On Best Behavior (C3) (41 page)

As his head lolled, he noticed blood on the back of Vladimir’s hand. He couldn’t see a cut anywhere, and he realized the blood had come from his face. He felt a bead of wetness sliding down his chin. The tip of his tongue found the hole in his lower jaw left by his wayward tooth. Another warm puddle of blood in his mouth made him cringe.

“Look at me, Mick,” Vladimir growled.

With effort, he lifted his head.

“Why this man call you Barberi?”

“I…I don’t know, sir.”

A fist seared into his side with a thud and a crack. “Ooogh,” he grunted. Waves of pain pulsed through him.

Wrong answer
.

“I want truth,” Vladimir said. “No lies. Talk.”

Every breath felt like shards of glass. He fought the urge to beg for mercy, and wondered what would happen if he refused to speak. Whatever the Russians planned, it would certainly escalate the situation. FBI training had taught him the Russians meant business. His upbringing had taught him that mobsters never gave up.

When Vladimir kicked his shin with a steel-plated boot, Grant screamed. The intense sting radiated up his leg to his gut, where his stomach threatened to heave. Vladimir’s attack had gone straight to the bone.

“Talk!” Vladimir seethed.

Afraid to open his mouth lest the pooling blood and potential vomit make an appearance, Grant stayed silent.

Andrei approached and nudged Vladimir, who stood back. Grant’s eyes widened when he handed his don a rusted pistol. “Is time to play roulette, no?”

Spinning the pistol’s chamber, Vladimir grinned.

Grant didn’t like that grin at all. Russians plus roulette equaled death. Aware of his dwindling time on this earth, he slumped in the chair and tried to keep his breaths shallow.
Sophie…I’m sorry
.

Vladimir lifted the gun and pressed the muzzle against Grant’s temple. “Talk, Mick.”

His heartbeat exploded. “I…I won’t. You’ll kill me anyway.” He felt blood dribble down his chin.

“Not true,” said Vladimir. “Tell him, Andrei.”

“We need Navy man for sub, like I say before. But we need trust you first.”

What about
my
trust in
you
?
he wondered. He knew they’d kill him in the end, no matter what he said. And if he admitted his lineage, the Russians might tie him back to Sophie. He couldn’t let that happen.

Vladimir shoved the muzzle into his mouth, and Grant closed his eyes.
I love you, Sophie
.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Vladimir cursed, withdrew the gun, and turned to mutter a few Russian words to Andrei. Grant tasted rust mixed with the metallic flavor of his own blood. Vladimir spun back around and studied him for a long moment as he caressed the bloody gun. Then he looked at Andrei. “Get her.”

Grant’s stomach dropped. His breaths accelerated, bringing spots before his eyes. If he was again responsible for harm coming to Sophie…

Andrei’s brief hesitation was too long for Vladimir, who gestured emphatically and shouted for him to get moving. Andrei crossed behind him and hollow footsteps ensued—it sounded like he ascended stairs.

Vladimir smiled. “She make you talk,” he said, nodding.

Grant closed his eyes.
Please, don’t have Sophie. Please
.

When the click of heels accompanied Andrei’s footfalls down the stairs, his eyes flew open.
Please not Sophie
. He heard a feminine yelp and saw a flash of blond hair as Andrei shoved a thin woman into Vladimir’s arms…

He exhaled as he saw Innochka before him. His relief was short-lived, though, when Vladimir seized her arm and held her tight against his chest. He raised the bloody gun to her temple. Grant wasn’t sure whose eyes were wider—hers or his own.

“We play roulette now,
da?”
Vladimir said.

Grant looked to Andrei, who seemed about as pleased by this turn of events as he was. Had Andrei developed real feelings for this girl?

“One bullet in chamber?” Vladimir asked Andrei, who nodded.

Innochka squirmed in his arms, her face a mask of terror. “Please, Mr. Federov.” Vladimir clenched her tighter to him.

“Please,” Grant echoed. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Up to you, Mick,” he said calmly.

Damn!
He had to say something…
what?
Innochka struggled, and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“Talk!” Vladimir demanded.

Grant opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He heard a soft click as Vladimir fired the pistol against Innochka’s head. A soft click but no loud boom:
empty chamber
. Grant’s shoulders collapsed, and he heard a huge sigh. Andrei had breathed out with relief.

Vladimir’s eyebrow arched. “Play again, Mick?” He shook the gun for emphasis, and Innochka whimpered. “Or talk?”

“Okay!” he said. His shout rattled and echoed in his aching head—everything hurt. Now three pairs of eyes locked on him, and he knew Vasily the bodyguard was nearby as well. “I am a Barberi.” Disgust settled in his belly, admitting that. “Vicenzo Barberi is my father.”

Innochka gasped, and Vladimir lowered the gun and let go of her. In Russian, he ordered her to stand by the wall, saying something about needing her again. Then he took a step toward Grant, with Andrei joining him.

Time to spin a credible story
. He spit out more blood and took a slow breath, shallower than he needed to avoid searing pain. If there was ever a time one of Hunter’s deep breaths would help, this was it. “My father ordered me to join you, to work with you.”

“Why to work with us?” Vladimir asked.

“I’m not supposed to tell you this…but my family isn’t as strong as it used to be. We need more manpower to keep the business running. My father wants to explore a takeover.”

Andrei blanched. “We far too strong for takeover.”

“No, no,” Grant countered, making shit up on the fly. “Not taking over you. He wants you to take over
us
. He wants to sell our business to
you
.”

Vladimir stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Why you not say this before?”

