Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3) (21 page)

“Nikki. A true-life evil half-brother,” Sasha offered. “I figured Viktor suspected him. Probably wished he was wrong, probably why he needed very strong proof.”

“But why would he hurt Jane?” Trip asked. “She didn’t do anything to him.”

Sasha shrugged. “All I know is there were at least two attempts on Jane’s life. There was an ignition bomb on her car and someone filled a plate of cookies with arsenic. Viktor first thought someone felt the heat of the investigation and wanted to send him a message, but then Nikki attacked Jane.”

“Her brother attacked her?” Frankie asked.

Sasha nodded. “Nikki hates Viktor…and he hates Jane. He hates Viktor because he thinks he killed Tracy…and he hates Jane because…well, because he is a lunatic and blames her for her mother’s death.”

“What the….” Trip shook his head, his confusion obvious.

“Tracy. Tracy Dugan. Viktor’s second wife…Jane’s mother…Tracy had an affair with Nikki, then married him.”

“So, Jane’s mother married her stepson. Gross. But what the hell’s that got to do with Jane?” Trip asked.

“Tracy hid Jane from Viktor for eight years. And Tracy was a heartless bitch to her daughter. Viktor despised her for it. So when Tracy overdosed, Nikki assumed Viktor was behind it.”

“Was he?” Frankie asked.

“I wish,” Sasha said.

Trip cracked his neck and rubbed the balls of his fists to his stinging eyes. “Okay. So, we know Black is dead, Black’s doppelganger has Jane, and most likely it is her sicko brother we’re looking for, right?”

Sasha nodded. Frankie flipped through the pages of the dossier. “But where?”

Mason, a chubby guy glued to his computer screen in the corner of the room gave out a whoop. “We have contact. Just got an agent update—our Mr. Nikki Sarkhov is en route from Kennedy Airport flying under the name Gunther Krauss. Airport records show he is flying into this airport. Should be arriving…,” he looked up at the clock “…twenty minutes ago—what the—whatever happened to real time? Friggin assholes. Anyhow, a car is supposed to be tailing him…. Maybe we’ll get an update on location. I’ll check with dispatch.” He spun his desk chair back around, pressed his head set to his ear, and started making calls.

“Jane was taken twenty minutes ago.” Trip paced the room. “He must have been in the car. Where the hell would he take her?”

He looked around the room, scanned each face for an answer, all he saw was pity, disappointment, and in the face of Sasha, pure panic.

Chapter 27

Hearing was the first of her senses to recover. Mumbled voices in a nearby room—no, closer. They were in the same room, but they were talking away from her. An airplane soared overhead, a bird twittered. A door or window squeaked open. Jane lifted an eyelid ever so slightly. The harsh sun made her eyes sting. She couldn’t tell who was at the door; it was a man. Medium build, well dressed. There was another man, his voice a deep baritone outside the door.

Mr. Black, Jane realized as awareness slowly crept back into her skull. The words spoken by Mr. Black were hard to decipher, his voice was too low, too mumbled. The man in the door cursed in Russian. The man told Black, “Go to the car and wait…and make sure no other cars followed…put the damned body in the trunk.”

Mumbled response.

“Oh, Jesus, can’t you think of anything on your own, you stupid bastard.” A long sigh, then the man spoke again as one would speak to a child. “Put him in your trunk.”

Mumbled response.

“Damned superstition! You just killed a man, you stupid asshole. You don’t think that’s bad luck? You can’t leave his body in the friggin’ street. Hide it!” He slammed the door. “Damned fool.”

Jane struggled to move.

“Shit,” the man cursed. He grabbed her arm; she tried to twist it away. It felt like a bee sting in her neck. Then, everything went dark again.

She woke to more cursing. This time, Jane recognized the voice. Her heart squeezed as she tried to decide whether or not it was a good thing or a bad thing. She opened her eyes as he turned and closed the door and came into the room. “Nikki?” she whispered, her throat sore from the choking, her thoughts sluggish from the drugs.

“Little sister.” He sat, cross legged in the chair across from her, polishing his revolver with a white hotel wash cloth.

Jane sat up. She rubbed her throat and crossed her legs under her. She looked around the room. It was a hotel room with the same burgundy carpet and paisley bedspread as the millions of other American hostelries. She didn’t know what Nikki had planned, and she trusted him naught, but she figured it would be in her best interest to play dumb. “Oh, Nikki. You are a sight for hurting eyes.” She smiled at him and sighed.

“Sore, darling…the word is sore.” He laughed and tucked the gun in his coat pocket. “You really should have completed your studies at Oxford.”

Jane shook her head. “I was never that smart. You were always so much more clever than me.”

“True,” he admitted. “But Father didn’t see the point in sending me to college. Prick.”

Jane flinched but composed herself and said nothing.

