19

WITH the golden domes soaring into the sky, the hotel was considered one of the treasures of St. Petersburg. It was built in the time of masters of architecture, the building a work of art, carefully preserved and modernized. It was clearly undergoing another renovation, but Lissa was surprised it was being done with the utmost care. She had expected the Sorbacovs—both father and son—to be wrecking balls, crude, rude men who stepped on others to get what they wanted.

Neither man appeared to be in the least like that. Both were charming, elegant and very charismatic. She could see how Uri could easily finesse his way to the presidency. Both were dressed in suits and came immediately to meet her, not making her wait even five minutes. Both bowed over her hand. Uri looked her over, his gaze as surprised as hers.

“Your pictures don’t do you justice, my dear,” he said in perfect English. “I thought you attractive, but you’re stunning.”

She smiled up at him and allowed him to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. “Thank you.”

“Have you eaten? We thought it would be good to take a tour of the hotel first and while we talk business, we have a little something prepared if you’re hungry.”

“I will confess I took a nap and skipped eating, so that would be lovely, thank you.” She flashed a smile toward the older Sorbacov, studying him under her lashes. He was handsome, not quite as good-looking as his son, but certainly handsome. No scars. Not a single one. Every single Prakenskii brother had scars. Sorbacov had been instrumental in putting those scars on them when they were just boys. He didn’t look like a monster. In fact, he looked like the furthest thing from a monster she could imagine—but then, to her, Luigi hadn’t looked like a monster either.

The two men walked her around the lobby, a huge room with very high ceilings and astonishing details along the walls. Little alcoves were carved into the walls where old-fashioned sconces were nestled, adding to the ambiance of the room.

She indicated them. “Those are beautiful. Whatever you get for overhead lighting, or dramatic effect, you will definitely want your chandeliers to incorporate those colors and the designs of the wall sconces. No one has anything like that anymore.” She didn’t have to pretend enthusiasm or admiration. She loved the sconces. They were from another era and yet fit perfectly into the modern world.

Uri and Kostya both studied the sconces as if seeing them for the first time. “I hadn’t thought of that,” Kostya said. “But now that you mention it, they really do stand out.”

“It’s more than that,” Lissa said, excitement entering her voice. “Look at the colors. The outside domes are gold. The domes on the sconces match perfectly. They have that thin stripe of orange . . .” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I get carried away when I see beautiful glass pieces like that. You have no idea how difficult it is to replicate something that gorgeous.” She looked around the huge room. “They’re worth a fortune.”

Uri patted her hand. “It’s a pleasure viewing our hotel through your eyes. What would you suggest for a chandelier? You must have ideas now that you’ve seen the room.”

She nodded. “I can’t help having ideas when I see a place I would love to work with. This hotel is really extraordinary. The outside as well as the inside. I’d want to incorporate the colors of the sconces for certain. Make that your signature brand. Blend old-world elegance—and Russia has beautiful examples of that—with modern times. In other words, the rooms where guests stay have all the modern amenities, but your décor gives your guests a taste of the beauty of your country, its architecture and artistry.”

The two men looked at each other and smiled, as if delighted by her opinions. “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Kostya said. “We’ve had a few arguments about modern versus old-fashioned, and I think you settled it and we both won.”

“Not old-fashioned,” Lissa corrected, frowning at Uri, guessing he was all for modernizing every aspect of the hotel. “Old-world elegance is never old-fashioned. Russia is famous for its crystal chandeliers. If I were going to incorporate both the modern and the old world, I’d do it with my lighting as well. You don’t have to sacrifice one for the other.”

Uri threw back his head and laughed. The sound was pleasing. Again she was struck by how different the men appeared from what they actually were. “We should have invited you months ago. We’ve paid the designers a fortune and haven’t liked a single idea they’ve come up with to brand this place and you do it in five minutes.”

“I’m a redhead, Mr. Sorbacov, that means I’m opinionated and don’t hesitate, even when I should, to give it.”

“I’m Uri, not Mr. Sorbacov,” he corrected. “My father is Mr. Sorbacov.”

