Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(4)

Regrets seize me as the tip of my shoe catches on a pant leg.

It’s not Indy. She was wearing a dress. So, who . . . ?

A boot connects with my back, and lightning bolts of pain shoot down my spine.

“Do not move,” a man barks out with a Russian accent.

Russian. Fuck.

That means either Federov lost his patience with me about meeting Indy and decided to get me out of the way once and for all, or Belevich has ulterior motives that I somehow missed.

He was at the game at La Reina . . . and Mallorca. Why didn’t I investigate him?

Because I was caught up with Indy. And now she’s in danger because of me.

I have to get away. Have to get to her.

As the pain dissipates from the boot to my back, I try to picture the inside of what I assume is a cargo van and guess where the man who spoke could be sitting. I swing my body around to kick out at him. As soon as my feet slam into bone, he barks something out in Russian before someone grabs my feet and ties them down.

As something sharp stabs into my neck and darkness rushes in, one thought repeats in my brain.

Must. Save. Indy.





4





India





Belevich texts someone from inside the elevator, but the Cyrillic alphabet on his phone screen might as well be Greek to me. With his good hand, Goliath slides his cell from his pocket, and the screen is covered with green bubbles indicating notifications.

“Jericho?” I ask, desperation turning my words ragged.

“Not yet,” he replies with a pained grunt.

My apprehension climbs with each passing minute, and I hope like hell that I’m making the right choice by going with him. Goliath stays glued to my side as we exit the service elevator into a parking garage. A black G-Wagen pulls up to the loading zone, and Goliath and I tense.

“Come. Come. It’s my driver.” Belevich takes a step forward, but Goliath doesn’t move as he looks down at me.

“Do we go?” I whisper.

Goliath’s jaw clenches, and the lines around his eyes deepen. He has to be racked with pain. I don’t know what else to do.

Instead of replying, Goliath nods. “Okay.”

“Come. Hurry,” Belevich says, leading us toward the boxy Mercedes SUV. The driver jumps out to open the door to the back seat and helps Goliath inside. Belevich takes the front passenger seat, and I slide in beside Goliath.

I’m questioning every decision I’m making, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who I can trust, and my gut twists at the thought of how we left Donnigan and Bates behind. I’m so sorry. I send up the apology and promise silently that I’ll make it right as soon as Goliath, who slumps against the door when the SUV begins moving, isn’t bleeding out, and we find Jericho.

Belevich rattles off orders in Russian, and I’ve never wished I spoke a language more.

Goliath groans as we roll over a speed bump at the entrance to the parking garage.

“Where are we going? Goliath needs help,” I tell Belevich.

He twists in his seat to look back at us both, his stare fixing on the blood-soaked towel around Goliath’s shoulder. “I have a friend not far from here. She can help him.”

“Is she a doctor?”

“A veterinarian,” Belevich replies.

“A vet? Really?”

“Better than nothing, and she won’t report a gunshot wound to the authorities, who will drag us all in for interrogation and fleeing the scene of a crime.”

A chunk of ice settles in my stomach, and I remind myself that beggars can’t be choosers. Right now, I’ll do whatever I have to do to find Jericho and make sure Goliath doesn’t die.

“Okay. What then? What do we do? How are we going to find him?” There’s no question who the him I’m referring to is.

“I will call in a few favors . . .”

As he trails off, I lean forward in the seat, gripping the door as we careen out of the parking garage. Sirens wail in the street toward the hotel entrance.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“We made it out just in time,” Belevich says as our vehicle hugs the curb to let the police through. We all watch the flashing lights as they pass us.

“They’re going to be looking for me and Jericho,” I whisper, thankful they can’t see us through the blacked-out windows of the SUV.

“Of course,” Belevich says. “But they move too slow. If we rely on them, you will never find Forge.”

Due to my unusual childhood, I’ve never been one to trust law enforcement, so I’m inclined to agree with him. “Tell me about these favors. How fast can you call them in, and how can they help us? What do you need from me?”

Belevich glances over his shoulder into the back seat. “You really do want to find him, don’t you?”

I blink twice, repeating his question in my brain. “Of course I want to find him. He’s my husband.”

“But the reasons he married you . . . they didn’t have anything to do with the reason a man normally marries a woman, from what I heard.”

I’m reminded then that Belevich knows too much about things he shouldn’t. Like that my sister was kidnapped and was going to be sold as a sex slave if I didn’t pay the ransom to get her back.