To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (49 page)

“They were not seen at the front. Someone opened the door.”

“Maybe Dmitriy took him to safety.”

“Call Sergei.”

“He won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter, he will tell us what to do.”

The two men rushed back toward the front of the mansion, their conversation fading as they moved deeper into the house. Trevor’s stomach cramped with anxiety. They needed to get out of there quickly. Mikhailov would not leave one stone unturned while searching the property. And once he figured out that his files were gone, Dmitriy and Trevor would be at the top of his shit list, bumping even Zarev, who currently reigned supreme.

That thought triggered a memory. Boris’s reaction to Zarev’s name during the interview. Was Boris playing both sides? Were the files he wanted for Zarev? Was he the catalyst to Zarev’s violent retaliation? All those questions spiraled in Trevor’s head. If Boris wanted possession of the information in Mikhailov’s documents so badly, why would he provoke an attack knowing Trevor was in the mansion trying to secure them for him? It didn’t make any sense. But then again, clashes between gangs were a common occurrence. Could this be a simple coincidence? Filing those uncertainties for later, Trevor herded the couple forward.

“How do we get up there?” Trevor pointed to the top of the solid stone wall.

Dmitriy’s eyes slanted to meet his look of concern and a smug smile curved his lips. “I spent part of my childhood here. I have used it many times to sneak to the ravine for boyish adventure.”

Dmitriy brought Tatiana’s hand to his lips for a kiss and jumped up on the stone bench. Using the knots on the rough tree bark and the faults in the old stone wall as makeshift steps, Dmitriy shimmied his way up, one foot at a time, until he reached the top. Swinging a leg over, he straddled the wall and gestured for Tatiana. “Come. You can do it.”

Tatiana followed his example while Trevor kept guard of the perimeter, each movement, each new pop making him jumpy. The sounds of the bloody confrontation taking place in the house were eerie to his ears—surreal, even.

As Tatiana got closer, Dmitriy extended a hand and helped her up to the top of the wall. He then swung his leg to the other side and initiated his descent.

Trevor slipped the gun back in the waistband of his pants and followed suit. They had made it look so easy. Thank the Irish gods Cassandra had whipped his ass into shape, or he would have fallen on his face. He cursed his need for an adrenaline rush. That one had become a whitewater rapids ride without the raft.

Midway to the top, he heard the sound of sprinting feet heading in their direction. Glancing up, he saw Tatiana’s skirt disappearing as she slipped out of sight, followed by a soft rustle of bushes and then silence.

Peeking from behind the tree, Trevor recognized Alexander, one of Mikhailov’s guards. He watched as the heavily armed man, breathing hard from the run, poked the bushes at the back of the house with the muzzle of his AK-47. Trevor drew and held a deep breath, motionless while visualizing Cassandra’s face, his promise to return to her in one piece a looping mantra in his head.

“Alexander! They went this way!” another voice shouted from somewhere out front. The guard’s head snapped up and he took off running. Sneaking another look from behind the tree, Trevor watched as he disappeared in the direction of the house.

Anticipating the man would be back, Trevor rushed his ascent, pulling himself up just as Dmitriy had done. Straddling the wall, he squinted into the wooded area for any sign of the couple on the other side. A sense of dread invaded him when he considered the possibility that they had bailed on him. A quick “Psst!” reached his ears, then another. Searching in the direction from where the sound originated, Trevor spotted Dmitriy’s head popping out from the bushes.

Dmitriy waved at Trevor, urging him down. “Come on!”

Scanning the backside of the wall, Trevor spotted the uneven stones he could use as foot holds. “Give me a second!” he called down in a low voice.

Supporting his weight on his hands, he swung his leg to the other side and, shoving his toe onto the first foothold, eased over the wall. Facing the house, he noticed movement in the yard and heard snarling dogs. The damn dogs were on the loose again. He hated those big dogs. They were too smart for their own good. It was just a matter of time before they picked up their scent. He glimpsed down for the next foothold.

“Halt!” a familiar voice yelled.

Startled, Trevor stared down into Sergei’s dead cold eyes. The henchman sneered just before he pulled the trigger. A grunt whooshed from Trevor’s chest when burning pain speared through his shoulder. He let go of the wall and crumbled to the ground, falling on a bed of soft springy moss. Blinding pain radiated from the left side of his body. “Fuck!” he cursed, rolling to his back. Perspiration beaded his brow as he cradled his drooping arm closer to him. Warm blood oozed from the wound and stained his shirt. A metallic tang coated his tongue, his ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton as his vision faded to black.

Running

C
ASSANDRA MOVED PURPOSEFULLY AROUND THE apartment, gathering the last items needed for her evasion. Returning to the makeshift desks, she shoved Trevor’s laptop into her pack and reached for her own. Just then, the equalizer on the screen blipped and a commotion filtered through the connection. Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed the handle of the pack, listening intently for more signs of Trevor. Cassandra knew she should disconnect all the equipment, pack, and leave, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Trevor’s urgent whisper came loud and clear through the speakers,
“We gotta be quick!”
Adrenaline coursed hot and fast in her blood as she overheard footsteps running and heavy gunfire in the background. What the hell was going on in there?

Soon after, she heard a second voice, which she recognized as Dmitriy’s, cry out,
“Where is she?”
And then he switched to Russian. A woman’s voice answered his call.

A frantic conversation took place between Dmitriy and the woman. Suddenly, Trevor’s firm tone sounded again and the woman stopped crying. Minutes later, following another brief dialogue in Russian, Cassandra heard Trevor call out,
“Go, go!”

