Page 78 of Ruthless Salvation

“I heard. I’m so sorry that my being in the city brought him here.”

“It’s not your fault he is who he is. You weren’t the one who raised him, and you didn’t force him to do bad things. That’s all on him.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s what I keep telling my therapist. I’m just passing along what she said.”

A small smile teased at my lips. “I suppose I’ll need one of those when this is all said and done, assuming I survive.”

“Don’t talk like that, Stormy.” Rowan gave me a squeeze. “You’ll be just fine. This isn’t the first time these guys have gone up against a scary bastard.”

“I hope you’re right,” I breathed shakily.

“Okay, hun. I’ll let you get some rest. Come get me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Ro.”

“Anytime, Storm. Us girls have to stick together.”

It was so true, and I’d never in my life been so grateful for a friend.

Present

The marina officeclosed at six, but I waited until after dark before breaking in. The wood doorframe of the waterfront building was rotted enough that a good shoulder was all it took to circumvent the lock.

The place was tiny. Real estate this close to the river came at a premium, and they obviously hadn’t wanted to consume any more than necessary. A bar height counter divided the room—one side for receiving customers, and the other was dedicated to a workstation for two employees. Each had a desktop computer that was password protected. I didn’t have time to screw with that, so I searched the office for anything else I could find that would tell me which damn boat belonged to Karpova.

I looked through all the desk drawers, then turned to the filing cabinets lining the back wall. What I’d hoped would be client dossiers ended up being utterly worthless historical financials and nautical maps. I poked through every nook and cranny of that place looking for information and came up empty.

Eventually, I sat back in one of the desk chairs and slowly spun, debating the merits of going boat to boat Girl Scout style, when I noticed a blinking light on the phone. They had a traditional multiline office phones, and the message light was on. Even better, a sticky note with a six-digit code peeked out from under the phone.

God bless stupid people.

I picked up the phone and hit the message button. The scribbled passcode worked. I listened to two messages about employee scheduling before I was given an option to listen to saved messages. The third message was from a man with a heavy Russian accent requesting a fueling service for the Karpova vessel in slip 14.

Bingo.

I’d had my share of bad luck in my life. It was goddamn time the tables turned.

A few minutes later, I boarded the large yacht, which appeared to be unoccupied. I systematically worked my way through the boat, using my phone as a flashlight in one hand and keeping my gun ready in the other. No one was getting the jump on me.

It wasn’t the biggest yacht I’d ever seen, but it was large enough that I needed to keep moving. I didn’t stall until I came across a lavish office. On the desk were documents written in Russian. Even better, I came across stationery embossed with a symbol that looked like it could be initials. I pulled up the Russian alphabet on my phone. The K was the same, but the D explained my uncertainty as the Russian equivalent looked substantially different from the English version. The symbol was the initials DK.

This had to be his boat.

The question was, what did I do now? I hadn’t had a specific plan when I arrived because I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here. After a thorough search of his personal space, I knew exactly what I would do.

I took a sheet of his expensive-ass stationery and wrote a short note. I put it and a rubber band in my pocket before heading back to my car for supplies. While I hadn’t known how the night would end, I had come prepared for multiple contingencies. Besides, it never hurt to have a little C4 on hand. You never knew when you might need it.

I grabbed my black duffel and walked calmly back to the boat, where I rigged the explosives in the engine room. A diesel machine like the yacht wouldn’t light up on its own. It wasn’t the same as shooting the gas tank in a car. This type of rig required something more sophisticated to bring it down, and C4 would do the job nicely.

Once I had everything as I wanted it, I stopped on the way out at the sign on the main pier walkway that advertised slip 14. I used the rubber band to secure my note to the wooden post.

She doesn’t want you anymore. Go home before you embarrass yourself. Torin Byrne

I waited until I was passing the office to trigger the explosives. The entire neighborhood shook, and light flared all around me.

It felt fucking incredible.