Page 51 of Nightfire

Harry’s mouth worked. “Chloe?”

Everyone turned to her. She looked up into Mike’s face. He wasn’t trying in any way to convince her with gentle words. His features were drawn tightly in harsh lines.

There was only one possible answer. “I’ll be with Mike,” she said softly, “until this mess is cleared up.”

Nikitin sat in the very comfortable armchair in the very elegant room Sands had given him to operate in. It was almost too lush, this place. Made men weak, dependent. He’d spent years living in an unheated tent outside Grozny trying to crush the rebels, who were living under better conditions than he was.

He sat back and waited, watching his satphone on the coffee table in front of him, programmed to vibrate, not ring. Lyov was supposed to check in at 1600 hours. Lyov was utterly reliable. He’d been sent with Ivan to rough up one woman. How hard could that be? It wasn’t the kind of mission Lyov could possibly fail.

Lyov had been his serzhant—his sergeant—in many battles. He was tough and efficient and dependable. And when this first shipment came in, he was promised a $100,000 bonus.

So why the hell wasn’t he reporting in?

At 1800 hours, Nikitin picked up his satphone and dialed Lyov’s number, on the off chance Lyov had lost his cellphone or—impossible!—had it taken from him. He listened, impotent, to the endless ringing. Nikitin’s thumb pressed the ‘off’ button as his jaw clenched. Chert! Lyov had failed?

This was beyond bad news. His masters, the vory, expected everything to run smoothly. They were investing a lot of money, and looking to invest even more in the future. They had big plans and were unforgiving when it came to messes.

Having two of his enforcers unaccounted for was an example of gross mismanagement. Or so the vory would think. Somehow, Nikitin had placed his hands inside a wasps’ nest, when he’d only wanted to take care of minor insubordination, before it ballooned out of control.

And here it was, out of control.

This wouldn’t do. This mess had to be taken care of immediately.

At least he could be sure of one thing. His satphone ran on Thuraya, making his phone untraceable. The police could have no idea where he was or who he was. For all they could tell, he could be on the moon. His men had gone in clean, with nothing traceable. So they had nothing really to go on.

Lyov wouldn’t talk. Neither would Ivan. Whatever happened, they would keep their mouths shut.

Maybe this disaster could be contained, he thought. If not, heads would roll. Starting with his own.

“Let’s run through it again, Chloe,” Lt. Bill Kelly said gently. When Mike tensed by her side, Chloe put a hand on his forearm. Normally hard as steel anyway, he was so tense she could see the individual muscles in his arm.

“It’s okay, Mike.” His jaw muscles were so clenched it was surprising enamel wasn’t shooting out his ears. He almost quivered with stress under her hand.

She’d been pampered, been plied with endless cups of tea, had received hugs and kisses from Merry and Gracie, who had only been told that Aunt Chloe had a headache. Ellen and Nicole had all but rubbed her feet for her.

No one had thought to comfort Mike, who’d been in battle, had killed a man for her.

“She’s freaked. She’s scared. She’s been through hell,” Mike told the lieutenant, biting off each word. “She’s gone over this a thousand times.”

“I understand that. But we need to for Chloe to remember everything, because the guy we’ve got in custody isn’t talking. I think he’s considering himself some kind of political prisoner. So our only clue is Chloe.”

Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Did you do what I said?”

Lieutenant Kelly must have the patience of a saint because he didn’t roll his eyes or bristle at Mike’s tone. “Yes. The body in the morgue is under a different name and the guy in the hospital isn’t registered at all. We took out the footage at the shelter. If those were sent, the guy running the op won’t have a clue what happened to them. He won’t even know if they made it to the shelter. And we’ve got cops stationed around the shelter, no one’s getting in.”

“The vehicle they came in?”

The lieutenant sighed. “Rental. Paid for by corporate credit card made out to Joseph Merck. Who doesn’t exist. The corporation is a shell. We’re still investigating. Now can I continue talking to Chloe?”

Mike nodded jerkily.

The lieutenant opened his notebook and gave her a kind look. “So, Chloe, let’s run through it just one more time, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Chloe tried to smile for him. She’d gotten to know him well in the six months since that terrible night Mike had been accused of assaulting a woman.

He was almost a member of the family, someone who dropped by unannounced to watch a ball game with Harry and Sam and Mike and stayed for dinner. He was tough, kind under his cynical cop veneer, overworked. A good guy.

It was clear to Chloe that he was interrogating her here in Harry’s apartment, and not in police headquarters, as a courtesy to her and to Mike, who’d been a colleague and was a friend. As were Harry and Sam.