She heard the thumping of running feet and heavy breathing. They were escaping, running. Cassandra knew she should do the same but her feet were fused to the floor. She had to know that he was safe. Once he was off the property, she would gather their things and leave as planned. Until then, she listened intently to their every move, waiting for another word from Trevor.

“How do we get up there?”
Her heart sank to her knees. Trevor hadn’t been lucky with heights of late. She braced herself for what would come next. Men’s voices speaking excitedly in Russian came across the signal and she heard Trevor’s sigh of relief when they faded in the distance.

“Come on!”
Dmitriy urged, an undertone of panic in his voice.

“Move it, Trev! Get the hell down from wherever you are! No more climbing for you, mister!” she grumbled, even though she knew he had no way of hearing her.

“Give me a second!”
She almost felt like he had responded directly to her. A small smile cracked on her lips. He would be out of there in a minute and she would be back in his arms in a few hours.

“Halt!”
She recognized that voice. Her stomach sank to her feet. She had heard that voice the day Trevor received his unwanted visit in the middle of the night. Sergei. Mikhailov’s henchman and resident psycho.

A loud pop rang out. “Trevor!” she cried when his grunt echoed in the room, followed by static. The connection had been severed.
That was a shot. I know it was.
He is not dead. He is not dead. Get moving, Cassie.

Sick to her stomach, hands shaking out of control, Cassandra put a wall around her heart and focused her thoughts. She forced a shutdown of her computer, shoved it in with Trevor’s, and slung the backpack over her shoulder. Grabbing her Grach, she checked the safety before stuffing it into the band of her jeans at the small of her back as she bolted through the room to the front door, where two duffel bags waited on the floor.

Cassandra scanned the hallway before she slipped out, locking the door behind her. With both bags in hand, she double-timed it down the stairs, spilled out on to the sidewalk, and hurried off in the direction of the Sennaya Metro Station. By her calculations, the whole trip to the safe house would take a couple of hours, barring any delays. At the most, she expected to arrive there around early evening.
Trevor better be there.

She weaved past businessmen and women, mothers and children, and the elderly going about their daily grind, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside her. Cassandra wanted to yell, scream, make them aware someone she cared deeply about, someone she loved, was in danger. But life went on untouched by the pandemonium buffeting them from all sides.

Cassandra’s heart hammered against her ribs as she reached the entrance of the metro. She made her way through the throng of people toward the turnstile. As the metal slot sucked the ticket from her fingers, she pushed her way through and mingled with the many passengers waiting on the platform. She glanced at the digital board and sighed heavily. She would be on the next train out of there.

*****

Trevor woke to an excruciating pain radiating from his shoulder. Hands tugged and pulled at his body and voices penetrated his consciousness. Voices he recognized—Dmitriy and Tatiana. He tried to move, but the pain was like a hot poker spearing through him. He sucked in air, fighting through the agony that would have dropped him to his knees had he not already been lying on the ground. Darkness threatened to overtake him once again, but he pushed through it.

“Lift him so I can wrap his arm,” Tatiana told Dmitriy; when he did, another burst of burning pain seared through his upper body as she wrapped what looked like strips of cloth from her skirt tightly around his chest and arm. Dmitriy covered Trevor’s mouth to muffle the cries that broke from his lips and were sure to give away their location.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Trevor’s head fell back against the ground.

“What the hell happened?” Dmitriy whispered.

Even drowning in pain, Trevor couldn’t prevent the amused chuckle that escaped his lips. “Damn. You sound like my wife…fucking Sergei happened.”

“Wife?” Dmitriy shot another accusing look at Trevor and shook his head. “Never mind. We don’t have time. We have to get out of here. What do we do now?”

“How bad is my arm? Did you check it while I was out?” Trevor asked in Russian, hoping one of them had had the presence of mind to take advantage of that natural anesthesia—unconsciousness.

“Yes. Tatiana checked.”

“I think the bullet went straight through. I cleaned the wound the best I could. It’s still bleeding, but not as bad as before. It will do for now. The arm doesn’t seem to be broken. You will need an x-ray to be sure.” Trevor raised an eyebrow at Tatiana’s impressive thoroughness and expertise.

She shrugged and said offhandedly, “Three younger brothers and living on a farm in the middle of nowhere makes you learn that kind of thing. They hunted a lot.” Trevor tried to smile at her, but could only manage a grimace.

“What do we do now?” Dmitriy asked again.

“We need to get out of here. I’ll need your help. I won’t get far on my own.”

They helped Trevor into a sitting position and gave him a second to catch his breath before draping his good arm over Dmitriy’s shoulders. Tatiana supported him by the waist as they eased him to his feet.

“Shite!” Trevor hissed. Pain blinded him, his hearing muffled, and he thought he would pass out again. “Give me a second.” Trevor squeezed his eyes shut and gulped big gasps of air until his head cleared and he could breathe again. “Okay, I’m good. Let’s go.”

Dimity shouldered Trevor’s weight and became his human crutch, leading them on an excruciating race against time. They all worried Sergei would catch up with them. It wouldn’t be pretty if he did.

The minutes it took to reach the edge of the park were the longest of Trevor’s life. When they reached the busy road, and before they continued on their way to the closest metro station, Dmitriy took off his sweater and covered Trevor’s shoulders with it to conceal the blood staining his shirt.

“Not that this will help much, but thank you,” Trevor grunted.

Dmitriy frowned. “What do you mean? At least it will cover the blood.”

“Yeah, but have you seen your face?” Trevor smirked. “We are a curious pair, bloodied and bruised. All courtesy of Sergei.”

When Dmitriy gripped Trevor’s arm again and draped it around his neck, Trevor groaned and stumbled against him.

“Steady, my friend. I’m sorry I moved too quickly.” Dmitriy’s tone was apologetic.