“Not to Lissa. I will call you Lissa, my dear, and you must call me Kostya,” Kostya said. “I’m an old man and should be able to do as I like.”

“I don’t think you can be very old, Kostya,” Lissa said.

“Don’t encourage him,” Uri scolded, tugging on her hand to lead her across the lobby toward a door. “He’s a terrible flirt. Tell us about yourself. Are you married? Do you have children? Where do you live?”

She was very grateful for all the years of training. She kept her smile in place and didn’t so much as blink. The cat-and-mouse game had officially begun. “Not married. I guess I didn’t have time. I was too busy trying to establish myself as a serious artist to date, so no children either. I live in a very small village called Sea Haven on the northern California coast. It’s beautiful there and very inspiring. Quite a few artists make it home, so the town has kind of an artsy feel to it.” She tipped her head back to look directly into Uri’s eyes. “What about you? Same questions.”

The two men walked her through the main lobby and down a wide hall. She was immediately conscious of the fact that the sound of the workmen’s voices faded away and there weren’t any people around. She was alone with the Sorbacovs, and of course they had known she was from Sea Haven. Not only had it said so in the magazine article she’d been written up in, but it was on her business card and website as well. They might not know about the other Prakenskii brothers residing there, but they would know Ilya made his home in Sea Haven and so had Gavriil.

Lissa reminded herself she was prepared for this. She knew they contacted her because of the article they’d read. The Sorbacovs had contacted her, not the other way around. She’d sent them designs, just as she did every other potential client. When they had arranged for her to come out to discuss chandeliers for their hotel, she had been very forthcoming about her itinerary, the fact that she had several appointments in various countries. She had given them a list of dates and they had chosen this one.

“Not married, no children,” Uri said. He threw his father a quick smile. “My father is not happy that I haven’t done right by him. Like you, I’ve been busy establishing my career, although he has reminded me enough that time is slipping by.”

“You’re lucky your father is alive to remind you,” she pointed out softly, including Kostya in her gentle smile. “I lost both my parents some years ago. It’s nice to have family.” She glanced up toward the ceiling. “This hotel is extraordinary. I especially love the high, cathedral ceilings. I’m always looking at them in order to see what kind of lighting would work best.”

There was a construction crew working on the hotel, but the hotel itself had been closed while the renovations were taking place—unusual in that a hotel of that size couldn’t lose money every day. Casimir suspected the shutdown was due to the fact that the Sorbacovs didn’t want anyone to stumble onto the fact that they were building secret tunnels they could use for complete privacy, coming and going at will.

“Sea Haven,” Uri murmured aloud. “An unusual name, and yet I feel as if I’ve heard of this place before.” He frowned as he held the door open for her to another room. Over her head he looked to his father as if the silent communication would yield him the reason why he remembered the name.

“It’s very small,” Lissa volunteered, preceding father and son into the room. That meant turning her back on them and she felt a shiver of fear skitter down her spine. She continued into the center of the room, shoulders straight, walking with confidence.

This was clearly a conference room, designed to make anyone feel as if they had the world at their fingertips. A long table at one end of the room held several dishes with various foods. Bottles of champagne were in ice buckets. Clearly the room was set for celebration. They hadn’t struck a deal yet, but they counted on her being eager to make a sale, so they probably hoped she would be distracted.

She walked straight across the room to the window, checking out the view, keeping her back to them, although there was a distinct itch between her shoulder blades.

“Isn’t Sea Haven where our dear friend resides?” Kostya asked, sounding as if he’d just thought of it. Casual. Almost bored even, as if the conversation was taking a turn he wasn’t in the least interested in.

They were good. Smooth. Both of them. She hadn’t expected them to be so charming or charismatic. She turned toward Kostya, her back to the window. “A friend lives there? The town is very small, and I do a lot of business there.”

“Ilya Prakenskii moved there, Uri,” Kostya said. “Some time ago. A good man. He was an Interpol agent and he retired from that business and went into private security. I hear from him from time to time, although not often.”

