Midnight Pursuits

  Ethan didn’t say a word. Didn’t even move.

  He didn’t have to be a genius to know that Juliet didn’t open up to just anybody. Or maybe to anyone. She’d barely revealed any details about herself when they’d met in Monte Carlo last year, and he was afraid that if he interrupted her now, she’d clam up again.

  “We were placed in the same foster home when I was twelve. He was two years younger than me. Such a scrawny kid—really shy. He wouldn’t have lasted a day in some of the group homes I lived in before I got placed with the Millers.” She made a disgusted noise. “Not that the Millers’ house was any better than those previous homes.”

  He held his breath, hoping she’d go on. Praying she would. Juliet Mason remained an enigma to him, but one he was determined to solve. He wanted a glimpse behind that smirking, I-don’t-give-a-shit curtain she hid behind.

  “They were pure filth,” she said viciously. “Shower mildew, toilet-bowl grime, soiled mattresses. That’s what Deke and Maria were—all the unwanted filth people try to scrub out of their lives.”

  “Did they beat you?” he asked gruffly, unable to hold his tongue anymore.

  “From day fucking one. They started off small, just a spanking here and there, the occasional slap when we were quote-unquote bad. Deke liked to toy with Henry—he shoved him around a lot, taunted him because he was too skinny, that kind of shit. Eventually they both got meaner. Henry and I had our fair share of bruises, cuts, cigarette burns, but never in places that were visible to the teachers or caseworkers.”

  She stopped abruptly, but Ethan refused to let her shut down on him.

  “How did you and Henry get through it?”

  The bedsheets rustled again. “We stuck together. Comforted each other when we needed comfort, cleaned up the cuts and bruises, put balms on the burns. I can’t tell you how many times Henry had to stop me from slicing Deke and Maria’s throats. I stole a knife from the kitchen once, was planning on killing those bastards in the middle of the night, but Henry talked me out of it. He was a good kid.” She paused. “I kept the knife, though. Slept with it every night.”

  Ethan couldn’t even imagine growing up in that kind of environment. He’d been blessed with two loving parents for eighteen years of his life, and losing them had been a blow he wasn’t sure he’d ever recovered from. But the memories of his folks were priceless, those cherished moments getting him through some seriously tough times, particularly during his stint in the corps. His heart ached at the knowledge that Juliet hadn’t been so lucky.

  “How long were you with the Millers?”

  “Three years, until Maria ran out on Deke. She took off with some loser she’d been fucking around with, and Deke couldn’t handle the responsibility of two foster kids. He called the caseworker, insisted he could only take care of one of us, and, of course, it had to be me.” Bitterness thickened her tone. “I’d just turned fifteen, and let’s just say that Deke liked what he saw.”

  Ethan’s muscles coiled tight with anger. “Did the son of a bitch touch you?”

  “I didn’t give him the chance. I ran away five hours after that bitch caseworker left the house with Henry. I lived on the streets after that, but I made sure to find out where they’d taken Henry. He was living in a new foster home, a good one. He really lucked out.”

  There wasn’t a single iota of envy in her voice. If anything, she sounded defeated.

  “I used to meet him every day after school and walk him home, just to make sure he made it back safely, and—”

  “You weren’t in school?” Ethan had to interject.

  “Nah, I’d dropped out by then. Couldn’t exactly attend school when I didn’t have an address for them to scribble in their little files. They would have called social services in a heartbeat if they knew I was a street kid. Anyway, we’re getting off track. This is about Henry, not me.”

  He swallowed his disappointment, wishing like hell he could steer the conversation back to where he wanted it to go. Juliet was the most interesting woman he’d ever met, and he had the strangest urge to find out every last detail about the woman. Find out what made her tick, what made her smile, what made her, well, her.

  But in his experience, women who worked for the all-powerful Noelle kept everyone around them at arm’s length.

  “He was such a great kid. So smart and compassionate and he tried so hard to treat everyone with kindness and respect. I figured he’d go into social work, but he ended up volunteering with the Red Cross instead of going to college, and eventually he landed a permanent job with them. He was trained as a counselor and medic, and he traveled to needy areas of the world, working at hospitals and clinics and helping anyone he could. He was a goddamn champion for every downtrodden human on the fucking planet.”

  She went silent, her soft, even breathing echoing in the room.

  Ethan sat up on his makeshift bed. He knew exactly where she was heading with all this, and so he wasn’t surprised when she finally blurted out what he’d been waiting for her to say.

  “Fine. Let’s find those people and warn them.”

  He smiled in the darkness.

  “I guess finding them could work to my advantage,” she added, as if trying to rationalize the plan to herself. “If Orlov wants them dead, then clearly they’re important to him. Maybe I can use them as leverage, dangle them in front of Orlov in order to get to the bastard.”

  He had to laugh. “I see. So as long as there’s something in it for you, then you’re totally on board. You can’t just do it out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

  “What heart?”

  “You don’t have to keep pretending with me. You can drop the heartless-bitch act, you know. It’s okay to care about other people.”

