Page 43 of Devil's Retribution

Tonight. I’ll see him tonight.

And then what would happen? I knew what I wanted to, but what did he have planned?

There was only one way to find out…

Chapter 17

Viktor

Tolya had an Irish coffee waiting for me by the time I took a seat at my table in the club. I nodded thanks to him as he settled in across from me. “Any news?”

“Sofia’s back in town.”

I frowned. Sofia was Igor’s right hand, handling his money and intelligence ventures. She was as good with a computer as anyone on my payroll, and far more loyal to Igor than he deserved. “He’s called her back from Moscow. That’s not a good sign.”

“I know.” Tolya rubbed a meaty hand over his face. “More indication that he is planning something.” Stocking up on guns and money, trying to expand his area of influence, and now bringing Sofia back into town when he had plenty of interests in Russia for her to manage.

I hesitated. The need to find my brother’s killer was like a bodily craving—intense, impossible to ignore, and constantly nagging at me. But Tolya’s unspoken hint was right, I could not afford to let my other duties slide in its favor. Especially not with Igor and his men posing a growing, if nebulous, threat.

“Send him a meet invitation,” I instructed. “It is time that we had a chance to ask him firsthand what his aims are.”

“Do you think he’ll actually admit anything?”

I shook my head and took a swallow of my drink. “No. But his reaction to my questions will tell me a great deal.” I almost wished I could have brought Emma along for this meeting. She could probably read a great deal more than I could from things like his body language.

“By the way,” I went on, “Have you spoken with Alexei today?”

He shook his head. “Last I saw he was buried in all that data you gave him yesterday. Probably won’t be done for a while. That thumb drive alone has twenty years of financials on it.”

“I understand. I’ll check in with him later this afternoon.” I looked distractedly across the floor at two slightly Asian-looking men I hadn’t seen before. They had just walked into the club, and were looking around, as if looking for someone specific. “Who are those newcomers?”

“Not familiar.” He turned to look at them as they scanned the room. “Should I go talk to them?”

“Yes.” I considered. “That style of raincoat is Russian and I don’t like the way they’re scoping out the premises. I wonder if they came in on the same plane as Sofia.”

He gave a little grunt of acknowledgment and got up, lumbering over to our guests. I watched, unconcerned. The strangers had gone through a metal detector, just like everyone else. If they were planning to start something, their choice of weapons were very limited.

He spoke to one of them, the other man stepped closer, his body language tense. I frowned.

A second later, they lunged.

I was out of my seat in a flash, drawing my pistol from under my arm as I saw one grab at Tolya’s arms while the other lunged for his midsection with something dark and sharp-looking in his hands. I let out a yell as he stabbed Tolya in the belly of his white shirt.

I yelled as my men raced toward the pair as Tolya staggered backward. The one who’d stabbed him saw me and turned to run—only for Tolya’s massive fist to crash into the side of his head and send him sprawling. The second man drew another of those dark knives—and the gun bucked in my hand.

A red spray erupted from the man’s temple. He dropped the blade and collapsed to his knees, then fell over sideways, head still bleeding.

“Bastards!” I snarled as I raced over. “Tolya!”

I reached him as he was unbuttoning his now torn shirt. I didn’t see any blood.

Please let him have been wearing his stab-proof vest.

He was, and he was working the tip of the dark blade free of the fibers just as I skidded to a stop in front of him. My men were already holding the struggling would-be assassin by both arms and hauling him off to the holding cells in the basement. His friend they dragged away by the legs, leaving a dark red smear on the club floor.

“Damn it! You all right?”

He nodded, looking a touch pale and sweaty. “The vest held up.” He picked one of the knives off the floor, all black polymer, the blade still bearing bits of white lint from his shirt. “Clever bastards, but not clever enough. Who the hell were those guys?”