“Because it takes time to build trust, both ways.” He swallowed saliva mixed with blood and ignored his throbbing jaw. “If I approached you with this sale right off the bat, you’d never go for it. You’d smell a trap. If I told my father you were trustworthy and then you screwed us over, he’d have me killed. I had to check you out first.”

“You do not like your father,” Andrei said. “Why you do job for him?”

As Grant hung his head, he noticed deep, purple bruises blooming on his torso. No wonder every breath hurt. “I had no choice. He said he’d pay off my debts if I came to you and forged an alliance. If I didn’t, he’d let the men I owed money to kill me.”

Andrei’s laugh rumbled in his throat. “You suck at gambling, Mick.”

“Wait,” Vladimir said, holding up his beefy hand. “We come to you—to Capone’s Spirits. You no come to us.”

Crap
. Grant nodded, his mind whirring. He felt the fog begin to lift from his brain, replaced by a pounding ache. “My father had people watching me at Capone’s. I tried to hide by using a fake name, but they still found me. When they saw us talking, I got my orders to get to know you.”

“You not Navy then?” Andrei asked.

“I am. I was.” Grant’s voice filled with genuine emotion. “I wanted to get away from my family. I joined the Navy, but…” He looked down. “I got kicked out for gambling.”

Mullens moaned, drawing their attention.

“Who
is
he?” Vladimir demanded.

Grant’s fingers twitched behind him.
Don’t you dare wake up, Mullens
. “He works for my father.”
True
. “I hadn’t obeyed my father, so he showed up to teach me a lesson.”
Also true
. “I fought him, and he drugged me.”
True again
.

Vladimir stroked his chin. “Your father in prison.”

“Yes, sir.” Grant nodded. He watched Vladimir look at Andrei then tilt his head to the area behind Grant.

“We talk.” They trudged up the stairs.

Now what?
His headache wasn’t so dull anymore, and he felt a shiver crawl up his spine from the cold. His spike of adrenaline had flattened. He looked over at Mullens, who still appeared unconscious.

“Mick,” Innochka whispered. He jumped in his chair. He swallowed a moan and looked up at her scowl. “You let him shoot me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered back. “You could’ve died—please believe me I didn’t want that. I just couldn’t get the words out.”

Her knowing smile unnerved him. She traced his stinging jaw with one finger. “Because your story is bullsheet,” she purred. His attempt at a poker face must’ve failed because she laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Mick. Your secret is safe with me—whoever you are, whoever you work for. I hate Vladimir more than you do.”

“Then untie me from this chair.” The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think.

Her smile was sad as she shook her head. “How stupid do you think I am? They would kill me in an instant. I like you, but not enough to die for you.”

“You’re right,” he rasped. “I’m sorry I asked that.”

A door opened somewhere behind him, and Innochka flitted back to the darkness. Boots clamored down the stairs, and Andrei rounded in front of Grant.

“You talk to him, ’Nochka?”

“
Nyet
.” She scoffed. “Barberi scum.”

“He
is
scum.”

Grant bristled. Something had changed—a rising tension in the air sparked against his skin. Andrei disappeared into the darkness and returned with a cushioned chair, which he placed between Grant and Mullens. At first he thought Andrei had gotten the chair for himself, but then Vladimir lumbered over.

“Mr. Barberi,” Vladimir began as he sank into the chair. Andrei stood off to the side, his eyes cold and hard. “Do not look good for you.”

“What?” He willed his body to stop shaking.

“Tell him,” Vladimir commanded.

Andrei glared at him. “Everyone know Barberi empire dead. We no
buy
Barberi business—you pay
us
to take business off hands.”

“That’s not true!” Grant protested. “My father still has contracts in place…money’s still coming in.”

“Good,” Vladimir said. “He will need money. He will pay to get you back.”

Grant’s mouth already hung open—it had become difficult to close as the night wore on. “No, he won’t!” He winced from the pain of speaking. “My father hates me, and I hate him. It’s
his
fault I have this gambling problem.” He paused, realizing he was channeling Logan. Logan had blamed their father for all of his faults, and that lack of self-reliance had gotten him killed.

“You offer business proposal,” said Andrei. “We negotiate. No money in buy business. But good money in sell you. We sell you back to your father.”

“No!” His heart seized with fear. His father would jump at the chance to tell the Russians he worked for the FBI—a perfect revenge for keeping him stuck in prison. “He’ll deny he sent me here! It would make him look weak.”

Vladimir shook his head. “We see.” He nudged the empty bucket with his boot and looked up at Andrei. “Try wake him up,” he ordered, pointing at Mullens. “We check his story with what Mick say.”

Grant swallowed, tasting blood.

23. Concessions

S
OPHIE’S
H
ANDS
S
HOOK
so badly she had to sit on them to hide her fear. It had taken every psychological ploy she possessed to convince Jerry and Marilyn to agree to this, and she didn’t want to provide a reason to back out now.

Parole Officer Jerry Stone gripped the steering wheel. “It’s starting to snow.”

Ahead in the darkness, wisps of white shone in the headlights.

“Be careful, Jer,” Marilyn said from the passenger seat.

Jiggling her leg against the backseat, she clenched her jaw. Traffic out of the city had already slowed their progress north, and every minute lost was another opportunity for the Russians to kill Grant. “Hurry, Jerry.”

“Pipe down, Taylor,” he growled. “Your dad would
kill
me if I got us into an accident. He already busted my balls for agreeing to drive you on this harebrained stunt.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.” She could still hear her father’s shouts roaring in the FBI office.