  “But I don’t care,” she answered flatly. “I still don’t give a shit about those strangers. But Henry would have cared. He would have gone out of his way to protect them from Orlov.”

  “See, you do care. About your brother, at least.”

  She grumbled in irritation. “Stop trying to find the good in me. Truth is, I am a heartless bitch. Self-preservation is the only thing that matters to me.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have dropped everything to race to your brother’s bedside. And you wouldn’t be risking your own life now to avenge him.”

  She let out a sigh. “Make no mistake, rookie—if it had ever come down to protecting Henry or protecting myself, I would’ve chosen me.”

  Ethan held his tongue. If she wanted him to think she was a cold, emotionless bitch, then fine.

  But he didn’t believe it for a second.

  • • •

  “The Wolf’s dead.”

  Those were the last three words Dmitry Orlov expected to hear when Kirill entered the room. It was nearly midnight, and Orlov had left his office several hours ago to hole up in the expensively furnished study of his palatial estate outside the city. He often worked from home in the evenings, preferring the lavish surroundings to his cold sterile office in the House of Government. Perhaps he would be more inclined to spend time in the capital if he had an office as grand and luxurious as President Belikov, but alas, he was just the lowly defense minister and undeserving of such grandeur.

  Soon, a little voice assured him, dimming some of the bitterness.

  “What do you mean, he’s dead?” Orlov scowled as he rose from his leather chair and rounded the desk, arms crossed tightly over his tailored double-breasted suit jacket.

  The bulky, fair-haired man in front of him met his gaze head-on. As usual, Kirill remained expressionless, a standard look for the former KGB operative who now worked exclusively for Orlov under the guise of head security officer.

  But Kirill did far more than protect his boss and oversee the Presidential Security Service guards that had been assigned to Orlov—he handled all of his boss’s unofficial busine
ss, and although Orlov considered himself indebted to no one, he couldn’t deny that Kirill had contributed greatly to his rise to power.

  “I found the body at the farmhouse,” Kirill said in his monotone voice. “The Wolf was tortured.”

  Orlov did his best to hide his shock. Tortured? He hadn’t expected to hear that either.

  “Tell me precisely what you found.”

  Kirill proceeded to recite the night’s events as if he were reading from a macabre textbook. “I went to the farmhouse and found Grechko secured to a metal chair with a gunshot wound to the head. Everything prior to the bullet suggests that he’d been interrogated by a professional.”

  Orlov’s cheeks hollowed in displeasure. “I see.”

  “I cleaned up the scene and took care of Grechko’s body. I assume that’s acceptable to you?”

  “It is.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, thoughtful. “Do you think he talked?”

  “I have to assume so. The damage inflicted on him would have been substantially worse if he’d held out.”

  Disgust rose in Orlov’s throat. In his dealings with Victor Grechko, Orlov wouldn’t have suspected that the man could be broken so easily, and yet the Wolf’s demise only confirmed what he’d always known, which was that most men were weak. Most men snapped in half like a pencil if one applied enough pressure on them. Most men were pathetic.

  “We also have to assume that Grechko revealed your name to the person who executed him,” Kirill finished.

  “Of course he did.” Orlov waved his hand. “But that’s inconsequential. I’ve faced accusations of wrongdoing my entire career. If someone comes forward to accuse me of conducting business with Grechko, nothing will come of it. I’m beyond reproach, Kirill.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What I’m more concerned with is who took it upon himself to eliminate my wolf. Is the Harkova woman’s death in the news yet?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Good. Oleg will be inconsolable, I imagine.” Satisfaction surged through him. “That useless moron worshipped his daughter. I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. After all, I know what it’s like to lose a child.”

  The memory of his son’s face flashed through his mind, evoking a rush of emotion. Sergei had been his pride and joy. Such a good boy, destined for greatness. But those bastards had stolen that promising future from him, and they were still going unpunished. Colonel General Durov had abandoned the investigation into the bombing months ago, calling it a dead end. The head of the city’s militsiya had given up, for Christ’s sake.

  Was it any wonder Orlov had been forced to take matters into his own hands?

  Setting his jaw, he banished all thoughts of his son, for it was inappropriate to lose himself in memories when Kirill was standing there, awaiting instructions.

  “Find out who killed my wolf, and when you do, bring him to me. Perhaps I’ll give him the same treatment he gave Grechko, as punishment for interfering with my plans.” A frown puckered his mouth. “As for Grechko’s outstanding assignments, locate someone who can take over the job.”

  “May I suggest myself, sir?”

  Kirill offered a rare, wry smile that made Orlov chuckle. “Not for this, my friend. You know we must distance ourselves from this particular endeavor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now leave me, Kirill. I’d like to do some reading before I turn in.”

  The former Soviet spy left the study without a word, soundlessly closing the door behind him.

  Alone, Orlov finally allowed his displeasure to surface. He stalked over to the wet bar next to the stone fireplace, poured a healthy amount of scotch into a tumbler, then sank into a gold-colored wing chair and rested his glass on his thigh.

  Someone had tortured and killed the Siberian Wolf.

  Why?

  Because they knew Grechko had been working for Orlov?

