Page 46 of Devil's Retribution
I glanced back at him. “Got some last words for me?”
His lips trembled. I could tell he was debating. I waited.
“F-fuck you!” he snapped defiantly.
I shrugged and stepped out, closing and locking the door behind me. I had considered taking him out to the desert, but unless we knew exactly what we were dealing with I couldn’t risk the lives of any of my men if something were to happen during transport. Better leave the bastard here. As the latch clunked, I heard him scream.
“No! Wait! You can’t just leave me like this!”
“The hell I can’t,” I growled as I walked away. I would let him stew for a while until our bomb guy could figure out how to disarm him safely. While allowing the man to suffer the same fate as his compatriot would be easier, I wanted him alive—I still hadn’t finished with my questioning.
I stepped around blood spatters as I made my way to the stairs, my mind racing with anger. If we had killed these two men on the dance floor, those bombs would have gone off in an open space with patrons around. Tolya would be dead. Several others would be dead or injured—possibly even me.
Not a test. A genuine assassination attempt wrapped in an insult. If that explosion hadn’t been contained in concrete and metal…
Fuck.
As I took the stairs up—wary of the elevator until we could get it inspected—I found myself thinking of Emma. Kind, brilliant Emma, so unaccustomed to a man’s touch that she trembled when her hand was held. The longing to be back at Graves’s penthouse, curled up on the couch with her, smelling her perfume, was almost overwhelming.
Soon, I promised myself. Meanwhile, I had work to do. Someone had just declared war on us, and if it was who I suspected, I had a lot of preparations to do. Igor had once been a close friend and ally. He knew far too much about my organization and habits. And besides Graves, he was the only one I knew with a grudge against me.
I pondered my options, perhaps I would lie low for a while. Leave it in question as to whether I was hurt or killed. And meanwhile, I would gather all the intelligence I could.
Igor or not, someone was going to pay for this insult.
Chapter 18
Emma
Nick was down for his afternoon nap when an idea hit me. Mail. Uncle Charles’s mail. I haven’t even checked it since we got back.
It was a long shot, but it was possible that somewhere in there would be a clue as to where my uncle was. I grabbed my keycard and stepped into a pair of sneakers, then hurried out to the elevator.
The rain had finally stopped, and the lobby was filled with sunlight. A few people crossed toward the doors or the main elevators as I entered, a concierge I didn’t recognize sat behind the counter. I walked over to her, my heart pounding a little.
The small, dark-skinned woman looked up at me and put on her best customer-service smile. “May I help you, ma’am?” she asked. Her voice had a hint of an accent, West African maybe.
“I’m Emma, Charles Graves’s niece. I’m staying here while he’s away. I forgot to check his mail. Has he gotten any deliveries?”
She looked thoughtful. “Let me check.”
She disappeared into the back and reemerged after a few minutes with a fat stack of mail and two packages. “We’ve been holding some of these for two weeks now. Do you know when he’s going to come back?”
“He’s currently in the hospital in a coma,” I said almost automatically. “So we’ll have to see.”
Her face fell in sympathy. “Oh. I understand. So you’ll be handling his affairs? I only ask because…” she hesitated. “Well, our paychecks are late.”
Crap. That bastard didn’t even set anything up for his staff before he ran for the hills. “Oh God. I had no idea he didn’t have anything set up with his staff. I’ll go deal with it today.”
She smiled with relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The next hour was filled with a flurry of phone calls, there was hotel management, my uncle’s accountant, and his bank to speak to. I got all his employees paid, and then sent messages to everyone in his employ, requesting interviews. His business had been dumped into my hands unexpectedly, and I had a lot more to do with his staff than ask questions for Viktor.
Finally, I was able to sit down and start opening that bundle of mail. I tossed the junk mail aside, sorted out the bills and correspondences, and then opened them one by one.
There were receipts for a large transfer of money to an offshore account in Barbados. My thoughtful frown turned into a scowl at the sight of it.
The bastard had socked away a lot of the money he’d stolen into a private account overseas. Money he’d stolen from me. Could I get it back? Clearly, if Viktor had his way and my uncle died, then everything would probably come to me anyway, unless his will stated otherwise. But despite his betrayal, that still didn’t sit well with me. I wanted my money and my parents’ inheritance, but I wanted it legally and without violence. I started going through the rest, eyes open for any further clues.