Midnight Pursuits (24 page)

At just past ten o'clock that night, Orlov's driver parked the armored car inside the large, empty barn, while two armed soldiers quickly dragged the two halves of the massive wooden doors together and latched them. The old barn housed the entrance of a bunker, which had been dubbed the Crow's Nest back when the country was still part of the Soviet Union, a slave to Russia.

Constant war had necessitated the building of bunkers, and many connected via tunnels to the Moscow subway system. This one, however, stood isolated several miles south of the Russian border, and although most of the wartime bunkers had lain abandoned since the Cold War, Orlov maintained two: one in an official capacity, used by the ministry as an interrogation facility, and the Crow's Nest for his own personal use. Both bunkers were considered black sites, which meant they were lightly guarded and off the books in order to preserve a high level of secrecy. The Crow's Nest was small in comparison to other Soviet bunkers. It had been used primarily for storage purposes and offered only one point of entry, located in this nondescript barn.

Orlov got out of the car, his excitement rising as he thought of what awaited him in the bowels of the facility. Kirill had reported that the man still refused to talk, but Orlov knew that would change. Not many men stayed quiet during a visit to the Crow's Nest.

Unfortunately, before he reached the steel doors situated in the floor, his government cell phone rang.

Suppressing his exasperation, Orlov stalked a short distance away from the two guards. He'd planned on giving Karin a report after he met with his captive, but he supposed he might as well get the conversation over with now.

“Mr. Prime Minister, I was just about to call you,” he said into the phone.

“Did you find my daughter?”

“I'm afraid the answer to that is no. But I do have some good news.” He paused. “As well as some bad news.”

“What is the bad news?”

“Durov's men, working in tandem with a military unit I assigned, discovered the site where your daughter was being held. Her captors, however, managed to escape during the raid. Sadly, the body of Erik Baronova's wife was found on the premises. Our men believe she was shot during an escape attempt.”

“I see. And my daughter?”

“That's the good news. She wasn't on the premises.”

“How is that good news?” Karin demanded angrily.

“Would you have preferred we find her corpse?”

Silence.

Then the prime minister spoke up wearily. “What do you know about the people who took her?”

“We've received confirmation that this is the work of the PRF,” Orlov lied.

As expected, Karin was absolutely livid. “Those goddamn terrorists abducted my daughter? Why?”

“Probably for the same reason they orchestrated the car bombings earlier in the year, and the same reason they murdered Oleg Harkov's daughter last week. They are seeking vengeance on the government.”

“But Anastacia is still alive.” Karin sounded desperate now. “Do you think they will demand a ransom?”

“Perhaps.” He pretended to hesitate, all the while hiding a smile. “But we both know the PRF has never been receptive to our negotiation efforts. You and President Belikov might not believe in violence, but I'm afraid the rebels do.”

“I don't give a damn what you have to do to get her back! Kill every last one of them for all I care,” Karin snapped. “Just find my daughter!”

The angry click in his ear only caused his smile to widen. Karin was panicking. Good.

As he slipped the phone into his pocket, he suddenly thought of his son. Of how proud he'd been when the doctors placed the red-faced infant in his arms all those years ago. He'd had so many plans for Sergei. His son was supposed to follow in his footsteps, perhaps even rule the country one day.

But Sergei was gone now. His heir, his legacy, gone. All because people like Leo Karin were too scared to get a little blood on their hands.

Once Karin's daughter was eliminated, Orlov's thirst for vengeance would finally be sated. He'd be able to bask in the satisfaction of knowing that the men he'd once considered friends were suffering as greatly as he had.

His thirst for power, however . . . that would not be quenched until he got the prime minister firmly on his side. For that to happen, Karin needed to be presented with his daughter's corpse, to believe that the rebels were to blame and to agree that action must be taken. But first, Orlov had to locate the girl, and immediately.

Perhaps his hostage could shed light on the girl's whereabouts . . .