  Or was it an entirely unrelated reason? Grechko was a killer, after all. Killers had enemies. Perhaps his death had nothing to do with their arrangement.

  Nevertheless, Orlov didn’t appreciate this new development. He hated unanswered questions. Even more, he hated anything that disrupted his objective. Grechko’s work had been left unfinished, and now Orlov was forced to dispatch another cretin to do his dirty work.

  For that inconvenience alone, Grechko’s killer would lose a finger.

  The fate of his remaining digits was yet to be determined.

  Chapter 6

  “Seriously, how long does it fucking take to compile a dossier on a dozen measly people?” Juliet burst out the next evening.

  She and Ethan were holed up in a corner booth down at the hotel bar, nursing their beers, while a jazz singer crooned out a depressing melody on the small stage across the room. It had been more than a day since Juliet had asked Paige to investigate the names on Grechko’s hit list, and her colleague still hadn’t gotten in touch, which meant they had nothing to do but twiddle their thumbs and listen to a shitty lounge singer.

  “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it yourself?” Ethan raised his eyebrows in challenge.

  “Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. “That was a rhetorical question.”

  “It was a dumb question, you mean. Relax. I’m sure Paige and Reilly are working around the clock to do Queen Juliet’s bidding.”

  Despite herself, she had to fight a smile. She was kind of digging this unexpected sarcasm of his. It was so incongruous coming from someone with his überpolite personality and unassuming demeanor.

  It disturbed her that she still didn’t have a real sense of Ethan Hayes. Was he the supersweet Boy Scout who diligently checked her dressings and pumped her full of antibiotics every few hours? Was he the strong-willed soldier who had no problem risking his neck for three people he didn’t even know?

  Or was he the man whose eyes smoldered with sinful promise whenever their bodies happened to brush?

  Oh yes, he was definitely doing some smoldering. Even now, as he lifted his beer to his lips, he was watching her over the rim of his glass with I-want-you eyes.

  He was attracted to her. She’d have to be blind not to notice, but she’d been feigning obliviousness, mostly because she feared that if she commented on it, she might actually wind up in bed with the guy.

  Yet tonight she found herself opening her big mouth. Whether from boredom or curiosity, she didn’t know, but somehow she ended up starting a dialogue she knew she’d regret.

  “How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  Ethan blinked in surprise, but he recovered quickly, shooting her an impish smile. “Who says I don’t?”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really. I was seeing someone in San Jose but it wasn’t serious. It’s hard to maintain a relationship when I’m constantly going wheels up for a job.”

  “Abby and Kane don’t seem to have a problem,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, but they work together. I can’t imagine finding a woman who’d be okay with the life I lead, not unless she leads it too.”

  The look in his eyes lacked any trace of heat, but she got the feeling he was asking an unspoken question. As in, Are you that woman?

  “What about you?” He turned the question back on her. “How come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t do relationships either.” She smiled wryly. “But probably not for the same reason as you. You’d be surprised how many men are wildly turned on by a woman in my line of work.”

  “Yeah? So why are you single?”

  “Because I choose to be.”

  “Aw, come on, you’ve gotta give me more than that.”

  “You want more? How’s this for more? I don’t trust men as far as I can throw them.” She shrugged. “And I have no intention of ever being betrayed by one again.”

  Curiosity shone in his hazel eyes. “Int
eresting. Who betrayed you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know . . . ”

  “Duh. That’s why I asked.”

  She laughed. “Sorry, kiddo, but that’s all you’re getting from me tonight. Scratch that—that’s all you’re getting from me ever.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Looking more confident than she’d ever seen him, he abruptly set down his beer glass and slid out of the booth.

  Juliet stared at him as he stood in front of her with one hand extended. “What’s this?”

  “This is me asking you to dance.”

  Surprise jolted through her. She glanced at the small parquet dance floor, where only one other couple had been inclined to get up and dance. The fortysomething female singer was currently belting out another gloomy ballad, backed up by a bored-looking band whose members were all middle-aged men.

  Man, what a nightmare it would be to work as the house band of the Grenadier. Surrounded by weary travelers and drunken buffoons day in and day out, playing the same tired old songs. Juliet would rather die than meet such a dismal fate.

  “I’m not dancing with you,” she muttered. “This isn’t my scene.”

  “Not mine either, but we’re still going out on that dance floor.”

  Before she could blink, he yanked her out of the booth and onto her feet. If any other man had touched her like that without permission, she would’ve cut off his hand, yet for some inexplicable reason, she indulged Ethan, allowing him to lead her out to the floor.

  Okay, clearly the one beer she’d consumed had messed with her head. She’d literally said no two seconds ago and now here she was, willingly placing her hand on Ethan’s broad shoulder.

  He clasped her free hand and brought his other hand down to her waist, holding her in a possessive grip that brought a spark of panic. What the hell was she doing? Why was she letting this happen?

  “See? This isn’t so bad,” Ethan murmured as he drew her close.

  His masculine scent flooded her nostrils. Oh, boy, it was downright addictive. She wanted to inhale him until her lungs exploded.