-rate operation,” she remarked. “I hope this isn't their headquarters—otherwise they're in trouble.”

“Nah, I doubt it. I bet this is just where Mironov conducts his business meetings.”

Neither of them sat down or made a move to remove their coats. If Ethan had his way, they wouldn't be staying long. A quick convo with the PRF leader, and then they could hightail it back to the safe house.

They were kept waiting for almost twenty minutes this time, though he suspected that was a strategic move on Alexei Mironov's part. No doubt they were being watched on some monitor in another room, being assessed by the man they were about to meet.

When the door finally opened, Ethan was startled by the figure that appeared in the doorway. Alexei Mironov was in his early thirties, a tall man with sharp brown eyes and surprisingly aristocratic features. He wore black jeans and a turtleneck that outlined his muscular chest and broad shoulders, and in his hand was an HK pistol with a suppressor attached to the muzzle.

The man wasted no time raising the gun, a deadly smile gracing his mouth as he pointed the weapon at Juliet's head and addressed her in fluent English.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your brains out.”

Juliet didn't even blink as she eyed the gun. After a beat, she shifted her gaze and studied Alexei Mironov, pleasantly surprised by the man before her. He was younger than she'd expected. And much prettier. With those dignified features of his, he could easily pass for a Slavic prince.

“Just one reason?” she echoed. “Because I can think of at least a few good ones.”

Mironov's refined mouth curled in a sneer.

“Fine, one reason not to blow my brains out . . .” She pretended to think it over. “How about this? If I turn up dead, my boss will unleash her wrath and wipe you and your entire group off the face of the earth. You've heard of my boss, haven't you, Mironov? Or would you prefer I keep calling you Ilya? Either way, you know Noelle won't be happy if you put one of her operatives out of commission.”

Next to her, Ethan didn't say a word, but his hand was positioned at the front of his open jacket, easily within reach of his guns.

“Why didn't Noelle come herself?” Mironov finally asked, a suspicious cloud darkening his eyes.

“Because she's not working this job. I am. Are you going to sit down, or what? We might as well be comfortable during our little chat.”

It seemed like an eternity before Mironov lowered his weapon. He made his way to the table with long, predatory strides and gestured to one of the empty chairs. “After you,” he said graciously.

Rolling her eyes, she sat down and casually crossed her legs.

Ethan remained standing.

“I wasn't aware contract killers traveled with bodyguards,” Mironov commented, his sharp gaze briefly resting on Ethan.

“What can I say? I'm a very paranoid woman.”

Mironov grabbed one of the plastic chairs, turned it around, and straddled it. He still held his semiautomatic, but his grip was loose. “What's this about, Ms. Mason?”

“I'll get right to the chase.” She shrugged. “I'm afraid we might have a conflict of interest.”

“Go on.”

“Like I said before, I'm working a job and, as it turns out, my target might be an associate of yours. I wanted to come and verify that before I made a move.”

“How courteous of you.” He continued to watch her intently. “Do you reach out to the associates of every man you kill?”

“Not usually, no.”

“Then why come to me?”

She offered him a wry smile. “Well, you see, if you
are
working with my target, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you out too. Sorry in advance.”

Alexei Mironov responded with a loud, genuine laugh. “I do appreciate your spunk. So tell me, who is this associate you speak of?”

“Dmitry Orlov. I'm sure you know of him. He happens to be the defense minister of your lovely country.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. And what makes you think a man like myself, who happens to operate on the wrong side of the law, would be working with a government official?”

She rested her hands on the splintered wood tabletop. “Pavel Drygin
,
Grigory Novik,
and Irina Bartney.”

Recognition flickered in his brown eyes.

“Ah, so you're familiar with the names. You should be, seeing as you and your buddies took credit for their deaths.”

A frown puckered his mouth.

“But here's the thing. I happen to know for a fact that Dmitry Orlov instigated those car bombings. Along with the deaths of several other individuals your organization has taken responsibility for killing.”

She listed off the names on Grechko's hit list, watching Mironov's expression the entire time.

The man didn't blink. Didn't react.

“So I'm sure you can understand why this raises a few questions, Mironov. If those executions are your doing, that leads me to believe you're in bed with Orlov. But if you're not responsible, then I guess that makes you a liar, huh?”

