Grave Vengeance (8 page)

“Sounds great on paper. But if you do that, you’ll alter Fate’s grand design. You know she won’t allow that to happen.”

“What makes you think she’ll have a choice?” His expression faltered, as if he’d just said too much.

“Why won’t she have a choice, Tommy?” Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the paper and held it out for him to see. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

He paled.

Aha.
“Tell me what it is, Tommy.”

He shook his head. “He’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

Seconds ticked by. A minute.

“I don’t have all day. Talk or we return to our original programming.”

Tommy bit his lower lip so hard it bled. His eyes darted about the room, as if searching for a means to escape. “The artifact acts as a key,” he finally said. “It opens a portal between dimensions.”

One by one, the dots connected in her mind, and her blood chilled to ice in her veins. “He’s planning to assassinate Fate?”

He shook his head. “Not assassinate. Overthrow. We’ll need her until we know how everything works.”

“And then he’ll kill her. How charitable.” Gwen prowled across the room like a tiger in a cage. How could he even consider doing such a thing? True, Fate could be a cruel mistress at times, but without her designs to bring order to the world, humanity would plunge into chaos. “How does the portal open?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” She braced her hands on the chair arms and leaned close enough to see the pulse pounding in his throat. “Tell me how it works.”

“I told you I don’t know!”

“Fine, have it your way.” She kneeled down beside his feet. “Which big toe do you prefer to lose first, the left or the right?”

“Dammit, I’m telling you the truth!” His voice cracked. “I don’t fucking know!”

Glancing up, she studied his face and saw unwashed terror in his eyes. Instinct told her he was speaking the truth, so she switched to another line of questioning. “Where’s the stone now? Who has it?”

He shook his head again. “I don’t know. We were supposed to pick it up from some broad in D.C., but she said it was missing from the museum’s inventory.”

“Which museum?”

“The Smithsonian.”

Like there was only one Smithsonian. “Care to whittle that down for me?”

“Natural History,” he said through clenched teeth.

“And the woman’s name?”

“We never got her name. She said it was safer that way.”

Great. “If you’d gotten the stone, where were you planning to take it?”

Tommy licked his bleeding lower lip, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

“Come on, Tommy. I’m losing my patience. Where were you taking the artifact?” Lightly, she traced the tip of the blade over the top of his foot, and every muscle in his body jerked.

“I don’t know, all right? Our orders were to go back to the hotel and wait for instructions. But then Reynolds spotted you and the Russian on the highway and decided to give Patrick a call.”

“And Patrick told you to shoot Dmitri?”

He hesitated before answering. “Not exactly.”

When he failed to elaborate, she asked, “Then what
exactly
did he tell you to do?”

Tommy fidgeted in his chair. “He said to grab you, and to make sure the Russian was in no condition to follow.”

So Patrick still harbored hopes of converting her to the cause. That might come in handy later. Her anger spiked at the thought of their plans to harm Dmitri. How dared they turn on one of their own? Idiots. If they had any idea who they were dealing with, they would have come up with a better plan to take him out.

What had first seemed like a simple retrieval mission was quickly snowballing into something far more sinister. How many reapers were already involved in Patrick’s plans for insurrection? How many more would join? She had a feeling things were going to get a lot messier before they got any better.

With a sigh, she rose to standing. “Thank you for your help.” She glanced down to inspect his broken fingers. The bones in his thumb had already realigned and were in the process of knitting back together, but the remaining digits were still twisted at odd angles. He’d heal by morning, but the process would be more painful without the bones being set first. “I bet that hurts almost as much as a gunshot wound. Here, let me help.”

“No!”

Gripping his index and middle fingers, she wrenched them back into place. The shriek he let out could have woken the dead. “That’s for my shoulder. This is for Dmitri.” She gave his ring finger and pinkie the same treatment.

When the screaming stopped, the door opened, and Dmitri stepped inside. His expression was completely unreadable. “I take it you convinced him to talk?”

Crossing the room, she met Dmitri at the door. In a lowered voice, she said, “He was kind enough to share what he knows.”

Dmitri took notice of Tommy’s shoes and socks on the floor beside the chair. “Do I want to know why you took those off?”