“Of course,” Uri said. “Ilya.” He quirked an eyebrow at Lissa as he pulled one of the champagne bottles from the bucket. “Do you know him?”

The champagne was the real deal. The bottle was iced and Uri expertly wrapped the neck with a cloth and popped the cork.

“I think everyone knows of Ilya Prakenskii, not just in Sea Haven, but everywhere. He married one of the Drake sisters, Jolie. She’s a very famous musician and performs all over the world. In our town, the Drakes are considered royalty of sorts.”

“Have you met him?” Uri asked as he poured the champagne into three flutes.

Lissa didn’t take her eyes from the man. She didn’t want him slipping anything into her drink. She was very aware the two men had cleverly orchestrated their charming interrogation of her. There were few witnesses to her entry into the hotel. Only a few of the construction crew had actually seen her. The Sorbacovs could make her disappear with very few questions asked.

“Yes, I have. He’s very good friends with the local sheriff, Jonas Harrington. Jolie, his wife, is related to a friend of mine, Blythe Daniels, so I’ve been introduced a time or two. We don’t run in the same circles. His wife is on tour a lot, but he seemed . . .” Deliberately she hesitated as if searching for the right word. “Protective, I think is the best way to describe him. He doesn’t take his eyes off his wife.”

Kostya let out a hoot of laughter. “Scary,” he corrected. “The big son of a bitch is scary. Even to me, and I’m his friend.”

Good manners dictated she turn toward him when he was speaking, but that meant taking her eyes off of Uri. She had no choice but to take the chance, looking at Uri’s father, the monster who had ordered the murder of so many people simply because they opposed his politics. He’d taken their children and forced them into becoming weapons for him, or he killed them. After they had served him and their country for years, he ordered their deaths as if they weren’t human beings, but trash he could dispose of.

“I am far too polite to ever say such a thing,” Lissa said primly, smiling at him.

He laughed and took the flute of champagne Uri handed him. Then Uri was in front of her. Close. She’d taken time to study every aspect of his personality before she’d ever left the States on this mission. He was photographed often with various women. He liked beautiful women with figures. He wasn’t into thin models. He’d dated an actress a time or two, but it wasn’t at all about fame. He just liked women with figures. She played up her curves when she dressed. She’d worn a skirt that clung to her hips and emphasized her small waist. The blouse was almost see-through, but wasn’t, just hinting at the generous breasts beneath the thin material. Her jacket was short and fitted, tight over her breasts, narrow along her rib cage, tucked into her waist and then flaring over her hips. The outfit was very feminine, a beautiful shade of dark, forest green. Her legs were shown off by the very sexy heels she wore, designer, with lots of straps going up her ankles.

She could see the appreciation in Uri’s eyes. The speculation. The interest. She also knew he could be a very violent man, attracted or not. She took the flute of champagne with a soft murmur of thanks.

“What a coincidence that Ilya would move to that same small town,” Kostya continued. “How long have you lived there?”

“About five years. I set up my studio about four years ago, but before that, I worked in the basement of my house. It was close quarters when glassblowing. And hot.” She wanted the subject to go back to her work.

“Such an intriguing profession for such a beautiful woman,” Uri said. “So unusual. I appreciate the unusual.” He stared directly into her eyes.

Definitely flirting. She smiled at him and brushed back her hair, a purely feminine gesture, a small sign that she found him attractive as well. “There’s something very satisfying about making a piece of art that will hopefully be around a long time.”

She took a small sip of the ice-cold champagne. It was awesome. The best she’d ever tasted. Kostya stood close to the window overlooking the street. She raised her glass at him. “The hotel has beautiful views. The river. The amazing architecture of the buildings across from you. This is a perfect location for a hotel.”

Kostya took the bait and stepped right up to the window and looked out. “I haven’t seen my city through someone else’s eyes in a long time.”

She started toward him and Uri moved with her, one hand at the small of her back. The window shattered and Kostya’s head exploded, the sight shocking and obscene. Blood sprayed everywhere. She froze, screaming. The exquisite crystal flute fell from nerveless fingers to the floor.

