Page 38 of Devil's Retribution

“And who’s keeping an eye on him, now that you’re focusing on this?” I asked.

“Yevgeny, my second.” He saw the concerned look on my face and added “He’s always been reliable.”

“Don’t worry, Alexei, I’m not questioning your choice. Igor may have help in covering his ass.” I tapped a finger against my lips. “This does not smell right.”

“I agree.” He pulled off into a parking lot and we sat in a space with the rain starting to tap on the roof again. “I need to have a conversation with Yevgeny. If we cannot locate Igor, I want to know what his men are doing.”

“Understood.” He licked his lips nervously. “What about the doctor and her son?”

“Things have changed quickly.” I gave him the basics, running through what we had found out about Charles thus far. “She has learned some unpleasant things about her uncle that have made her much more sympathetic toward our cause. But it is a process. Part of the reason I am bringing you in on this, is that I want to vet how much we tell her about what we find.”

His eyebrows went up. “Any particular reason?”

“Charles is… he has shown his tendency to use assassins to handle his problems before. When Emma’s parents died in their car crash, he was already poised to make a play for their entire estate. Almost like he knew that accident was going to happen.”

Alexei paled. “You don’t think?”

“I do,” I said flatly. “I do, and I think that such knowledge will be shattering for her. But also necessary for her to learn. I simply wish for the chance to choose the time and place.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Now drop me off at the garage. I have some visits to make before my charges wake up.”

***

I got back within two hours and the doorman let me in with a nod. I didn’t waste any time going upstairs to check on Emma.

Yevgeny had been drunk when I had found him, taking full advantage of an evening off that I hadn’t recalled Alexei or I giving him. By itself, it wouldn’t have bothered me as much. But when he had failed to locate Igor no matter what he tried, drunk on duty wasn’t forgivable.

My knuckles were a bit bruised now, and my arm tired from holding him up against a wall while I had smacked the drunkenness and laziness out of him. He had blubbered and begged. but in the end, he had gotten the message, and I had gotten a basic rundown on Igor’s men’s activities.

Stockpiling money, stockpiling weapons. Selling drugs outside of Santa Monica. Pushing his luck with me in the middle of my club. Igor was preparing for moving against us in some way, and he was ridiculously confident that he would succeed.

Why such confidence? I wondered as I rode the elevator up with Emma’s keycard two-fingered in my hand. He must have a pretty big ace in the hole to be acting this way. And then there was Yevgeny’s total inability to locate him.

Concerning.

I walked out of the elevator, swiped my way into the penthouse—and froze. My brows knitted together, I could immediately sense that something was wrong.

Did they wake up and flee after all?

No. Emma’s shoes and Nick’s rain boots were still by the door. But then why were the hairs on the back of my neck prickling?

I reached under my coat and drew out one of my pistols, eyes narrowing. I stepped out of my shoes and moved silently across the main room, swiveling my head for evidence of anything out of place. Everything was as I had left it two hours ago.

I glanced around. Time to check all the rooms.

Nick was sleeping soundly in his room, still in the grip of his food coma. I smiled and shut the door—and then heard a whimper coming from the master bedroom.

My eyes widened and I was down the hall in a flash, opening her door as quietly as I could. My head was full of enemies, of possibilities. But what I got when I opened the door was an eyeful of Emma squirming on the bed, eyes closed with sleep.

I blinked and pulled the door closed behind me, holstering my weapon and moving to her side. Nightmare?

She thrashed softly under the sheet, rain-streaked streetlight splashing across her curving silhouette, lips parted, her whole body trembled. The strain on her face told me she should have awakened by now, screaming or not. The low, sobbing moan that escaped her turned me on and worried me at the same time.

“Emma.” I called to her softly but urgently, reaching for her shoulder to give her a shake. But just as my hand touched her, she opened her eyes with a gasp.

She blinked up at me, a feverish look on her face from the dream that was slowly replaced by confusion.