Hide From Evil (31 page)

It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. She had started this quest in the name of truth, and if that was all she got, that had to be enough.

But will it be enough to put an end to all of this? Will it be enough to save you and Sean?

She didn’t have time to contemplate the question as Sean’s hand found hers in the darkness. “Let’s move.”

Chapter 17

S
ean focused on keeping his breathing steady as he inched along the crawl space on his belly. The crawl space spanned the area of the office and the bedroom suite below it, but it was only about twenty-four inches high.

And completely enclosed.

He positioned the flashlight in front of him and did a quick three-sixty scan of the space. The good news was that there was room for them at all, that the ventilation and plumbing for the master bath required the space between the two floors for all the tubing and piping.

Bad news was there was no easy way out, not into the bedroom anyway. While the ceiling of the office below them was done in modular paneling, the floor of the master suite above them was solid, either hardwood or carpet on solid flooring. In any case, no easy way to pop up out of the crawl space like they had out of the office.

A bead of sweat trickled down and dripped off the tip of his nose. He wrapped his gloved fingers tighter around Krista’s, cautioning himself not to hurt her in his desperation to drown the panic that was trying to burst free.

On one end, about fifteen feet away, was a roughly two-foot-long-by-one-foot-high opening covered by a slatted vent. The overlapping slats were closed, but if the panic hadn’t totally fucked up his orientation, if he popped it off, it would open out to the south side of the building.

He focused on that opening to the outside and started inching toward it.

There was a low rumble of voices in a foreign language—Russian—drifting in from the other side of the space.

“Stop,” Krista breathed and dug her fingers into his arm to emphasize her point.

“I call this meeting because I think you are about to try to—how you say—squelch on this deal?”

“Welsh,” an angry male voice replied. “And it’s welsh on a bet. And I haven’t given you any reason to think the delivery won’t go down on Tuesday as expected.”

The vent opened out over the main room and a faint glow of light came in from fixtures mounted on the high ceiling. In the faint glow, Sean could see Krista’s hand pointing at that opening. Away from freedom.

She hitched up on her elbows and started to combat crawl for it. Every instinct in Sean screamed to go the other way, toward freedom, but one last rational cell in his brain knew they needed to stay on top of David Maxwell and whoever was working with him so they could find out exactly what the fuck they were up to.

He fought to keep his breathing quiet as he followed, though he was sure they’d be able to hear his heart thudding on the panels below him.

From their vantage, he could see seven in total. A tall broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair, cold gray eyes, and flat, Slavic features and three men who were variations on the same template. They all wore expensive-looking tailored suits over silk shirts. No ties.

“Who are the suits?”

“Karev, and three of his men,” Krista breathed in his ear, and though he knew he was picking one poison in favor of another, he focused on the way her lips felt moving against the sensitive skin of his ear, remembered how good they had tasted earlier at Ibarra’s house.

To his surprise, it actually worked, and the surge of raw lust took the edge off the panic. Who knew that two primal, irrational forces would serve to cancel each other out? Already close in the cramped space, he inched close enough to feel the vibration of her pounding heartbeat as it rattled through her.

He wasn’t the only one struggling with his fear.

He could see three other men, including Maxwell, whom Sean recognized from his pictures in magazines and newspapers. In contrast to his gangster companions, he was dressed in khaki pants, loafers, a V-neck sweater pulled over a collared shirt, and a beige trench thrown over his arm.

Like he’d been pulled away from another night at the yacht club.

Next to him was a dark-haired, wiry man, similarly dressed and younger than Maxwell by quite a bit. It wasn’t until the man turned more fully that Sean saw the scar that bisected the man’s face. It was Carl Grayson, Maxwell’s stepson and publicly acknowledged heir apparent to Maxwell’s business empire.

Evidently, Grayson was involved in all of dear old stepdad’s business ventures.

Next to Grayson was a tall man with a crew cut and a goatee, his jacket shoulders straining the seams of his black trench. Obviously Maxwell’s muscle, with his at-the-ready stance and his hands hanging loose beside him, poised to grab a weapon at a second’s notice.