The rebel leader narrowed his eyes. “Why were you hired to kill Orlov? And by whom?”

“That's none of your concern. My employers have their reasons.” The lie came out smoothly. She and Ethan had decided beforehand that it was better to let him think this was an official venture rather than one rooted in vengeance.

“You do realize that if I am working with Orlov, you've tipped your hand by coming here? What's to stop me from warning him that someone is planning to murder him?”

“Go ahead. It doesn't matter to me whether or not he knows. No amount of forewarning will stop me from getting the job done.”

“Your confidence is either very admirable or incredibly foolish.”

She simply shrugged again.

Mironov went silent for a moment, then gave a faint smile. “And if I am working with the minister? What then?”

“Well, that's where the complications arise. If I'm being honest, I have zero interest in you or your cause. My objective is to eliminate Orlov. I'd rather avoid the headache of wiping out your little group.”

He snorted. “I'd like to see you try.”

“Oh, I wouldn't just try. I'd succeed.” Juliet waved her hand. “But that's beside the point. Like I said, I don't care about your silly revolution.”

Her trivializing of his life's mission brought the flare of anger to his eyes. His hand seemed to instinctively tighten over his weapon, and Juliet's peripheral vision caught the tensing of Ethan's shoulders. But she wasn't worried. Alexei Mironov was a professional—she was confident he could take a few hits to his ego without losing his temper.

“Anyway, my employers are concerned that if Orlov is removed from the equation, you'll continue on the course of action he's set, and we can't let that happen. So, the question is, are you doing Orlov's dirty work or simply taking credit after the fact?”

Another silence descended over the cramped room. Mironov was studying her again, and his transparency made her swallow a laugh. She knew exactly what was going through his head right now—to talk or not to talk. He was deciding what would be in his best interest, and Juliet wasn't surprised when he chose option number one.

“We had nothing to do with it,” he finally admitted.

She had to grin. “See how easy that was? That's all I needed to know.” She slanted her head. “Out of curiosity, why publicly take responsibility then?”

He shrugged. “It's good for the cause. Violence always gets people's attention, inspires fear in their hearts. Several individuals with government connections were executed and no one stepped up to take the blame. Why not take advantage of that? It tells the citizens of this country that Belikov and his people are
not
invincible, that ordinary folks like us
can
bring about change. My men and I didn't kill those people, but that doesn't mean we can't benefit from their deaths.”

“That's very pragmatic of you.”

He offered a lopsided smile, and in that moment it was hard to reconcile this charming man with the leader of a terrorist group that had been responsible for countless acts of violence.

“We are revolutionaries, Ms. Mason,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Not terrorists, as my corrupt government is leading the people to believe. Our goal is to inspire change, and sometimes violence is the only way to do that.” He scowled. “But we would never conspire with a man like Dmitry Orlov. He is the precise type of vermin we are trying to exterminate.”

“That he is,” she agreed.

“Orlov paints himself as a patriot, a man who puts his country ahead of personal ambition, but that is, pardon my French, bullshit.” Mironov scoffed. “He's no better than the criminals he's chasing. He kills anyone who opposes him, blackmails his own colleagues, disregards civil rights by torturing suspects for days or months on end—”

“You do realize,” she interrupted, “that your group is directly responsible for that, don't you? Orlov's increased penchant for violence started after you murdered his son.”

“Again, I say bullshit. Unfortunately, the boy was an innocent bystander, but he was a casualty of a war that his father had already been fighting. Orlov has always been a bloodthirsty maniac. I've lost several men to him and his counterterrorist unit. They make arrests based on fabricated charges, take the suspects to one of their black sites—”

“Black sites?”

“Interrogation facilities,” he clarified. “Usually located in a bunker somewhere away from the city. When a suspect goes in, he never comes out. That's the way Dmitry Orlov operates.” Disgust flashed on his face. “Tell your employers that the People's Revolutionary Front is not associated with the man, nor will we stand in the way of any attempts made on his life.”

“Good to know.” Nodding, Juliet scraped back her chair and stood up. “It was very nice chatting with you, Alexei. We'll be on our way now.”