Uri swore, hitting the floor, dragging her down with him. She jammed her fist in her mouth. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She chanted it over and over. Men poured into the room, guns drawn. Some were pointed at her head. “What just happened? Uri? Your father. What just happened?”

The men positioned themselves around Uri in a protective circle. Only then did he rise, yanking her to her feet. “You’re coming with us until I figure out if you’re a part of this or not.”

“I don’t understand.” Her gaze strayed to the body on the floor, the blood pooling around it. “Part of what?” She looked around at all the guns, looking dazed, terrified, very confused.

Uri didn’t answer. He snapped an order out and the men began moving, Uri and Lissa inside their closed ranks, as they hurried from the room and down the hall toward the huge mirror at the end of it. Lissa had to practically run to keep up with them. Uri’s grip on her wrist was a vise. She knew she’d have bruises. In a way she couldn’t blame him. He’d just witnessed his father’s head blown off by some unknown sniper.

“Uri, why would someone do that?” she whispered.

“Shut up.” The command was terse. Clipped. His grip didn’t loosen in the slightest.

Lissa complied, stumbling a little, slowing them down, but Uri didn’t let go of her. His grip didn’t loosen for even one second, forcing her to go with him. The group abruptly stopped moving, and a panel slid open in the wall just to the right of the mirror. She was shoved through the door by the guard behind her even as Uri jerked at her arm. She stumbled, teetered in her high heels and then fell, her body crashing into Uri’s.

His fingers gripped her arms hard, digging in, shaking her. She knew instantly he barely was aware of her. He was caught between fury and grief. She would have felt sorry for him but she knew he was the reason the orders had been given to kill those men and woman originally attending the schools his father had set up. Because he was ambitious. Because he couldn’t afford a scandal if he wanted his political aspirations to be met.

She cried out, a lost, terrified cry. She clutched at him for support. “I’m so sorry, Uri. That was . . . horrible.” It was. Shocking and horrible. Casimir was clearly an expert marksman. From what she understood, no one left the schools without being an expert in all ways to kill.

Uri maintained his hold on her but didn’t answer. Instead he turned to his men. “Find out where that shot came from.”

“Sir, the building across the street. On the roof. Right after the shot, there was an explosion on the roof. Our men are headed there now.”

“I don’t want him killed. Do you understand? Bring the shooter to me alive. Make that clear. I want him alive.”

He turned on his heel after snapping the order, and began hurrying down the tunnel fast, once again taking Lissa with him. She dragged air into her lungs and looked around her. The tunnel was narrow, necessitating they go in single file or two abreast at the most. Uri kept her right next to him. There was no real way to drop behind him, not yet.

LED track lights at the seams of the ceiling lit the way. More were strung along the floor. She was very aware that Uri’s fury was growing with every step they took because his fingers clamped down harder and harder on her until, midway down the seemingly endless tunnel, he abruptly stopped, turned to her and shook her hard.

“You bitch. I’m going to hurt you like you’ve never been hurt before. You’re going to live a very long time and you’ll beg me for death and I won’t ever give it to you. You did this. Don’t lie to me. You did this.”

She was very aware of the men surrounding them. All had weapons. All were looking at her as if she were their greatest enemy. She shook her head. “Uri. I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .”

He slapped her. The blow was delivered open-handed but it was so hard it felt like her entire cheek exploded. The pain radiated up to her eye and down to her jaw. Her ears rang, a peculiar buzzing noise that drowned out her gasping cry. She staggered back, but he yanked her forward, driving his fist into her stomach. She doubled over and choked on bile.

Uri snatched the gun from the nearest soldier and shoved the barrel against her skull, hard. “Talk to me right now. Is it Ilya out there? Are you working with him?”

She gasped for air, still choking, trying to straighten, but the blow to her stomach held her immobile. She could only try to shake her head.

“Where’s your rendezvous point? Where are you going to meet him?” he barked.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out but a thin wail.

“Lock the city down,” Uri snapped to his men. “I want that bastard found. Now. He has to go somewhere. Someone has to know how he got into the country and how he plans to get out. Find that someone, and do it now.” He shoved the gun back at the soldier and forced Lissa into an upright position.