Setting his jaw, he crossed the barn and gestured to the two guards. “Open the door. I must pay a visit to our prisoner.”

•   •   •

Ethan was woozy as hell, his head spinning like a carousel as he gave his surroundings another thorough examination. He'd been out cold when Orlov's men brought him here, so he didn't know what the exterior of his prison looked like, but judging by the concrete walls, steel door, and dampness of the air, he suspected he was underground. Maybe a bunker or trench, though the former seemed likelier. Probably one of the black sites Alexei Mironov had told them about during their meeting.

The small room was empty save for the chair he was tied to and the large, industrial lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. His wrists had been secured to the back of the chair with barbed wire. Barbed fucking wire, which left bleeding gashes in his flesh whenever he flexed his hands. Christ, he was going to need a damn tetanus shot after this.

At least the wound in his leg had finally stopped bleeding. The dried blood caked to his calf made his skin itch, but his feet were tied to the metal legs of the chair—also with barbed wire—so scratching away the itch was impossible.

Son of a bitch. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to get captured by these bastards. Juliet had been right. He should've left Alisa Baronova behind, but he'd chosen compassion over cruelty, and now he was paying the price for it.

His back still ached from the two shots to his vest; he could feel his skin slowly turning purple from the bruises. And to make matters worse, after Orlov's thug had knocked him unconscious from behind, the man had rid Ethan not only of his weapons, but his tactical watch, which featured a nifty little SOS button Ethan could've triggered to broadcast his location to his team.

But he was on his own now. Off the map and at the mercy of a crazy politician who wasn't above using torture to glean information.

Wonderful.

No sooner had the thought entered his mind than he heard the scraping of a lock. A second later, the heavy door swung open with a creak and two men strode inside. The blond and bulky one with the vacant expression was unfamiliar to him.

The second was none other than Orlov himself. Ethan recognized him from pictures and press conferences, neither of which did justice to the man's good looks. Orlov was tall and fit, boasting black hair with distinguished streaks of gray, sharp bone structure, and dark, intelligent eyes. He wore a tailored gray suit and shiny black loafers, and looked completely out of place in the musty space.

“Hello,” Orlov said in Russian, the pleasant smile on his face belied by the predatory gleam in his eyes. “I see you're awake.”

Ethan didn't answer.

“You've already met my associate Kirill,” Orlov went on, “but we have yet to be introduced. My name is Dmitry Orlov, but I'm sure you already know that. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

Ethan's lack of response triggered the man's irritation.

“Kirill informed me you're not willing to talk. I see he wasn't exaggerating.” Orlov turned to his soldier. “Cut his shirt off.”

Without a word, the man named Kirill extracted a deadly steel blade from his hip and approached their hostage. He bent down and placed the tip of the eight-inch knife on Ethan's collarbone.

Ethan didn't even flinch as the man sliced his sweater from the collar right down to the hem. Kirill proceeded to make two more cuts, one on each sleeve, before putting the knife away and ripping the scraps of fabric off Ethan's torso in one effortless motion.

The cool air brushed his naked chest, but he didn't allow any emotion to show on his face. He kept his gaze on Orlov, whose dark eyes had immediately zeroed in on the tattoo gracing Ethan's left biceps.

“United States Marine Corps,” Orlov mused. “So you're American. Interesting.”

He still said nothing.

His captor promptly switched to English. “Active duty?”

Silence.

“No, I don't think so. You're not here on a government-sanctioned operation. America has no reason to interfere. No, this must be personal.”

“Mercenary,” Orlov's stone-faced goon grunted out.

Orlov nodded. “I think so too.” His lips pursed as he studied Ethan's face. “So, are you the one who killed my wolf?”

Silence.

“Why were you protecting Grechko's targets?”

Silence.

