Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(10)

Belevich speaks from the hallway, where he’s been listening to the entire conversation. “I agree. We should leave. It will be safer for Marina if we go.”

“Okay,” I say, agreeing mostly because I don’t want to drag an innocent person into this, especially after she went above and beyond by helping us. “Then let’s go.”





8





India





The more comfortable place Grigory Federov takes us is locked up like a vault. Actually, it’s on top of a vault.

“I own this bank and the building,” he says as he uses his thumbprint to unlock an elevator to take us to the top floor of a historic building.

Like Goliath, I’m checking for every available exit, because that’s what Jericho would want me to do. Stay safe at all costs.

Belevich opted not to accompany us, and part of me freaked out when he hopped in the G-Wagen at the curb in front of the vet’s office.

“You don’t need me anymore,” he said. “I’ll see you another time, Indy. Better circumstances, one would hope.”

If he set me up, I will stop at nothing to hunt him down and exact retribution. I’m praying it doesn’t come to that.

As soon as we step out of the elevator into a luxurious marble entryway leading to carved wooden doors that span farther than the width of my wingspan, Federov keys in a long code and scans his thumb again to open the door.

“Do you have security concerns?” I ask, wondering if the biometric devices are normal for him, or if there’s an unknown threat I need to be worrying about. Basically, I’m second-guessing everything.

“I have good security so that there is no need for concern,” he replies as he waves us inside.

Fair enough.

My heels click on the marble floors, and I try to keep my jaw from dropping as I take in the apartment we’ve entered. It’s ornate, like something you’d see in a magazine. All gold gilt and white, and the furnishings and fixtures look like they must have cost a mint. The delicate decor looks nothing like I would have expected of the bull of a Russian who is my father.

No one greets us. The apartment is silent as he ushers us into a sitting room so large it houses three different seating arrangements. He walks toward the one farthest from the windows.

“Sit,” he orders.

“My dress,” I say, pointing at the bloodstains. I don’t want to sit on one of the white-and-gold damask sofas and ruin it.

Federov shakes his head. “I could replace it a hundred times and never notice the money gone. What does furniture matter when my daughter needs a place to sit?”

I guess, when you put it like that . . .

“Thanks.” I take a seat on the expensive fabric and meet his gaze as he sits across from me. “How are we getting Jericho back? Do you have an army somewhere? Because that’s where my head’s at.”

The Russian laughs, and it bounces off the ceilings fitted with intricate crown molding and gold-and-crystal chandeliers. “You are truly your father’s daughter. But no, we do not strike with a sledgehammer when stealth would be more effective. I have put out word that I’m willing to pay for information and his return.”

I blink, not sure I’m hearing him correctly. “You’re going to ransom him back? That’s your grand plan?”

His chin dips. “It seems most expedient, does it not?”

“What if the kidnappers don’t want money?”

Federov makes a clucking sound with his tongue. “Everyone has a price, and I have enough money to pay even the steepest one. If he is alive, I will get him back for you.”

If he is alive. I want to snatch those words from the air and shove them back in his mouth.

“He’s alive, damnit. Don’t you dare say that again.”

Fear at the possibility of losing Jericho stabs me through the heart, and my voice shakes as I make the proclamation. Until this moment, I haven’t dared consider the possibility that he might not be alive and waiting for rescue. No. He’s alive, goddammit.

My father nods, albeit patronizingly. “All will be well. While we wait, are you hungry? Thirsty? What can I get you?”

My stomach revolts at the thought of eating, but I’m definitely not turning down a bracing shot with a chaser of water.

“Whiskey and water. Separately.” I glance back to Goliath where the bodyguard stands like a sentinel behind me, despite his blood loss and injury. I motion for him to sit down, but he shakes his head. “Do you want anything?”

“Water.”

Federov waves a hand to one of his goons, and I finally take stock of them. One is bald and solid, with rolls in the back of the neck that I see as he leaves the room to do my father’s bidding. The other is almost as tall, but leaner, and his hair is so blond, it looks white. His posture is rigid, and his icy eyes survey me like I’m on display at a museum. I can’t help but wonder how long they’ve known more about who I am than I did.

“Sir, you should sit,” my father says to Goliath. “You will be no good to my daughter or Forge if you collapse.”

Goliath says nothing in response to my father’s order and continues standing.

“Your choice. Not the smart one, though.” Federov returns his attention to me. “Would you like to see a picture of your mother?”