His hands settled around her throat. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know and you’ll do it now.”

Her breath hitched. Her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly . . .”

His hands cut off her air supply, fingers squeezing hard. She struggled violently as her lungs fought for air, but he held her helpless. She saw black around the edges of her vision, her hands batting at his and then finally falling to her sides. He let go and she slumped forward, gasping for breath.

“Talk, you bitch. I don’t believe in coincidences. You come here from Sea Haven where you just happen to know a Prakenskii, and then someone blows my father’s head off.” His hands settled around her throat again. “Where is he? How’s he going to get out of the country?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I swear . . .”

He cut her off a second time, fingers viciously digging into her neck, applying pressure so that she felt almost giddy. Then she was light-headed and dizzy. Her air was gone and she fought him again. Tears ran down her face and her fingernails ripped at his arms and the backs of his hands. Once again she began to lose her ability to fight, her arms like lead. Instantly he let her go again.

“There’s no sign of anyone on the roof. No shells, no scrap of paper. No disturbance in the dust or dirt,” the lead guard told Uri, clearly getting the information over his cell. “There was a suitcase containing a weapon, but it was blown to bits.”

Lissa fought for breath, one hand going to her throat. Already it felt bruised and swollen. There was no talking to him, so she didn’t bother to try. She just kept her head down, fighting to draw as much air into her lungs as possible.

Uri swore over and over, savagely, his anger raw and wild. “These men are ghosts. You aren’t going to see any signs of them. But there are cameras everywhere. In the building. On the stairs. In the elevator. Out on the street. There’s no way to miss all of them.”

He began to walk fast again, dragging Lissa with him through the tunnel. She counted the steps to herself, still struggling to breathe properly. Her high heels clicked loudly on the paved flooring, much louder than the boots of the soldiers. From the blueprints she’d studied, she knew they were more than halfway through and just up ahead was a small room, they had been certain, for prisoners.

The tunnel was the perfect place for interrogating prisoners. No one knew of its existence. It was soundproof and they could torture their prisoner for days or even months if they desired. No one would ever find the missing person. No one would ever know. The small room had been designed solely with interrogation in mind. Electricity ran to the room. There were manacles and chains actually incorporated into the wall. She knew because Casimir had entered the tunnels and explored them, knowing she would be taken into them. She dreaded, but knew, she would end up in that terrible room.

Uri yanked the door open and thrust her inside, the hand on her back hitting her so hard she flew forward and fell to her knees. The rough pavers scraped, ripping her nylons and lacerating her skin. She didn’t try to rise, frozen to the spot, afraid to move. Her body trembled and she wept continuously, the picture of abject despair and misery. She was going for both, and hoped to throw dazed and confused in there as well.

Uri didn’t appear to buy into her innocence. He caught her by her hair and dragged her so that she had to crawl on her hands and knees to the chair bolted to the floor. One shoe came off just inside the door where he’d first pushed her, and the second was ripped off as she crawled. He hauled her up by her hair, slapping her viciously across the face repeatedly.

Lissa raised both hands to try to protect herself, but there was no getting away from his attack. She had to fight her every instinct to attack him, trying desperately to act like an innocent woman caught up in something she had no idea of. She had no weapons on her and that was just as well. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from retaliating. She hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to be passive, pleading and sobbing when she wanted to defend herself with every bit of training she had.

He slammed her down into the chair and pointed a finger at her. “You stay there or I swear I’ll cut your throat and be done with it.”

She nodded vigorously, trying to swallow a sob, cowering in the chair, staring at him with frightened eyes. Her face was swelling. She could actually see the bruise rising under her eye. Her cheek throbbed and burned. Her lip was cut and she could feel it swelling. Her fingernails were broken from clawing at his arms, and there was some satisfaction in knowing the scores on his arms and hands were deep.

There were no clocks in the room. She knew Uri would want his prisoner to have no idea of the passing of time, hours or minutes, days or weeks. They would suffer, and time would seem to stretch out endlessly.