Ethan didn't miss the annoyance in the other man's eyes. “I'm going to be honest, Mr. Marine. I find this entire situation quite vexing and inconvenient. I'm the kind of man who doesn't like delays, especially in regards to plans I've set in motion. But your meddling has done just that—delayed me. This makes me very unhappy.”

Silence.

“Where is the Karin girl?” Orlov demanded. “I assume your people have taken her to another safe house. Tell me where it is.”

Ethan's jaw tensed at the mention of Anastacia.

Orlov, proving to be acutely observant, didn't miss the reaction. “Judging by that response, I suspect you're fond of the girl. Perhaps you'd like me to describe to you in detail how I'm going to kill her.”

Anger jolted through him. He hadn't planned on saying a word, but he couldn't help himself now. He wasn't worried about revealing anything Orlov would ever be able to use, but he did feel the need to point out the obvious.

“Killing her won't bring back your dead son, Orlov.” Ethan's voice came out hoarse.

“Ah, so he speaks! And no, the girl's death won't bring back my Sergei—I'm not an imbecile. But it will cause her father great pain, which in turn will bring me great joy. Karin and my so-called allies deserve to be punished for their ignorance. They need to experience firsthand the pain and suffering that comes from inaction.”

Ethan raised a tired brow. “If you're trying to punish them, then why blame the deaths of their loved ones on the rebels?”

A humorless chuckle slipped out of Orlov's mouth. “I might be a grieving father, but I'm also a politician. Do you truly think I would allow my son to have died in vain? No, I plan to use his death to take down that fool Belikov.”

“So that's the big plan? You're angling for the presidency?” Ethan had to roll his eyes. “Wouldn't it just be easier to assassinate Belikov?”

Orlov's jaw stiffened at his mocking tone. “A quick death at the hands of a faceless assassin is too good for that bastard. He deserves to suffer, as I have suffered, as my son suffered. He will lose his family, his job, his livelihood, and when he has nothing left, he will know who to thank for it. Belikov will pay for what he's done, as will the rebels who killed my Sergei. This government's weak policies have given the rebels too much power, but I intend to change that. When my colleagues realize the threat these maniacs pose to our country, they'll join with me to remove Belikov from office. I'll use their anger over their losses to crush the rebel movement once and for all. And then, my dear boy, I will have not only my vengeance, but my coup.”

An incredulous laugh slipped out. “So you're too impatient to wait the three years until the next election—is that right? You're scaring your colleagues into doing what—calling an emergency election? A no-confidence vote?”

Orlov's nostrils flared. “You mock me.”

“And you're boring me.” Ethan feigned a yawn. “Might be time for me to take a little nap.”

“I see. You're determined to be difficult.” Orlov sounded extremely displeased. “I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way, then.”

Ethan's gaze shifted to Kirill, who'd taken a menacing step forward.

“In case you're curious about my friend,” Orlov said in a genial tone, “maybe it would be prudent of me to enlighten you about his background. You see, Kirill was once a member of the KGB. You are aware of the KGB, right? You Americans always mention the organization in your silly television shows.”

Silence.

“Kirill learned quite a lot during his time with the KGB. Many delightful techniques designed to turn an unwilling man into a very willing one.” Orlov cocked his head. “Perhaps knowing this has changed your mind about answering our questions?”

Silence.

“Hmmm. Apparently it hasn't.”

Kirill took another step.

Ethan didn't move or react, but a dose of adrenaline had entered his bloodstream. Fuck. This wasn't going to be fun.

Orlov smiled. “I can guarantee that by the time Kirill is finished with you, you'll be begging to talk.”

Silence.

“All right, Mr. Marine. Shall we get started?”

The moment Morgan hung up the phone, D knew that something was wrong. The boss had uttered only three words during the call with Sullivan—
fuck
and
got it
—and those three words were enough for D to figure out there was a serious clusterfuck in progress.

“What's going on?” he demanded.

Morgan's blue eyes flickered with atypical distress. “The rookie got himself captured—that's what's going on.”