As she extended her hand to Mironov, Ethan took a protective step to her side, but the precaution was unnecessary. With a rueful smile, Mironov rose from his chair and shook her hand.

“Noelle is as wise as she is beautiful. I wholly approve of her choice in operatives. You're an intriguing woman, Ms. Mason.”

“Have you met Noelle before?” she asked him.

To her surprise, he nodded.

“I wasn't aware of that.”

Now he smirked. “Didn't she tell you? I utilized her services several years ago.”

Of course. Juliet should have known that Noelle was more involved with Mironov than she'd let on. KGB informant, her ass.

“And who was the unlucky target, if you don't mind me asking?”

“The man who called the shots before me. How do you think I got to where I am today?” His grin widened. “Be sure to tell your boss I said hello and to stop by next time she's in the neighborhood.”

“I'll pass that along.” Juliet smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I'm glad I don't have to kill you.”

His roar of laughter followed her and Ethan all the way out the door.

•   •   •

“That was the most impressive thing I've witnessed in a long time,” Ethan said as they got into the Range Rover that Sullivan and Liam had arrived in yesterday.

“What, Mironov?” Juliet settled in the passenger's seat and buckled up.

“No,
you
. You handled him like a pro.”

She bristled. “That's because I am a pro.”

“I know you are. I just meant . . . the dude's a straight-up terrorist and you made him into a pussycat.” Ethan sighed. “I'm so turned on right now.”

Juliet burst out laughing. “Seeing me interrogate a terrorist gets you hot? Weirdo.”

“Seeing you do
anything
gets me hot.” His sultry gaze locked with hers before he wrenched it back to the road.

As he drove toward the highway, Juliet drew her Beretta from her waistband and rested it on her lap, getting comfortable for the two-hour drive.

“I think Mironov's past association with Noelle helped paved the way to his cooperation,” she said. “And now we can cross the PRF off our list and I can move on Orlov without you having to worry about any accomplices.”

“He might still be working with someone else. We're not touching Orlov until we know for sure.”

His stern response triggered her annoyance. “Come on, rookie. What more do you want to do? Dig under every rock until we're one hundred percent certain Orlov is working alone?”

“If we don't, then Anastacia Karin and the others will never be safe,” he argued.

“I don't care. The son of a bitch killed my brother. I'm taking him out.”

She suddenly realized she hadn't thought about Henry since they'd saved Anastacia, but now the memory of him in that hospital bed came rushing back and her body trembled with rage. Her brother was dead. Caught in the cross fire of Dmitry Orlov's thirst for vengeance.

For that, Orlov deserved to be erased from the planet.

“I'm taking him out,” she said again through clenched teeth. “Feel free to stick around after he's dead, in case someone else moves on the targets.”

“You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met—you know that?”

She relaxed when he didn't voice another argument. “Yeah, but we both know you like it. I bet my pigheadedness turns you on as much as my interrogation skills.”

“You'd win that bet.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” The heat returned to his eyes, thickening the air between them. “Like I said, everything about you is a turn-on. When I was keeping watch last night, I spent the entire time trying to figure out a way to get you alone so we could make it to third base.”

She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Well, we're alone now, are we not?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? Look around you. Deserted stretch of road, no people or houses in sight . . .”

His voice grew husky. “What are you saying? You want me to pull over and ravish you on the side of the road?”

“Why not?” she said again. “I'm sure Aussie and Boston can man the fort alone for a little while longer.”

She expected Ethan to dismiss the idea with a laugh, but the next thing she knew, he veered off the road so fast she almost flew out of her seat.

He didn't park on the shoulder of the rural road. He steered the Range Rover right onto the snow instead, speeding across an empty field toward a crumbling, abandoned barn about a hundred yards away. The vehicle's big snow tires allowed for an easy, albeit bumpy drive, and Juliet laughed and braced her hand on the dashboard as the four-by-four bounced over the field in a mad pace.

“Someone's overly eager,” she commented.

“Ha. Like you aren't. Now, turn on your seat warmer, because you're going to be out of those pants in about, oh, ten seconds.”

Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed the hunger burning in his eyes. Lord, he looked ready to
devour
her. Her body instantly responded, breasts tingling and pussy clenching with need.