“What’s going on, Nikki? Why did that man try to kill me?”

“Nando?” Nikki laughed. “Silly girl. He was just trying to help you. That man chasing you at the airport?” Jane nodded. “He was trying to kill you. Not Nando.”

Jane rubbed her throat. “He choked me.”

“You were screaming and biting and kicking…. He had to calm you down.”

“Oh. I guess.” She picked at her thumbnail. “I suppose you’re right. He could have just shot me.”

“True…see, you are a little clever, too.” Nikki winked at her.

“What is going on, Nikki?”

“Seems Poppa has been playing his games again. He’s clever too. He faked his own death—and yours I might add—to escape the law.” Nikki stood and walked to the bed, sitting down beside her. “But unfortunately, none of us can escape justice. So, all of Poppa’s plans are unraveling. Pretty soon the police will arrest him for conspiracy to harbor a fugitive.”

“What fugitive?”

“You, darling sister. You killed Demetry. Then father faked your death. Very elaborately I might add. It was a beautiful service. I think Sasha took care of the details. I cried my eyes out. When they lowered you into the ground…I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I…” he pulled out his cell phone, “…even have a picture of you and Poppa’s graves.” He handed her the phone. “Tragic, wasn’t it?”

Jane closed her eyes. “That explains the dreams of being locked in a box….”

“You can thank Poppa for all of our nightmares.”

“How did Poppa do that? I saw him die, saw Demetry shoot him.”

“He must have been wearing a vest, but somehow he survived. But then rash little you throws Demetry out the window, so you, my dear, are a murderess.”

“So Poppa isn’t really dead?”

“I’m shocked he didn’t tell you. He let you suffer the grief. Hmm. I’m a little shocked.”

Jane shook her head. “No. I thought he was dead. I thought I was wanted for Demetry’s murder.”

“Well, you are… now that you’re alive.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “Father’s attempts to keep you out of the gulag were so narrow-minded. How can a dead woman continue to live? Has it been fun hiding, sweetie?”

Jane shook her head and applied a pout.

Nikki gave her a sympathetic grin and a pinch to her nose. “Have no fear, sweetheart. I can help you. I have connections now, Anya. I am more powerful than Poppa ever dreamed of being. I have friends who can make all of your troubles disappear. Friends in the American government, the Russian government; hell, even at the UN. I will get your name cleared, and then we can be together. Just you and me. We will be wealthier and more powerful than you ever dreamed of being.”

“I…” Jane looked confused. “I don’t need money or power, Nikki. I just want a normal life.”

“Stop being pathetic. Weak. Jesus, you’re mother ruined you. Thank God, my mother was a good, strong Russian woman; too bad you had to be crippled by English blood. Your mother was beautiful, but never could be strong.”

“Nikki? How can you say that? I thought…you loved her?”

“You know, Anya, you are trying my patience. I want to help you. I want to keep the only family I have left.”

“But you said Poppa was alive?”

“At the moment.” Nikki looked at his watch. “Or maybe not. A friend in the justice department helped me weed out Mr. Black from my ranks after I showed her some pretty naughty pictures of her and a congresswoman. She got all nervous…you know how uptight Americans are.”

“You blackmailed her?”

“Dammit, Anya, stop it. How can I trust you if you can’t take the truth?” Nikki leaned closer to her. His nose almost touched hers. “The world, little sister, is an evil place. Either learn to deal with that or get out of it. Let’s start with some hard truths about your mummy.”

Jane swallowed, but said nothing.

“Your mum was a whore. She danced for Poppa while he was married to my mama and screws the old man until he can’t see straight. Which I will give her credit, the bitch knew what she was doing… when she was motivated. Then my mama dies. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Next thing you know, the whore is in the house and taking over the place before my mama is stiff in the grave. But that wasn’t good enough for her. She grew tired of the old man. She wanted someone young and energetic. I was only fifteen when she started sneaking into my room, teaching me things I had only read about. Such a conundrum for a boy.” Nikki laughed, his head thrown back.

He grew quiet, placing his index finger to his lips. “Truth be told, part of me hated her, yet I would have done anything for her.” He looked off in the distance a moment before adding, “Well, would have done anything to keep her coming to my room.” He laughed. Jane flinched at the sound.

Jane bit the side of her cheek. Her heart pounded in her chest; her throat was dry.

“Then she left. Ran away. Left me lusty and thinking I was in love. So she took off with my heart and Poppa’s money.” Nikki laughed. He touched his chest with his fist. “I suppose I didn’t need a heart…. It only held me back.”

“Nikki. Don’t be…”

“Shush, shush, shush, little girl. I am telling you truth. You need to know.” He put a finger to her lips. “Anyhow, when I turned eighteen, I left Poppa’s house, and I went after Ms. Tracy Dugan Sarkhov. I found her in London. And I found out about you. Tracy said you belonged to your Aunt Tilley, but I could see the resemblance, even though you were just a baby. You look just like her, you know?”

