I felt relief flood through me right down to my toes. “That would be moving a little fast, wouldn’t it, Maks?”
He sat up and considered me quite seriously. “Abigail Carter,” he said. “You are a riddle wrapped in a mystery, you know?”
I sat down on a nearby chair. “You can’t quite figure me out, is that right?”
He laughed. “That’s right. But I find myself wanting to. I’m very attracted to you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet.
“I realize,” he said next, “that I forced you into staying with me here in my room, but you must understand that I did this for your own protection.”
I had opened up my radar the moment I sat down, and I was studying his energy quite intensely. I could see many of the same things I already knew about him there, but I could also see something I’d missed before. “What happened to your wife, Maks?”
The question had an immediate reaction. His face went quite pale and he stared at me with haunted eyes for a long uneasy moment.
Still, even sensing the danger, I pushed a little more. “I can see that you’re a widower,” I told him, my mind’s eye focusing on the white band that appeared around his left ring finger. “And I’ve heard the rumors, so I just want to make sure I know exactly who I’m getting involved with here before things go any further with us.”
Maks’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line and he tossed his book on the table. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “The story you heard was that I murdered my wife and her lover?”
“It was more that you tortured them to death over the period of several days.”
Maks nodded and there was a sardonic smile at the corner of his lips. “Ah,” he said. “The ‘I shot them in each of their extremities before finally putting them out of their misery’ story?”
“That’s the one. Is it true?”
“No.”
I could have sagged with relief. He wasn’t lying. And that allowed me to thread my way along the energy of his wife’s death. What I found there was like a puzzle with odd-shaped pieces. “She was murdered, though,” I said, and it wasn’t a question. “And it was by someone you both knew and were quite fond of. What’s odd is that I keep sensing heartbreak around her. Like in her final moment there was this shattering feeling around her heart because someone she knew and loved murdered her.”
“She was not murdered,” Maks said, his voice bitter and hard.
I ignored him and continued to follow the thread. “It feels like murder,” I said to him. “And I don’t think it was a suicide.”
“Abigail, stop,” he said.
But I was in too deep, and when I could finally find the end of the thread, I gasped. “Oh, my God!”
My eyes grew wide and traveled up to his, which were haunted and pained. “You know?”
I nodded. “Your son,” I whispered, feeling the terrible heartache coming off the man on the couch.
Maks got up and walked over to a credenza across the room. He opened it and pulled out a tall bottle of vodka. Without another word he poured himself a generous portion and swallowed it down in one gulp.
After another moment he began to speak, his voice choked with emotion. “Both of my sons are very clever,” he said. “Too clever. One day when they were six and while I was away, they discovered how to open my gun safe. They figured out the code somehow and retrieved my gun. My wife walked in on them while they were playing with it. The gun went off. My wife died within seconds, shot through the heart.”
I now understood why I’d picked up the heartbreak around his wife and the distance between Maks and his sons, which had formed in the years after their mother’s death. They were both physical and emotional clues. “You don’t know which of your sons pulled the trigger,” I said, still snooping around the energy.
“No,” he said. “And if you know, please do not tell me!”
My radar offered the word younger, and I knew that it had been the second twin that had shot his mother. “Do they remember it?”
Maks nodded. “I believe so, yes.”
“You haven’t talked about it?”
Maks poured himself another drink. “No. They’re living far away from me now, and we don’t talk much.”
“So, why the rumors?”
Maks came back and sat down heavily on the couch. “I would rather the world believe that I murdered my wife than have everyone know that one of my sons killed his own mother.”
I got up and moved over to the couch to sit next to him. His energy and his posture were so sad that my heart went out to him and I reached over to take his hand and hold it.
We sat like that for a long time and all the while my radar kept making a suggestion that I was really fighting against, but finally my crew’s insistence couldn’t be ignored. “Do you have a pen, Maks?”
Numbly he reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a gold Cross pen. I reached for his book and opened it to the last page, which was blank. Ripping it carefully out, I tore the page in half and scribbled a name and a phone number on it, which I then handed to him. “Here,” I said, and while he was distracted by the paper, I tucked his pen into my pocket.
“What’s this?”
“It’s the phone number to a really good friend of mine. She’s a psychic medium out in L.A., someone who specializes in talking to the dead, and she’s one of the best in the world. Call the number and her assistant will schedule you an appointment. Don’t mention my name, though, because when Theresa reads for you, I want you to believe that I had nothing to do with the information that comes through.”
Maks studied the paper like it held a secret code and I got up, discreetly taking the other half of the paper with me and moving to the bedroom. Turning back to him, I said, “You need to hear from your wife, Maks. You need to know that she doesn’t blame you, and that it’s not your fault. It was an accident, and you need to move forward and begin to forgive both yourself and your sons.”