It was a sign of how much the anxiety scrambled his brain that Krista recognized the thug before he did.

“Holy crap,” she breathed. “I think that’s one of the guys who shot the deputy and tried to kill us.”

Now that she said it, Sean saw it. Sure enough, that was the motherfucker who had shot him in the leg.

All of the people in the room below were responsible for trying to have him killed. Worse, they’d tried to hurt Krista, the thought of which sent a tsunami of primal rage roaring through him, startling him with its intensity.

And Sean could do nothing but wait here like a fucking rat, helpless for the moment to do anything to hurt the men who would have killed Krista without a second thought.

The anger tipped his agitation into overdrive. He took another breath, the air starting to taste stale and close in his lungs. Despite the feel of Krista next to him, he felt suddenly like a thousand ants were crawling on his skin, like a rhino had just taken up residence on his chest.

A female voice rang through the room. “We have to suspend all shipments until we know Slater and Flynn have been taken care of.”

“Guess that answers our question about the wife knowing what’s going on.” Krista’s breath warmed his neck.

And holy shit, there she was, complete with the blond helmet of hair and a gray knit pantsuit that probably cost more than his truck. An icon of Seattle old money, a grand dame of local society so renowned that even Sean, a jock who grew up in a middle-class neighborhood in Kirkland, knew her name.

Standing here in a warehouse with armed guards, arguing with Russian gangsters. It was so jarring, it pulled him back from the edge.

Maxwell hit her with a dark look. “Goddamn it, Margaret, this isn’t your decision to make.” He turned on his stepson. “I told you she shouldn’t have come.”

“Fuck you, David,” Margaret snapped. “We’re just getting momentum in my campaign. I will not let you risk it because you’ve crawled into the sewer with these lowlifes—”

Like a striking snake, Karev’s hand lashed out and caught the queen of Seattle society’s cheek in a vicious backhand.

Margaret staggered back with a cry and would have fallen if the bodyguard hadn’t caught her.

“What the hell was that?” Maxwell asked Karev.

The Russian shrugged, the flat, reptilian expression never wavering. “You don’t handle your woman, I do.” He nodded at his thugs, who stepped forward and seized Margaret from the bodyguard’s arms. Too busy trying to hang onto Margaret, he couldn’t get to his weapon before Karev’s three had their semiautomatics out of their waistbands and trained on the woman.

“Now, let me make this clear like crystal, yes?” Karev said. “We do shipment Tuesday as planned, and next one after that, and next one and you get the idea, no? You use this power you say you have to take care of attorney and keep cops out of my business. If no, I pump her full of lead and leave her on front lawn for world to see.”

“You can’t—”

“Of course I can. Look at it like this: You either have money, your regular cut—I even up commission on next delivery, it’s that valuable. Or you can have dead wife and people wondering what you do to get her killed by Russian gangster.”

Sean sure as hell hoped Krista was listening carefully, or better yet, that Ibarra was taping this, because Sean was too blown away by the surreal scene to take it all in.

“It was never my intention to cancel the shipment,” Maxwell bit out.

“Good, then we are on same page,” Karev said with a cold smile. “In the meantime, you get the cops off my ass. They are watching me like hawks.”

Maxwell shook his head. “You got yourself into that mess when you did the Salvatores. I told you it was a bad move. I did my part when I got the evidence dismissed.”

Beside him, Krista stifled a gasp.

“The cops have to look like they’re at least doing something,” Maxwell continued, “or the whole charade falls apart.”

Karev shrugged. “I’m not asking for opinion. Cops are cramping my style, and I don’t want to have to kill any for sniffing in my business. Makes complications. So you have power to get them to back off. Use it.”

Maxwell gave a begrudging nod, his expression like that of a dog who knows he’s been beaten by the alpha but wants nothing more than to tear out a throat or two.

Karev left, and sure enough, as soon as the door slammed behind him Maxwell turned on his wife. “You fucking idiot! What the fuck are you thinking, getting in the middle of this?”

