“I am of the mind that Bardaric is becoming major problem. One the Council will have to face soon.”
Vestavia wanted to reach through the phone and choke the Russian. “Then why in hell didn’t you bring that up during our meeting?”
“Because the others will be more receptive to discussing Bardaric once you carry out this mission and dismiss any suspicions they may have.”
Vestavia knew where this was leading but had to play along. Ostrovsky was too diplomatic to be in charge of a continent that included Russia and China, but a powerful organization run by alpha males needed someone with a cool head on occasion. “What suspicions?”
“That you might have personal ambitions in conflict with the Council’s.”
That just pissed him off. His voice dropped low and tight with anger. “Think I would have killed Josie if I wasn’t a hundred percent committed to our plans for the Renaissance?”
“I have no question about where your allegiance lies,” Ostrovsky assured him quickly, always the diplomat. “But Bardaric works hard to prove otherwise. I think he spins his deceit to draw attention away from his own ambitions, as in a sleight-of-hand trick.”
“Why’d you support Bardaric when we voted? You know better than anyone what he’s capable of.” Accusing an Angeli of working outside the trust of the Council was dangerous, but since Ostrovsky was speaking openly so would Vestavia. “You have to know Bardaric financed the 9/11 attack that backfired. He thought the U.S. would shake in their boots. Look at the mess he’s made of the Middle East. That was not part of the long-term plan.”
“I am not without eyes and ears in these situations, which is why I called you. I believe Bardaric has another plan under way. The timing to initiate this mission is suspect.”
Vestavia hit his desktop with his fist but stopped short of belaboring how Ostrovsky could also have delayed the urgent timing of the attack. He needed to know what was behind this phone call. “What’re you getting at?”
“If Bardaric is behind the three killings on your continent in the past seven months—”
“If? How can anyone on the council believe that I sanctioned those?”
“I don’t think they do, but your silence on them means you have failed to produce evidence of Bardaric’s involvement.”
“Not from lack of effort,” Vestavia grumbled.
“Then beat him at his own game and acquire your evidence. He has contacted me several times, trying to convince me to push the council to allow him to coordinate the detonation. I believe Bardaric wishes to add one more component to this bombing.”
“Such as?”
“Killing a political leader at the same time as the bombing would only multiply your problems.”
Vestavia could see the direction of Ostrovsky’s thinking, but weakening the U.S. would work in the Russian’s favor as much as that of the other Angeli. “Why would you not support a plan to further undermine this country?”
“You may not have succeeded in placing a Fratelli in the White House last year, but unlike Bardaric I see how the missions you execute manage to move us toward our goal efficiently while keeping a lower profile.” Ostrovsky paused.
“You think Bardaric’ll take out the head of our country?”
“Why should he kill your president when that will only unite the Americans?”
Vestavia shifted, leaning his elbow on the chair to support his chin. “You think he’ll go after the prime minister?”
“Why not? Then he would point the finger at you, claiming you sanctioned the hit to retaliate.”
Ostrovsky was right. “Hadn’t considered that. What do you suggest?”
“That if Bardaric is behind the killings he is not using a Fratelli sniper, which means his person is contract. Someone loyal only to money. Are you not capable of outbidding him?”
Vestavia had thought the sniper was a Fratelli asset. That would have allowed Bardaric to claim someone else in the UK Fratelli had been behind any unsanctioned acts if the Angeli found evidence confirming the hits were tied to the Fratelli. The Angeli wouldn’t expect Bardaric to challenge any of the Fratelli unless the killings created a major problem for them. But using a mercenary made more sense.
That would eliminate the worry of a Fratelli sniper being pulled in and questioned. Paying for services motivated the contractor to keep his client’s name protected.
But Vestavia still questioned Ostrovsky’s taking a side when the mediator had managed to stay out of conflict with everyone on the council for so many years. “Why now, Ostrovsky?”
“Because I’m holding a folder with photos of four kills that have an unusual stamp on them. A skull with dark eyeglasses and a lizard. One photo is of a young woman who worked for me inside the British embassy. The images are… brutal. She was my niece.”
Finally, something Vestavia could accept. “I need help getting word out quickly without Bardaric knowing it’s me shopping for his sniper.”
“My network is at your service.”
“I’ll also have to relinquish control over the timing of the detonation to Bardaric in a way that won’t make him or the Council suspicious.”
“I will contact Bardaric to let him know I’ve requested a Council meeting in two hours. They will not question this if he drives the vote and you argue at first, then reluctantly agree.”
“I can do that, but when this is over I want the Council to sanction him.” The kind of sanction Vestavia had in mind involved blood. “I want your support when they do.”
“Get your evidence and I will back you.”
He considered the gamble he was making by handing over the control to Bardaric, but he’d amend the terms before they voted. Bardaric would have to commit to a date and time for the bombing right away, plus inform Vestavia of the bomb location no later than two hours in advance, with a guarantee of taking full responsibility for any premature detonation.
Bardaric would balk at that, but the council would not.
Just in case he couldn’t locate Bardaric’s killer in time, Vestavia had a backup plan. He’d activate the new guy on his team. The one with the scar on his face who came so highly recommended by six Fratelli from the U.S. and Peter Wentworth.
Vestavia pressed a button on his phone. When Linette answered, he told her, “Find Cayle Seabrooke.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Abbie woke slowly in the dark room and yawned.
Exhausted, but in a nice way.
Three-times-last-night kind of tired. Hunter was amazing, relentless… sweet. Had she really walked away from this man six years ago? No, she’d run.