D cursed. “How the hell did that happen?”

As Morgan filled them in on everything that had gone down in Belarus, D noticed that Noelle's face revealed not even a sliver of emotion. She simply sat at their café table, one lethal hand gripping the handle of her coffee cup, the other periodically lifting a cigarette to her red lips.

At a neighboring table, Yuri Kozlov and his girlfriend were laughing over espressos, oblivious to the presence of their watchdogs. But D didn't give a shit about Kozlov at the moment. He was too focused on Morgan's grave report.

“Shit,” he said when the boss finished. “I guess we're heading over there to save his ass?”

“Yup. Kozlov is no longer a priority.” Morgan shot Noelle a dark look. “By the way, I'm laying the blame solely at your door for this.”

She arched a delicate blond eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“My man wouldn't have gotten tangled up in this shit if your girl hadn't dragged him into it.”

“Your rookie is a grown man.” She paused. “Kind of. He
is
young, after all. Maybe you should have kept a tighter leash on him.”

“Fuck you,” Morgan said in an uncharacteristic burst of anger. “Maybe
you
should teach your operatives not to go off on ridiculous vendettas every five fucking minutes.”

Noelle just took another sip and watched Morgan over the rim of her cup.

D attempted to defuse the tension in the air by asking, “When does the rest of the team get there?”

“They're en route. Should arrive by early morning.” Morgan still didn't tear his harsh gaze off Noelle, even while addressing his soldier. “I'll make arrangements for a charter.”

The boss pushed back his chair and stalked off the patio, allowing them a rare moment of privacy. Ever since Morgan's arrival, he'd seemed to be going out of his way to ensure that D and Noelle were never alone. As a result, D hadn't fucked the blonde since his boss showed up.

Normally D didn't give a shit about other people's pesky feelings. But he had a troubling suspicion that Morgan didn't want him to sleep with Noelle, despite his claim that he didn't give a shit what—or who—D did in his spare time.

“Should we try to squeeze in a quickie, or have you officially signed over control of your sex life to Jim?”

Noelle's dry remark didn't surprise him. She'd mocked him about it often since Morgan had joined them and, just like all the other times, he didn't take the bait.

“You need to stop antagonizing him,” D said roughly. “He's protective of the rookie. Has a soft spot for the kid.”

“Aw, you want me to go easy on him?” Her glacier blue eyes hardened. “Trust me, honey, he deserves everything I give him. That man is poison.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, and so are you. We're all poison, aren't we?”

“Ethan isn't. The kid's got a good heart.”

Jesus. D couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

Neither could Noelle, apparently, because she started to laugh. “Is this an episode of
The Twilight Zone
? Who are you, and where's the detached asshole who never looks me in the eye when we fuck?”

He didn't respond to that either. “Whatever the bullshit between you and Morgan, you're gonna need to put it on the back burner. If your baggage gets in the way and Ethan gets killed? I'll break your neck.”

She just laughed again. “Looks like Jim isn't the only one who's protective of the kid.” Rolling her eyes, she took one last sip of coffee before gracefully rising to her feet. “Come on, honey. Let's go rescue your rookie.”

•   •   •

The rest of Morgan's A-Team arrived at the new safe house just after dawn, bursting onto the scene with a startling amount of energy. Abby Sinclair strode inside first, her red hair streaming out from beneath a black beret that made Juliet smile for the first time since Ethan's capture.

She greeted her former colleague with a quick hug. “Nice hat.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Abby asked with a rare grin.

“Yep.”

Abby's husband, Kane Woodland, walked through the door next, raking a hand over his sandy blond head to rid it of the snowflakes clinging to his hair. He was tailed by Luke Dubois, a dark-haired man with laughing brown eyes.

The men greeted their fellow soldiers with some fist bumps and side hugs, then glanced at Juliet with visible curiosity.

“So you're the thief,” Luke said slowly.

“Among other things,” she replied.