I left him still staring down at the paper and hurried into the bathroom, where I immediately turned on the shower. As the bathroom filled up with steam, I scribbled Dutch a note about what Grinkov had told me: that there was a hit out on Des Vries’s life and that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the premises, and that I’d seen the drone and Intuit out in the garden, which meant the thief was actually here, and I thought I knew of a way out if Dutch could figure out how to steal back Intuit. On the other side of the paper I drew a map of the gate at the back of the garden, and told him that we needed to hightail it out of there during the party when all the other guests were busy, which might be the best time to steal Intuit.
Satisfied, I folded the note, tucked it into the pocket of my dress slacks, hurried into the shower simply to get wet, then got out and wore a towel around myself just in case Maks was still awake and watching for me from the sitting room.
When I came out of the bathroom, he appeared to be sleeping, and I noticed that the piece of paper I’d scribbled my friend Theresa’s name on was neatly tucked next to his date book. On tiptoes I walked out and placed his pen beside them on the table before going to bed myself.
The next morning I crept out of the room at five thirty. I didn’t know what time Maks would be up, and I didn’t want to get stuck in the room with him, so I made sure to be up and out well before he woke.
I found a quiet corner near the patio doors to sit, huddled in my sweater because Boklovich’s house was still cold; then around six I slipped out of the house and onto the back terrace.
I was surprised to find several workers out back, up early and preparing for the afternoon’s festivities. So much hustle-bustle would provide good cover and I moved over to the tent to make it look like I was only checking things out. The drone was fully put together now, displayed on a pedestal with two armed guards beside it. One focused his beady eyes at me and I moved off quickly.
It was cozier out here than it had been in the house—the warm front had defi
nitely moved into the area, for which I was immensely grateful. If Dutch and I were going to make our escape that evening, it would be nice not to freeze to death while we did it.
I glanced at my watch every few minutes and eyed the French doors, waiting for my fiancé, but as six twenty-nine became six thirty, no sign of him appeared.
My heart sank. Dutch was nothing if not prompt.
I waited another fifteen minutes before deciding that I needed to risk sneaking up to his room to deliver the note. I moved quickly back up the stone stairs leading to the garden doors, but immediately had to duck out of sight again because Maks was inside, his back to me, accepting a cup of coffee from one of the servants.
Grumbling to myself, I edged down the wall nearly to the end of the house and tried a door. It was locked.
I glanced back the way I’d come, looking for any sign of Dutch. He was nowhere around. There was also no other easy way to access the house.
Out of options, I moved back to the French doors and took a deep breath, peeking through the panes before going in. Maks was sitting in a chair reading the paper. I opened the door and moved inside, offering him a warm greeting. “Good morning!”
Maks turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Abigail,” he said, setting down the paper. “You were up very early this morning.”
I felt my heart beat a little faster. “Did I wake you?”
“I’m a light sleeper,” he said.
“Ah. Sorry about that. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to check out the preparations.”
Maks’s knowing gaze traveled to the large tent outside. “You saw the drone,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
I smiled, knowing that if I tried to deny it, he’d see right through me. “Yes.”
Maks nodded and he seemed to relax into his chair again. He was about to say something else when a maid came into the room and curtsied. She asked me something in Russian and I shrugged my shoulders to show her that I didn’t understand her. “She’s asking if you would like coffee,” Grinkov said.
“Oh, yes, please,” I told her, pumping my head up and down, and the servant trotted away, only to return a moment later with a steaming cup of the good stuff. I took a seat and attempted some small talk. I had little doubt that Maks was suspicious of my comings and goings, and I didn’t want to give the appearance of being anxious to be off again. “Have all the guests arrived?”
Maks folded the paper and turned his wrist to check the time. “Some have already trickled in,” he said. “But most will be arriving shortly.”
I took another sip of coffee. “And have you met the other dealer? The one offering the drone for sale.” Maks looked sharply at me, so I added, “I know that Rick is anxious to meet his competition.”
“Why would he be anxious to do that?”
Again I detected the hint of suspicion in Grinkov’s voice and I knew I was treading on thin ice here, but I also knew it could work to our benefit to stir the pot a little. “Because Rick has the better product,” I told him. “Remember the rumors that the device on the drone is defective? It will work only a few times and needs to be reverse engineered, at that. Rick’s disk is ready to roll with no bugs or system flaws.”
“You’ve heard a lot of rumors,” Grinkov said with more than a bit of mirth.
I tapped my temple. “My radar says I’m not wrong on this one, Maks.”
He considered me thoughtfully. “I see.”
“So have you met them?” I asked again.
“No,” Maks said, and his energy insisted he wasn’t lying, which I found truly frustrating. If he had been introduced to the thief, I could have searched the ether around him for clues. As it stood, I still had no idea what our thief looked like.
At that moment there was a lot of activity at the front of the house, and Maks and I both stood up to see what was happening. A whole troop of people poured into the front hallway and in the thick of them stood Boklovich, greeting his guests while a flurry of servants bustled about, taking coats and luggage.
At first glance it looked like a gathering of the United Nations. There were all manner of ethnic groups represented, with one individual standing out from the crowd. He was a very tall man dressed in flowing robes and the traditional Arab headdress. I noticed that the man’s beady brown eyes took in everything around him, including me.