“Morning.” His deep and rusty voice warmed her. He moved his hand from where his fingers spanned her stomach and toyed with her nipple.
That responded as if he’d trained it to pucker upon command.
She put her hand over his to stop him. If not for worry over her mother, she’d spend a week in this cozy little room, allowing Hunter to have his way with every inch of her body. “What are we doing today? I have to talk to Dr. Tatum.”
“The fog’s still heavy from last night. We’ll leave in about an hour.”
The curtains were closed. How often had he gotten up during the night to look outside? “Then what?”
“We go to Gillette. Next town east of here. I have identification, credit cards, cash… things in a bank vault. We’ll fly from there to Chicago.”
“You have an airplane waiting there?” she teased.
“Not until I get a new cell phone and new credit cards.” He was dead serious. She couldn’t imagine living this way all the time. Never knowing when he had to disappear or escape someone trying to kill him. Had to be a lonely existence. She rubbed his hand. “Can we go to the medical center when we get to Chicago?”
“Ask me in Chicago.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“The best one I have. Would you rather I lie to you?”
No, she couldn’t fault him for that. His fingers started moving beneath her hand, massaging her breast.
“Sweet,” he whispered, then nuzzled her ear. “And sexy.”
“Don’t even think about starting something if you expect me to walk out of here under my own power.”
He chuckled. “Thought you realized by now I’m willing to carry you.”
“Not again. You’ll strain your back.”
He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Don’t say things like that. You were pretty when I met you six years ago, but I like you better this way. I’m not much for skin-and-bones thin.”
Her stomach flipped. She’d starved herself and worked out like a fiend just to be thin for the jerk she’d been engaged to and he’d never said anything so sweet to her back then. “Wish I’d known you before I tortured my body to fit someone else’s idea of attractive.”
Hunter moved his hand to her face and rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. “That why you came strutting into that bar with payback on your mind when I first met you?”
“Was I that obvious?” Her face flamed at how transparent she’d been. “Pathetic, huh?”
“It was obvious someone had hurt you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead tenderly. “What happened?”
She wouldn’t have told him a couple days ago, but she wanted to now. “The night before I met you I came home to find the pig I was engaged to in bed with another woman, one who came without pesky morals. How clichéd is that?”
“He was a fool to have lost you.”
Okay, that earned Hunter saint level in her book. “My father would have told me he got what he deserved since he married the shrew.”
“Would have?”
“He died when I was eighteen.”
“That’s a tough age to lose your dad.”
Not as tough as feeling responsible for her adoptive father’s death. She’d never know for sure, but the guilt lingered like an unwelcome guest. She’d started researching her birth father one week. Her adoptive father had drowned the next week, the death ruled a suicide, which she’d never believe. Following his funeral, her mother ordered Abbie to stop hunting for her biological father. Said he was a dangerous man.
Abbie hadn’t told anyone she was searching for him and her mother refused to tell her how she knew, but the warning came through loud and clear.
“True, but plenty of other people had their fathers for less time. I’m thankful for what I did have and that he loved me.”
“Why wouldn’t he love you?”
“I’m a bastard. Or I was, until Raymond married my mother after she had me out of wedlock.”
“What happened to your real father?”
“My biological father?” she corrected. “Don’t know. My real father is the one who raised me and gave me his name when he adopted me. In my mind, a parent is more than DNA. It’s the person who’s there when you learn how to ride a bike and helps blow out birthday candles and listens to your problems. A parent is the person who cares about you.”
Hunter didn’t comment. His fingers feathered across her stomach in gentle caresses.
She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. “What about your family? Ever see them?”
“Saw Todd the other night.”
“That’s your brother? Now that I think about it, he does favor you.” A few more mental gears shifted. “I still don’t even know your last name.”
“Thornton-Payne.”
She’d heard that name bandied around the television station by financial and political analysts. “Is your family involved in—”
“So many things it would take too long to list them,” Hunter finished. “Todd and my dad run everything. I have no claim to their success.”
Hunter wasn’t just wealthy. He came from a dynasty with Fort Knox credit rating. And great genetics to boot. “Which one of your parents do you favor?”
“Physically, I favor my mother. My dad’s short and unattractive, but he’s a decent man.”
Investigating people had taught Abbie to listen to what wasn’t said. “What is your mother like?”
“Was. Mercenary. She made out like a jewel thief handed the keys to Tiffany.”
She wanted to keep him talking but wasn’t sure how far to prod. His voice dipped so heavily with disgust she would have missed the pain riding his words if she hadn’t been listening intently. “Ugly divorce? No prenuptial?”
“No battle. She had a generous prenuptial, but that wasn’t enough.” His hand had curled into a fist while he spoke.
“She wanted custody?” Abbie stroked her fingers along his arm.
Slow to answer, he said, “Only as a negotiating point.”
Getting a bone out of a starving dog’s mouth was easier than dragging anything out of Hunter about himself. “I don’t understand.”
“She thought she had a gold-lined womb and my brother and I were fatted calves. She wasn’t keen on raising kids, one reason they argued a lot. When she demanded a divorce she threatened to fight for custody. He traveled a lot and knew she had grounds to pull it off even though she couldn’t stand us.”
She couldn’t stand us. Abbie couldn’t imagine feeling that way about her mother, but her father must not have liked her from birth to have turned his back on her. “So why did she want custody?”
“Quickest way to add another couple million to her settlement. She told my dad he could pay enough in the divorce for her to hire someone to take care of their two ‘pain in the asses’ or he could have us for a million each. She sold us in the divorce.”
Hunter had told that as if reporting on an enemy.
She asked, “Your dad told you about all that?”