As Abby quickly made the introductions, the male newcomers continued to eye Juliet, for so long she found herself feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Why are you staring?” she asked, point-blank.

After a beat, Luke flashed a cocky grin. “Just trying to make sense of it. I'll be honest—you don't strike me as the rookie's type.”

She shifted uneasily. Jesus. Had Ethan spoken to his teammates about her? Did grown men actually sit around and gossip about their love lives? Because she'd figured that only occurred in girly romantic dramas on network television.

But no, apparently men
did
kiss and tell, because Kane spoke up next, a wry gleam in his green eyes. “Nah, she's exactly his type,” he told Luke. “I got Ethan drunk once and he admitted to having a thing for dangerous women.”

Okay, this was getting super uncomfortable.

Juliet frowned and gave each of them a cool look. “Did you come here to discuss your teammate's sex life or to rescue his ass before Dmitry Orlov kills him?”

“Both,” they said in unison.

Abby rolled her eyes and touched Juliet's arm. “Ignore them. Kane's a nosy bastard, and Luke just has women on the brain because he misses his girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” Luke corrected.

Abby shrugged. “I'm still holding out hope that Olivia sees the error of her ways and dumps your cocky Cajun ass.”

Luke smirked. “Never.”

“Come on, let's go out back,” Liam said from the kitchen doorway. “I just brewed some coffee.”

As the group trudged forward, Juliet glanced at Sullivan. “Is Stacie still asleep?”

He nodded.

“I'll introduce you to her in a bit,” she told Abby. “You'll like her. She's a sweet kid. Tough as nails too.”

They walked through the kitchen toward the screened- in porch, which was also fully heated. This latest safe house was definitely a step up from the last one, but Juliet hadn't been able to enjoy a second of it. She'd contacted Alexei Mironov last night, but the PRF leader still hadn't called her back, and every source she'd tapped yesterday had diddly-squat when it came to where Dmitry Orlov might have taken Ethan.

Mironov was their only chance, and it pissed her off beyond belief that the man wasn't returning her calls. But enough was enough. As of this moment, Mironov had one more hour to get back to her, and if he didn't meet the deadline she was storming that shit-hole bar of his and burning it to the ground.

Abby and the men took off their coats, scarves, and gloves as they stepped onto the porch. Liam had brought out a coffeepot and a stack of mugs, and nobody said a word until the coffee was served and they were all seated around the large, rectangular table.

“So, what do we know?” Luke asked.

“Nothing,” Sullivan said flatly. “We know bloody nothing.”

“I read Orlov's dossier on the plane,” Abby spoke up. “It said his counterterrorist unit likes to arrest suspected terrorists and interrogate them in undisclosed locations. Any idea where these sites are?”

Juliet shook her head in frustration. “No, but when Ethan and I went to see Alexei Mironov, he mentioned that several of his men had been taken to, quote unquote, black sites. They're hush-hush interrogation facilities, completely off the official books.”

“And Mironov knows where they are?” Kane said sharply.

“He claims he does, but the son of a bitch isn't calling me back. Which means it might be time for Plan B.”

Everyone at the table narrowed their eyes.

“What's Plan B?” Liam said warily.

“I contact Orlov and confess to being the mastermind behind this whole thing. And then I offer him a trade.” She swallowed. “Me for Ethan.”

There was a brief silence, followed by a series of explosions Juliet hadn't expected.

“Are you crazy?” Abby demanded.

“No fucking way,” Liam snapped.

“Ain't gonna happen, love,” Sullivan piped up.

“There won't actually be a trade,” she argued. “I
know
he won't let Ethan go. But Orlov is undoubtedly furious that someone killed his hit man and interfered with his crazy revenge plans. He's going to want to punish whoever's behind it. If I confess to torturing Grechko and taking Anastacia, and then dangle myself in front of him as bait, he might agree to a meeting. At which point I'll kill him.”