She shook her head. No way was she going there with him.

Thankfully, he didn’t push her for an answer.

Now that the excitement was over, her body felt heavy with fatigue. Mentally exhausted, she walked back to the desk and dropped her knife in the bag. She needed rest, and she needed food if her body was to heal by morning. And she definitely needed a drink. Something strong enough to make her forget about this godforsaken day. “What do you want to do with him?”

Dmitri zipped the bag for her and slung it over his shoulder. “Toss him back in the trunk.”

“That’s bullshit!” Tommy’s face flushed red as he struggled against the restraints. “I’ve answered all of your questions! Let me go!”

“Why would we do a stupid thing like that? You’re not going anywhere until we verify your information.” Dmitri tucked Tommy’s socks inside his shoes and picked the shoes up by the laces. “If any of it fails to check out, I’m giving you back to her.”

G
wen wasn’t the only one who needed a good stiff drink.

As much as Dmitri hated to admit it, he was relieved she’d taken the lead in interrogating Cooper. The thought of inflicting that kind of torment put a ball of ice in his gut. Even so, he was still disgusted with himself for allowing a woman to do his dirty work because he lacked the mental fortitude. And not just any woman.
Her.
It pissed him off and made him feel like shit all at the same time.

After trussing up Tommy and locking him in the trunk, they’d stopped at the nearest liquor store, ordered a pizza, and checked into a motel close to the highway.

“Think we should tell Samuel about the artifact?” Gwen asked as she stepped through the open doorway. She crossed the modest room in a half dozen strides and placed the pizza box on the table by the television.

“Not yet. He’ll only tell us what he thinks we need to know. Let’s see what we can find out first.” Dmitri closed and locked the door behind him. The faint scent of cleaning solution lingered in the air from a recent pass-through by housekeeping. The room wasn’t much, but it came with two beds, which would spare them an argument over sleeping arrangements. He dumped his weapons bag and Gwen’s duffel on the floor between the beds. The shopping bag full of booze went on the table.

Gwen flipped open the pizza box, and the spicy scent of marinara filled the air. Stress and strain lined the corners of her eyes, but she perked up at the prospect of dinner. “Mmm. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Not surprising. The last time you ate was around eight hours ago. Your body needs nourishment to repair that bullet wound.” He sank down on one of the threadbare chairs and grabbed a slice from the box. “How are you feeling?” he asked before taking a bite.

“Tired. Achy. A little sleep and I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She dragged a hand through her short blond hair. The light failed to reach her eyes when she smiled, and for some strange reason it pained him to see her spirit diminished.

After wolfing down two slices, he dug into the bag and pulled out the bottle of vodka. The liquor store had carried a limited selection, but he’d managed to find a decent brand. He unscrewed the cap and filled one of the motel glasses halfway.

“Want some?” He tilted the bottle in her direction.

“No thanks.” Her nose crinkled. “How can you drink that shit straight?”

Was she kidding? “It’s the way vodka’s meant to be drunk. Why would I dilute it?” At home, he kept a bottle of Russian Standard in the freezer. A few fingers at the end of the day dulled the edges off even the worst assignments.

He raised the glass to his lips and drank, his eyes closing as he savored the flavor. The vodka went down smooth when he swallowed, leaving a warm trail in its wake. “Come on, just a little sip,” he said. “It’ll ease the ache in your shoulder.”

At this point, the entry wound should have already healed. But the internal damage would take a while longer, and she’d suffer a fair amount of residual discomfort until her body completely recovered.

She popped the top on a bottle of beer and pitched the cap in the trash can. “No, thank you. The shoulder’s fine.”

“Chicken?” He couldn’t resist yanking her chain. There was something about the way those hazel eyes squinted that made his heart beat faster. Leaning back against his chair, he waited to see if she’d rise to the challenge.

Her eyes narrowed the way he liked when she shot him a level stare. “I thought you said I was a bunny.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right,
zaika moya
.” He bit back the urge to smile when her eyes narrowed further. It was sick, the way he enjoyed getting her all riled up. The flushed skin, those fiery eyes. In any other woman, he’d find it alluring. But even if he actually considered her attractive—and he most certainly did not—there was too much history between them. Too many lies. Too much hate. There was no such thing as mending fences when they’d never been built to begin with.