“Is that Sheikh Omar?” I whispered as Maks came to stand close to me and take my hand possessively.
“It is,” he said, and I could hear the distaste in his voice.
The man in reference did something unexpected then; he pointed to me and said something that he was clearly directing to Boklovich. Boklovich turned to look at me too and he laughed as if the Arab had just said something quite funny. Then he gave the sheikh a slight bow and began walking over to us. Maks’s hand gripped mine even tighter.
“Maksim Grinkov,” Boklovich said formally, before speaking to him in rapid Russian. I could tell that I’d attracted the sheikh’s attention, but I didn’t know why, and all the while Boklovich and Maks were talking, the sheikh’s eyes never left mine.
I finally looked away because he was making me uncomfortable, and I waited for Maks to translate what was happening.
Boklovich finally ended the conversation by shrugging and shaking his head, then walking back to the sheikh with a shrug and his palms turned up in an “I tried” gesture.
“What was that about?” I asked when Maks began pulling me out of the room and over to the stairs.
“The sheikh has taken an interest,” he said. “He wants to purchase you.”
I was offended. “Does he really think I’m a hooker?”
Maks shook his head and hurried me along up the stairs. “No,” he said. “He does not want to purchase you for an evening, Abigail. He wants to buy you and place you in his harem.”
At the top of the stairs I stopped and pulled hard on Maks’s hand. “He what?”
Maks came close to me again and warned, “Lower your voice!” I piped down quick. “Come with me,” he added less forcefully. “Please.”
I followed him back to our room and Maks pulled me inside and shut the door. I rounded on him the moment we were alone and demanded he tell me what was going on.
“Sheikh Omar is a very wealthy man,” Maks explained. “And as such he is quite used to getting what he wants. I was afraid he might take notice of you, but, as you insisted on coming, there was little I could do. He has set a price of one hundred thousand dollars for you.”
“One hundred thousand dollars?” I was incredulous, and I didn’t know if I should feel insulted, flattered, or a little of both. “What did you tell him?”
“No,” Maks said. “Obviously. But the price will climb.”
I could feel my stomach turn. “At what price will you accept his offer, Maks?”
He didn’t answer me, which I found quite troubling. “I’m going to ask you to stay here for the duration of the day, Abigail. It’s for your own good. I’m hopeful that the other women Boklovich has ordered to attend the party will take the interest of Sheikh Omar off you, but until they arrive, it’s best for you to keep out of sight. I will have a guard placed outside the door to keep you safe while I attend to business.”
My jaw dropped. “Is that really necessary?”
Maks’s beautiful hazel eyes bored into mine. “Do not underestimate the predatory nature of Sheikh Omar,” he warned. “He will not stop until he’s gotten what he wants by whatever means necessary.”
With that, Maks turned and walked out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
The moment Maks left me, I counted to fifty, then crept out the door quickly and quietly. Moving to the staircase, I tiptoed up the steps, profoundly grateful that everyone still seemed to be milling about downstairs in the main hall. Once I gained the third floor, I ran down to the end and began knocking on the door urgently.
Mandy opened it, looking groggy and out of it. “What?” she groaned.
“W
here’s Rick?” I whispered.
Mandy blinked. I could tell I’d just woken her up and she looked behind her in the room. “He’s not here,” she said, her attitude changing instantly to annoyed.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“How the hell should I know?” she complained. “God! It’s not like we’re tied at the hip, you know!”
This time I was so frustrated that I didn’t hold back. I reached up and grabbed her by the shoulders; shaking her slightly, I got right up in her face and hissed, “This is serious, Mandy, and I need you to shut up and focus!” Mandy’s eyes bulged. She gave me an obedient nod and I let her go. “Did you give him my message?”
Mandy rolled her eyes dramatically, which I took for a yes.
“Do you know what time he left the room?”
“What am I, his warden?” she snapped.
I could feel the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach intensify. Out of desperation I reached into my pocket, pulled out the note, and shoved it into her hand. “You’ve got to give this to Rick when he comes back to the room, do you hear me?”
Mandy nodded, her eyes still big and frightened. My radar pinged a warning and I knew I had to get back to my room. “Stay here until he comes back, okay?”
Again she nodded and I left her to bolt back down the hallway and race quietly to my room. No sooner had I reached it than I saw the black cap of one of the soldiers cresting the top of the stairs. I dashed into the room and closed the door behind me, exhaling slowly and leaning back against the door.
A few seconds later there was a knock on my door. I gathered my composure and opened it. A man in fatigues tipped his cap and said in a very thick accent, “I to guard you.”
“Sure,” I told him, and closed the door again.
I was left to pace the floor and worry about Dutch.
Around eleven a.m. there was another knock on my door and I opened it to reveal Maks’s butler holding several garment bags and packages. “Hello, Ms. Carter,” he said cordially, while the guard eyed him suspiciously. “Might I come in?”