Abby glared at her. “We're not using you as bait.”

“No way,” Sullivan said firmly.

Juliet had a tough time containing her surprise. She stared at the Australian for a moment, bewildered by the resolve in his gray eyes.

“I get why Abby is against this,” she told him. “But why the hell are you? You know the idea has merit.”

“Yeah, it has merit. But there's no bloody way I'm letting you do it.”

“Not even if it means saving your man?”

Sullivan snorted. “Saving him? If we send you out in the open to meet with Orlov and something happens to you, Ethan would be fucking destroyed.”

“He'd never forgive us for it,” Liam agreed.

She frowned. “That's an exaggeration and you know it.”

“No way, darling,” Liam retorted. “The rookie would never let anyone sacrifice themselves for him. Not you, not me, not anyone.”

“Liam's right,” Abby said firmly. “Ethan wouldn't want this.”

“Well, Ethan's not here right now!” she burst out. “He's not here, is he? And if we don't do something, Orlov is going to kill him, damn it!”

Desperation and panic flooded her body, blurring her vision and causing her hands to tremble. Suddenly a hundred gruesome images swarmed her brain like a hornet attack, each one more spine-chilling than the last, each one featuring Ethan at the grisly mercy of Dmitry Orlov.

“We don't know what they're doing to him,” she choked out, unable to keep the anguish out of her voice. “Ethan's strong, but even the strongest men can die during interrogation. He could
die
.” Horror burned her throat. “We don't know what they're
doing
to him!”

Another silence crashed over the table, this one heavy with unease.

Finally, Abby stood up with a sigh. “Juliet, a word?”

Breathing through the waves of panic, she followed the other woman inside. After the door had shut behind them, Abby went over to the counter, leaned against it, and offered a thoughtful look.

“What the hell is going on, Juliet?”

She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, since when do you offer to put your life on the line for someone else? Especially for someone you don't even know.”

“What exactly are you implying, Abby?” She didn't mean to sound so defensive, but something about Abby's tone had raised her hackles.

“Relax, Jules. I just mean . . . you're offering to use yourself to draw Orlov out, and yet . . . Well, you hardly know Ethan, so why—”

“I don't know him?” Her spine stiffened. “I don't
know
him? Bull-fucking-shit. I know him better than you!”

Anger boiled in her belly, spilling over so fast and so suddenly that Juliet's entire body began to tremble.

“I know everything about that man! I know that he's not as weak and helpless as you all seem to think. I know that he'd lay down his life for any one of you. I know that the reason he got captured was because he cared enough to try to save a woman who certainly didn't deserve it. I know that he's kind and sweet and at the same time deadly as hell. I know that he's got a bossy alpha side that he never lets anyone see. I know that he has this dry sense of humor that he rarely ever shows. I know—”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” Abby's distinctive honey yellow eyes were full of disbelief. “You're in love with him.”

“Wait. What?” she stammered.

“You're in love with him,” Abby repeated, sounding slightly amazed. “Why didn't you just say that from the start?”

“I'm not in love with him,” Juliet blurted out.

“Bullshit.”

“I was just pointing out that . . .” She trailed off, not even sure why she'd gone on that tangent in the first place.

Misery lodged in her throat as Ethan's face came to her mind. His deep hazel eyes. His strong jaw. His lips, so firm and yet so damn soft.

God, who knew what that sadistic bastard Orlov was doing to him right now?

He could be dead for all she knew.

The agony that ripped into her was the most unexpected thing of all. She'd never intended to have a future with the guy, but the notion of him being permanently erased from her life brought an acute pain to her heart.

“Jules?”

She met her friend's eyes. “It's my fault they took him.”

“Oh, come on, that's not true.”

Strands of guilt wrapped around her, making her hands shake. “If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have come to Belarus. He wouldn't have stayed to help me get revenge on Orlov. And he wouldn't be at that bastard's mercy right now.”