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She refrained from rubbing her head. Barely. If this mission went south, it was all her fault. Kira entered the living room where Sophia and Alex discussed something in whispers in the corner. She sat on the couch and smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. While she missed her denim and leather, she enjoyed the way Bryce snuck peeks at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Kira set her untouched original drink on the end table, a little too close to the edge.
Ivan plunked down in the chair next to her. She willed her adrenaline to slow while she scanned the room, as if searching for her husband.
She bit back a smile. Her husband? Man, this role was messing with her head.
Kira grabbed for her drink and knocked it off the table. The glass tipped directly into Ivan’s lap before rolling onto the floor and shattering, sending a thousand shards of glass scattering.
“Ah!” Ivan jumped up, wiping his soaked pants.
“I’m so sorry!” Kira clasped her hands to her mouth. “I can’t believe how clumsy I am. I’m just . . . goodness. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not a problem,” Sophia said. “Please, it was an accident.” She called for the butler and soon had a team of three people armed with dustpans, towels, and sprays to tackle the mess.
When they were done, it was like nothing had happened. Kira sat back on the couch and now Ivan sat next to her—too close for her comfort. Ivan remained quiet and sipped a drink that contained enough alcohol fumes to burn the house down if ignited.
Alex crossed the room while Sophia stood by the doorway, giving instructions to the butler. “Ivan, I forgot to give you the invoice you asked for. Come to my office, and I will get it to you before I forget.”
Kira stiffened. Office? Not good. They’d find Bryce snooping. Alex marched from the room and Ivan started to rise. She couldn’t stall Alex, but maybe she could distract Ivan to buy Bryce some time. “Are you sure you have to do work now? I was hoping to hear more about your conspiracy theories.”
Ivan leaned toward Kira. His breath smelled like a mixture of stroganoff and vodka. She willed herself not to shrink back, because while Kira despised people invading her personal space, Katrina might be less neurotic about it.
“Now, now, Special Agent Kira Miller,” he whispered. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about things when I return.”
The sound of shattering glass had been his cue. He had no doubt that was Kira buying him time. But how much?
Once the butler had rushed off to the source of the commotion in the living room, Bryce had ducked out of the bathroom and taken a rushed inventory of the hallway with two other closed doors lining the second floor. The layout mirrored their unit next door, and he was thankful the butler had bypassed the half bath on the first floor and led him to the stairs.
He tried one doorknob. Locked.
He moved down the hallway and snapped a video of the surroundings. The area had a claustrophobic atmosphere with closed doors and no natural lighting. All his efforts to snoop around might be a bust. Until he noticed the last door hadn’t fully latched.
Who puts a security keypad on a bedroom door unless they are protecting something? He gave the door a soft push and found himself in Alex’s office. The door closed behind him, this time latching.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness while his nose detected the scent of cigars. He’d found Alex’s space for sure. Between dark brown furniture and gray walls, the place felt like a cave. A bar along the back wall of the square windowless room was fully stocked and dimly lit.
Bryce desperately wanted to search the drawers of the oversized mahogany desk, but time was not on his side. He snapped a few photos of the papers on the man’s desk, wishing he could sneak a peek at the contents.
He remembered the dinner conversation and Ivan’s dissertation on the secrets of the Amber Room. Where had that come from? Had Ivan been fishing for information?
Unless, of course, the rumors were true, and someone was stockpiling artwork in the mountains of West Virginia. As a child, Bryce would spend every moment he wasn’t at school hanging out at his grandfather’s place. He’d listen to the stories for hours as they used his metal detector to find all kinds of historical artifacts, including coins, bullets, and even a well-preserved Civil War–era shotgun buried under some rocks. Whenever they found a discovery, Grandpa would hand the piece over to the authorities so it could be returned to its owner or added to a museum collection.
Grandpa wasn’t trying to make a fast buck. The man enjoyed the hunt, the thrill of finding a rare gem. But his grandfather’s tales were just that—stories filled with hopes and dreams of buried treasures that never amounted to anything.
Bryce’s watch vibrated with the out of time signal. He had to get back to Kira before anyone noticed his extensive absence. One last picture and he’d leave.
Voices filtered through the office door.
He froze for a second while his heart picked up speed. His hiding options were limited. He ruled out under the desk for fear of being trapped. The only spot, although not ideal, was behind the door. When opened, it might conceal him.
Might.
He flattened himself against the wall. The keypad beeped and the door swung inward. Bryce pushed himself into the corner between the open door and the wall. At least his gray suit blended well with the walls of the office.
Two men entered, and although Bryce couldn’t see, he assumed it was Alex and Ivan based on their voices. They spoke fast and in Russian.
Bryce slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, navigated with one hand to the voice recorder app, and hit Record. Their conversation grew louder. An argument? Or was that just how Russian sounded to him?