Jane nodded and smiled as she debated whether or not her brother had any sanity left. His eyes were wild. His voice was shrill and clipped like he would, at any moment, break into full wail and howl like a rabid dog.

“There was even a small part of me that wondered if you were my own. God forbid.” Nikki touched Jane’s cheek with his fingertips.

Jane gasped. She squeaked as calmly as she could, “I know who my father is, Nikki.”

“Sure. If you say so.”

Jane cleared her throat and asked, “So you knew I existed, long before Poppa? Why didn’t you tell him about me? When I was a little girl?”

He shrugged. “Never thought of it. Well, and then when father got his empire back…. I told you about your mother stealing all the money, didn’t I? How she left Poppa with barely enough to make payroll?”

Jane shook her head.

“Well, she did. Robbed him blind. But he is…ahem…was a crafty old bear and he was making money again in no time. So, I had riches and suddenly, I had a sister. Now, what’s the point in splitting all the money in half? Besides, Poppa didn’t miss what he never knew existed.”

“But I…”

“Don’t start whining!” he barked and slapped her on the cheek. “God, the incessant whining—your mother was the same. I want to get along with you, Anya, but not if you act like a pathetic little whiner!”

“Go to hell, Nikki. I have never been a whiner!” she snapped.

“That’s better.” He patted her stinging cheek. “I need to know I can trust you. That we can do business together.”

“Why share with me now?”

Nikki laughed. “Good question. And the answer is…because I,” he tweaked her nose, “have more money than God. I have more power than God. And because I am feeling sentimental.” He looked at his watch again. “Surely by now, my sweet, we are orphans.”

“No, Nikki. You can’t. You have to stop this. You can’t kill Poppa!”

“Well, technically, I’m not. He’s already dead, remember? No one will even give a damn. Poppa will be killed by the very people he paid to protect him. And you…” He brushed a piece of hair away from Jane’s face. “You look so much like your mother. So beautiful. I miss her, Anya. She was the only woman I ever loved, that I felt the stir of desire for. You can’t imagine how lonely I have been since she died.” He took her hand in his. “But she left me a gift. A girl with eyes like hers; with a smile like hers.”

“I’m not my mother, Nikki. I’m nothing like her.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, when I look at you…I see her.” Leaning forward, he tried to kiss her. She turned her face away and tried to scoot away. He grabbed her legs and pinned them to the bed. “Two choices, Anya. Life with me, on my terms. Or death.”

Jane hid the revulsion that washed over her like a rancid wave. “But I am your sister.”

“My sister is dead.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her. His lips felt wet and cold against her own. He pulled back and looked down at her. A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You will have whatever new life you want. Hell, I’ll even get you your degree from Oxford. We don’t want our kids to be shamed when they hang out with the children of senators and diplomats, now do we?”

Jane shook her head no.

Nikki reached out and undid her coat button. “Show me you love me, Anya.”

Jane clutched the fabric. Her hands shook. “I…I am….”

“Ahh, Father did keep you locked up, didn’t he? A nervous little virgin?”

Jane nodded. “And I, uh, need to use the bathroom.”

“Go ahead. We have forever.” He stretched himself out across the bed. Jane smiled at him as she clambered off the bed and practically ran into the bathroom. She shut the door and locked it. The walls were all solid. No window to crawl through. Jane started to cry. She couldn’t think. She felt like puking, but swallowed the bile and willed herself to think.

Emergency. What was the American number for emergency? Nine eleven; it was nine eleven. She pulled out her cell phone. No eleven. Son of a bitch. She would call Trip. She’d rather he arrest her than she become Nikki’s…she shivered, unable to finish the thought. She dialed his number, then turned on the tub water to hide the sounds of her talking.

Trip picked up in an instant.

“Jane, baby, where are you?”

“I don’t know. A hotel.”

“Are you safe?”

“No.” The word was choked. She couldn’t stop the shaking of panic. “It’s Nikki. I’m at a hotel. I’m scared.”

“I’m putting a trace on your call, Jane. I am going to find you. Do you hear me? I am going to find you.”

Jane nodded. She couldn’t speak.

Nikki knocked on the door. “Time’s up.”

“One more minute.” She kicked the phone behind the toilet.

He tried to turn the knob. “New rule: no locked doors.”

Jane looked toward the phone and wondered, how long would it take for Trip to find her?

“Open the door, Anya!”

“I’m almost...”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He threw his body against the flimsy wood. The entire door bowed, the veneer cracking and groaning with each blow. Jane screamed as she pressed her back against the splintering door. Then screamed again and again, hoping someone, anyone, would hear her.