I raised my hands slowly. No sudden moves. Ivan flinched anyway, thrusting his Makarov at me. Grigoryev waved him off. “He’s clean,” he said.
Damn right. Spic and span. I’d already been frisked. “Just reaching for my wallet,” I said, tucking a hand in my breast pocket.
I pulled out my wallet, removing what I wanted to show him. A card. Of course, Grigoryev couldn’t read it from where I was standing. He motioned impatiently for me to bring it to him.
“Whatever you do, don’t drop your guard around this guy,” Elizabeth had warned me.
Right advice, Lizzie. But you warned the wrong guy.
I walked over, giving Grigoryev the card. That’s all it took. His eyes and trigger finger were now occupied, and in two seconds he was going to realize that he was looking at an expired coupon for a gym membership at Crunch Fitness.
But I didn’t need the whole two seconds.
All at once I threw one arm around his throat, yanking his body against mine as a shield while I reached for the semiautomatic pistol he had holstered underneath his suit jacket. I’d spied it when we first sat down to talk. Before Ivan even knew what was happening, he had the business end of a short-frame Glock 29 aimed at his chest while his boss blocked him from any chance of getting off a clean shot at me.
“Drop it,” I told Ivan.
I knew he wouldn’t, not right away. Not until he danced with the death-wish devil in his head. He glanced at Jade, trying to figure out how fast he could train his Makarov back on her. Not fast enough was the answer.
“Go ahead, be a hero,” I said. “You never know. I could always miss.”
It wasn’t quite reverse psychology. More like a reminder that I was a mere ten feet away from him. I wasn’t going to miss.
Ivan knelt and placed the Makarov on the floor. I told him to kick it forward, then toss the keys to the Range Rover.
“Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” asked Grigoryev, resigned to my choke hold. He was standing perfectly still.
“Hell no,” I said. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Off my nod, Jade scooped up the keys and the Makarov, and got behind me. But not before a parting swipe at Grigoryev.
“Mudak!” she yelled at him. Asshole.
“It’s a black Range Rover parked in front of the building,” I told her. “Start it up for us and get into the backseat. I’ll be trailing you by a minute.”
“Okay,” she said. Only she wasn’t moving.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You expect them just to stay here like idiots once you leave?”
“I’ll have a head start,” I assured her. “Wait. Where are you going?”
She wasn’t heading out the door. She instead disappeared down a hallway. Within seconds, she returned holding two pairs of handcuffs. I would’ve been more surprised were it not for her profession. Fittingly, the cuffs were lined with black velvet and had pink fur over the chains. Tools of the trade.
“Catch,” she said, tossing one pair to Ivan. She was smart enough not to try and put them on him, which was not to say he was going to do it himself. The cuffs hit smack against his chest and fell to the ground. His arms never moved.
“Seriously?” I said.
Ivan looked at his boss. Grigoryev’s neck had just enough space at the crook of my elbow for him to talk.
“Prosto sdelay eto,” he said, invoking the Nike slogan in Russian. Just do it.
Ivan put on the cuffs. As soon as he did, I turned the gun on Grigoryev, placing the barrel on the back of his head. “Your turn,” I said.
“That won’t be necessary. Leave. I won’t be coming after you,” he said. “Not today.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s another day.”
I removed my arm from his neck and gave him a push toward Ivan. “Wrong answer,” I said. “Put ’em on. Loop them around Ivan’s.”
I was fairly certain that making Grigoryev put handcuffs on himself was even worse than meddling in his business affairs. There’s not enough rubles in the world to repair a Russian man’s pride.
Sure enough. “You’re going to have to kill me before I do that,” he said.
I believed him. So did Jade. Without my saying a word she walked over to her suitcase, zipped it up, and made a beeline for the door. I fell in line right behind her, although never once turning my back. Out the apartment. Down the hallway. Down the stairs.
I didn’t kill Grigoryev. He didn’t come after me.
But tomorrow was another day.