He poured an ounce of vodka into an empty glass and nudged it in her direction. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’ll take advantage if you drink too much?”

She paused, the pizza halfway to her mouth. “Like that would ever happen.”

“You sound so sure.”

Her chin jutted up. “That’s because I am. After all these years, I’ve come to realize there are few absolutes in life.” She ate a bite of pizza and washed it down with a swig of pale ale. “There will never be peace in the Middle East. I’ll never lose those last five pounds. And we will never,
ever
go down that road.”

Still hungry, he grabbed another slice from the box. “I’ll agree with you on the Middle East, but what makes you think you need to lose five pounds?” From what he’d seen, she was in excellent shape. Maybe a little small up top, but it suited her athletic build.

“Obviously, you haven’t noticed my ass.”

Of course he had. He was a guy.

“I’ve noticed everything.” He didn’t qualify the statement. It was much more fun to let her wonder.

She blushed. Mission accomplished. “So what are we going to do with Tommy?” she asked.

Deciding he’d given her enough shit for the evening, he let her change the subject. “I called one of my guys while you bought the pizza. He’s on his way up. He’ll keep Tommy on ice while we deal with Ziegler.” His mood sobered at the thought of their mission. So much for a simple apprehension. Had Samuel intentionally kept them in the dark about the true nature of their task? He’d be willing to bet his soul on it. “You did well today. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

Gaze averted, she picked at the label on her beer bottle. “It could have been worse.”

“True.” An old repressed memory unlocked in his mind, and he was back at the Pit. The walls were white, and the floor was concrete with a drain in the center. Williams and his men had strapped him down and attached electrodes to his body. They’d shocked him for hours and then beat him for refusing to talk. When they finished, they’d dumped him in a cold, damp cell with bright lights and no food. Curled in a ball, he’d shivered uncontrollably as he dreamed of escape and revenge.

“Hey,” Gwen barked, and the memory retreated. “Don’t go there.”

Looking up, he found genuine compassion in her eyes but refused to acknowledge the sentiment. “Go where?” he asked.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I can see it all over your face.”

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. She’d been there through most of the sessions. Always standing at attention by the door, ready to translate if he spoke in Russian.

Irritated because she read him so easily, he finished his drink and poured another. He’d already polished off a quarter of the bottle, but the alcohol had failed to dull the memories.

“I never figured out how you got loose,” she said. “Care to satisfy my curiosity?”

Glancing up, he caught her gaze. He knew she was trying to trade one memory for another that was less unpleasant. A part of him appreciated the effort, while the rest of him railed against accepting help where it wasn’t wanted. Besides, he never gave away information of value. It went against all of his training. “What’s it worth to you?”

“What do you want?”

“Retribution. But since you can’t give that to me, I want you to drink the fucking vodka.” He poured another ounce into the second glass and pushed it in her direction. “All of it.”

“No way,” she said as she pushed the drink back across the table. “Beer before liquor, never been sicker.”

“You’ve only had one beer.”

“And back at the garage, you made me drink whiskey.”

“In that case, liquor before beer, have no fear.”

She let out an exasperated huff. “Why does this matter so much to you?”

“Because you don’t want to do it.” He picked up the glass and set it in front of her. “If you really want to know how I broke from confinement, all you have to do is share my vodka. Is that so much to ask?”

Judging by the look on her face, it was. She stared at the alcohol as if it were poison. “And if I drink this, you’ll tell me the entire story?”

“Down to the last detail.”

“Fine,” she grumbled as she grabbed for the glass. “I’ll drink your damn booze. But if I get sick, I’m aiming for your boots.”

Dmitri picked up his own glass and raised it toward her.
“Za vashe zdorovie.”
He tipped back his drink and downed a few swallows.

After taking a deep breath, she followed his lead. Without looking down, she gripped the glass and brought it straight to her lips. She caught his gaze, held it, and with one big gulp the vodka was gone.

Much to his surprise—and yes, disappointment—she didn’t choke or gag. A sly smile curved her full lips as she set the empty glass on the table and picked up the last slice of pizza.