To her credit, Margaret Grayson-Maxwell was no shrinking violet. “I’m the idiot? What about you, getting in bed with that, that ghoul!” She gave her head a violent shake. The hair didn’t budge.

“You sure as hell weren’t complaining when the money rolled in fast enough to cover up the fact that Carl’s father drained you dry.”

“You have to admit,” Carl chimed in, “the events of the past few months have left us exposed.”

“I told you he would only bring trouble. You should have left him to rot after he murdered that whore,” Margaret hissed. Through the haze of his mounting anxiety, Sean realized she was talking about Nate. “I always told you he was a bad seed and helping him was going to cost us.”

What was the connection with Nate? It had to be more than financial.

“Shut up.” David put his hands to his head as though he was trying to keep it from blowing apart. “Everything is under control, as long as we’re careful and don’t attract too much attention—”

“Under control?” Margaret raged. “Despite all of your influence, you haven’t even been able to eliminate the two people who could annihilate everything we’ve worked for!”

Krista felt like a grenade had gone off in her brain. She was right. It hadn’t ended with Nate, not by a long shot. Karev, David and Margaret Maxwell, even Margaret’s son Carl were in on it too.

Not just guilty by association, accidentally involved in some questionable financial transactions or even knowingly involved in something more white collar like money laundering. No, they were absolutely ass deep in all of it, their hands stained as darkly with blood as Nate’s had been.

And the blood they were gunning for now was theirs. How many times had she chatted with them over cocktails at some party she’d been forced to attend for work? Hell, she’d even shared her father’s dinner table with the Maxwells a time or two, back when she was in law school and her father had some harebrained idea about hooking her up with Carl.

And now that man was trying to kill her, to kill Sean. A tremor shook through her at the realization of how powerful their enemies truly were.

“We need to stay calm,” Carl stated, his tone soothing as he looked anxiously between David, whose face had gone past florid to purple with rage, and his mother, whose normally patrician, camera-ready features were twisted beyond recognition.

“That’s what you said when he died! You said we had nothing to worry about! But she found something, goddamn it—he left too many loose ends. They’re alive. They’re looking. They’re a threat. And if even a whisper of the truth comes out, if you think for a second you’re going to take me down with you—”

Maxwell moved so fast, grabbing Margaret around the throat and pinning her to the wall, Krista jerked and stifled a cry. Sean squeezed her hand in warning. She squeezed back, hanging on for dear life as she wondered if David Maxwell was going to murder his wife right before her eyes.

Horrible gagging sounds erupted from Margaret’s throat as she struggled, her feet kicking and her nails clawing at her husband’s hands. Carl leaped at his stepfather and tried to pull his arm off, but Maxwell threw him off like he was a pesky gnat.

Carl fell back and fumbled under his coat.

“No you don’t,” the bodyguard said. A
click
echoed through the room as he released the safety from the gun in his hand, now pointed at Carl’s face.

No question where the thug’s loyalties were.

David seemed oblivious as he screamed at his wife. “You will not interfere in any way, you understand? And if anyone is stupid enough to ask questions, you will keep your mouth shut about everything.” He let her go and she dropped to the floor, gasping for air, and then he whirled on Carl. “Get her the hell home and make sure she stays there.”

Though he was still glaring daggers at the bodyguard, Carl nodded. “How do you want me to follow up with Karev?”

“Meet with him tomorrow as planned and work out the details as usual. But I want extra security, at every level.” He turned to the bodyguard. “I want the systems in all facilities upgraded, and I’ll need men watching the trucking lot and this building until next week. And for fuck’s sake, find Slater and Flynn. We know they’re back in the city. I don’t care what you have to do, take care of them.” To Carl he said, “Get Karev to send some of his men. Make it sound like we need his help. It will make him feel better.”

Carl took Margaret by the arm and started toward the door. As soon as it closed behind them, Maxwell turned to the bodyguard. “Go get her.”

Her?

“You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll call one of the others—”

A sweep of his arm knocked the magazines and coasters from the low coffee table to the floor. “Has everyone suddenly gone deaf? Why the fuck is no one listening to me tonight? I have perfect, fucking control of the situation.”