In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(85)

Misha’s eyes were full of mortal dread as he raised them to his father. “I . . . I didn’t write anything.”

Pavel picked up his letter opener, an antique stiletto, its hilt adorned with precious gems. “One more lie . . .” Pavel said, nudging the side of Andrei’s bloody face with his shoe.

Misha hesitated. “If I tell you, you won’t hurt him anymore?”

Arrogant little shit, daring to bargain with him. Pavel forced his voice to softness. “Of course. Tell me, and his suffering will end.”

“It’s a phone number,” Misha admitted. “Sasha sent me a note, one day, when I was at school. It’s a gelateria. In Castellana Padulli.”

“Tell me what is special about this gelateria.”

“He checks it. If I show up, he sends a message. Where to meet.”

Pavel’s hand contracted around the jeweled hilt. “So you have been in contact with Sasha. And you said nothing.”

“I met him, just once,” Misha whispered. “Two days ago.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Misha’s voice was strangled. “He wouldn’t tell me. He has a remote camera set up, to watch for me. He has organized it so I cannot ever know where he is. To . . . to protect us both.”

“Protect you? Hah.”

“I’m sorry,” Misha said brokenly. “Can I go? Please?”

“To warn Sasha? No, you stay here until this is finished. You are a liar, and a traitor, and stupid. I despise stupidity.”

“Father, please—no!”

Misha’s wail of protest choked off as Pavel drove the stiletto through Andrei’s eye. He hesitated. There were precious gems in the hilt, after all. He pulled it out and wiped it on Andrei’s suit coat.

“Wrap him in the rug and take him away,” he said to Ivan and Yevgeni, who stood watching. “Take Misha downstairs, to the room.”

Misha’s mouth was slack with horror. “But . . . you said . . .”

“I said, his suffering will end. And it has ended.” Pavel patted Misha’s clammy cheek. “But yours, my son? Yours is just beginning.”





CHAPTER 17

Sveti stared out at cliffs of silvery stone that glowed pink with reflected tints of the sunset. A cool breeze scented with aromatic wild herbs blew in the window. She wore a gorgeous evening gown, she was in a sexy car with a hot guy in a tux who made her delirious with pleasure, about to receive a prestigious award for her achievements, to be fêted at a lavish party—and she was still capable of feeling miserable.

Leave it to Sveti to tie the pretty bow on top of her present into an unbreakable knot that could only be released with the slash of a knife.

She glanced at the car that was following them. Silvano, Hazlett’s security agent, and his driver were in it. Sam had insisted on driving his own car. This was the compromise they had struck, with great difficulty and a lot of incomprehensible male snarling, all in Italian.

“This isn’t sustainable,” she said.

“What’s not sustainable?”

“This security situation,” she said. “How much does it cost, to pay someone to follow you around all the time?”

“Hazlett would only hire top-of-the-line people, so you can be sure that it costs a fortune. What do you care? You won’t be paying.”

She shook her head. “It won’t work. There’s a point of diminishing returns. When people decide that I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

She regretted saying that the second the words left her mouth. As if she wanted to hasten the day that he made that decision, too.

“You underestimate the cosmic mega-bullshit people are disposed to tolerate in order to be close to you, Sveti.”

“Oh, stop it, Sam.” She stared out the window. “Don’t try to soothe me or flatter me. I’m just trying to think this through.”

He made little smooching sounds. “That’s the sound of me kissing your ass. Wow, all I do is think of your ass, and boom, my pants don’t fit. What’s a little mortal danger or a few pesky trust and intimacy issues when I can peel down your panties and—”

“Stop.” She blocked her ears. “I need to concentrate on what I’m doing tonight. Don’t melt my brain with your sex talk. Please.”

“No, actually. I disagree. I think it would do your brain some good to be melted. You’ve got concentration totally nailed, Sveti. What you need is to chill the f*ck out. You need to laugh.”

She stared down at her lap. “I’ve never been great at that,” she said. “Please, don’t make it a requirement. I can’t do it on command.”

“Don’t turn what I just said into a brand-new problem for you,” he said. “Consider this. I’ve been watching you take yourself way too seriously since the day I met you. You can see with your own eyes how much my enthusiasm has wilted. Go on, look. Touch, if you want.”

She snorted, her mouth twitching. “I said, stop it.”

“Hah! Success!” he crowed. “I’ll do anything for a laugh from you, even humiliate myself by sporting a boner in evening wear. Slap a red clown nose on me and watch me go.”

“You are the furthest thing on earth from a clown,” she said.