“Start talking,” she said before taking a big bite.

Dmitri’s mouth went slack. “Did you just play me?”

She didn’t answer until after she swallowed. When she smiled this time, her entire face brightened. “What if I did?”

Shit, he just got played. Damned if he couldn’t help but admire the skill. In a way, it made him feel better about her getting the drop on him all those years ago. “That was good.”

“Thank you. Now tell me how you got out of those shackles.”

Dmitri relaxed against the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. Odds were, she expected a complicated answer, and she was about to be thoroughly disappointed. “Bobby pin.”

Gwen’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Excuse me?”

“I picked the locks on my shackles with a bobby pin.” He paused to let his words sink in. “The nurse who administered the drugs, what was her name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Ah, yes. Nurse Rebecca.” He could almost see her now. “Pretty girl, but rough with the needles.”

“That might have been because you were combative.”

“Given the situation, would you expect anything less?” He drained the last of his vodka and set the empty glass on the table. “I took a shot at her one day when the strap holding my arm broke. It wasn’t much more than a glancing blow, but it was enough to knock the cap off her head.”

“As well as a few bobby pins?”

“You got it.” He smiled at the memory. “During all the commotion, I slipped one in my briefs before Hanson smashed my skull with his baton.”

“I remember hearing about that.” She shot him a confused look. “Didn’t that happen over a week before you got loose?”

Dmitri nodded. “It would have been foolish to act prematurely.” Security had ramped up after the incident, forcing him to wait until things calmed down. So he took the abuse for one more week, all the while planning what to do and who to kill first. “You know the rest.”

It might have happened over fifty years ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. Once free, he’d killed with ruthless efficiency, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he reached the interrogation room. He’d never forget the look on Williams’s face right before he put a bullet in his brain.

A full minute passed before Gwen spoke. “You could have taken a hostage or stolen a truck, but you didn’t.” Realization widened her eyes as she sucked in an audible breath. “Escape was never part of your plan, was it?”

Of course not. Only an idiot could hope to escape from a facility without any knowledge of the layout. And with no hope for freedom, his only alternative was to inflict maximum damage. After all, it was better to die in a hail of gunfire than to live a life less than human.

Only the hail of gunfire never happened. Instead, he’d died from a single shot to the chest, fired by a mortally wounded Gwen. Slumped against the wall, he’d watched her die as his own life drained from his body.

“You already know the answer to that question.” Dmitri screwed the cap on the bottle. Pushing back from the table, he peeled off his boots and dropped them onto the floor. “Go to bed, Gwenya. It’s late, and tomorrow promises to be busy.”

 

For the second time in as many nights, Gwen woke to the sounds of Dmitri’s nightmare. Half awake, she groped for the light on the nightstand and squinted against the glow when she flipped the switch. Lying on his back, Dmitri thrashed against the mattress, his hair and skin drenched with sweat.

“Ya vam nichego ne skazhu. Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.”
His voice sounded raw with pain.

What part of his downfall haunted his dreams tonight? She refused to think about what Williams did to him during those horrific sessions inside the Pit. And even though she’d had no control over what happened to him, she’d ultimately caused it all.

Not wanting a repeat of the prior evening’s events, she approached him with extreme caution.

“Dmitri,” she said, her tone low and calm. “
Vy ne odinoki. Vy v bezopasnosti
.”
You are not alone. You are safe.
Decades had passed since she last spoke Russian, and the words sounded awkward on her lips. She hoped she’d translated her intended words correctly.

Ready to retreat at the slightest hint of violence, she reached out and touched a hand to his foot. His muscles flinched beneath her fingers.

She repeated the words over and over, and when she touched him again he didn’t jerk back from the contact. Slowly, his muscles uncoiled and released, and the tension gradually bled from his features until he no longer appeared tormented. His breathing grew deep, steady.

Much better. Her shoulders slumped with relief. She yawned, and the pull of exhaustion made her eyelids droop. Tomorrow was going to be another long day, and she needed to get some rest. Once she was certain that his nightmare had retreated, she let go of his leg, turned off the lamp, and returned to the comfort of her own bed.