Staring like a terrified rabbit, she studied her enemy as he gave out orders to his men. They rushed to do his bidding, leaving behind two men to guard him. When the room was empty, he turned and looked at her. Defensively, she drew her knees up, and put her hands up on top of them as if she could ward him off.

He stared at her for a long while, the cat playing with the cornered mouse, deliberately prolonging the moment, letting her nerves scream in terrified anticipation. “So, Lissa.” His voice had gone gentle. His cold demeanor was far worse than his fury. He walked toward her. “You really need to talk to me. This is your one chance to come clean. I don’t care about your part in this. I just want the shooter. His name. I’m not asking you for anything else. Just his name. This man killed my father.”

She gave a broken sob, staring at him, mesmerized, a canary trapped by a large, hungry cat. She jammed her fist in her mouth to still the sound of her weeping. Her eyes grew bigger as he stalked across the room toward her. When he got close, she threw her hand out as if that flimsy defense could possibly stop him. As she did so, she glanced at her watch. She just had to stay alive a little longer.

Shaking her head, she hunched in on herself. “Don’t hurt me. I swear to you, I came here because you invited me. Before coming here, I was in Germany, at a hotel there, and before that, one of the hotels in Italy. I didn’t do anything. How could I have?” Her trembling voice rose a few notes higher as he closed in on her like a predatory animal.

“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips, his voice pitched low. Very soft.

Lissa covered her mouth with her hand as if that was the only way she could be assured she obeyed his orders exactly. She didn’t take her eyes from him as he stepped very, very close to her.

Bending, Uri put a hand on either armrest, leaning into her. “Take a breath, Lissa. I want you to think about this for a moment. Can you do that? Think about what I tell you before you answer me?”

So reasonable. So quiet. Keeping her hand pressed to her mouth, she nodded her head vigorously up and down. Her hair, already coming out of the loose weave, spilled down around her face in long red sheets.

“The Prakenskiis are killers. Every last one of them. It seems strange that you come from a very small town all the way to my country and you know one of these killers. You just happen to be from the same little town.”

She kept nodding her head, never taking her gaze from his, as if hypnotized by him. More tears fell, but they were silent, as if she didn’t dare weep aloud. She didn’t lift a hand to wipe them away. Her face was a mask of terror. Dark mascara trickled down her face along with her tears.

“Can you understand how I might think that you helped to set my father up?”

She nodded and then shook her head violently. Vehemently. Denying his charge. Mixed up in how to answer him.

“This man. Ilya Prakenskii. When he found out you were coming here, that we invited you, he forced you to help him, didn’t he? These men, these killers, they do things like that. I understand. I know when you’re coerced into something, you’re really not to blame. He probably threatened you. Did he do that? Did he threaten you?”

Lissa shook her head. “I’ve never really talked to him,” she managed to get out in a small, scared voice. “I was only introduced once. He didn’t know I was going to Europe. How would he? Only my family knew.”

Uri straightened, and she flinched back, ducking. He shook his head at her, reached deliberately to tuck strands of her bright red hair behind her ear. “That’s not the answer I want. You know that, don’t you? It isn’t a good idea to lie to me.”

He struck then, coming at her so fast she didn’t see it coming and had no way to deflect. He caught her arm, yanked her from the chair, spun her around so her back was to him, but her arm was locked very high behind her back. He wrenched it up even farther very, very fast. Hard. Twisting viciously as he did so. There was an audible crack. Lissa screamed as pain radiated up her arm to her shoulder, down through her body to the pit of her heaving stomach. She fell to her knees, catching herself with her good arm.

She tried to breathe away the pain, looking around her to get her bearings, the long sheets of hair protecting her face as she did so. She heard the beep of her watch as her alarm went off and she scrambled forward on her knees. He kicked her with his impeccable dress shoes, the ones he wore so elegantly with his three-piece suit. She sprawled out on the pavers, glanced over her shoulder to see him coming at her again and then dove for the only cover in the room. He had a desk, a very heavy desk set up facing the chair bolted to the floor, so he could work right there while his prisoner watched him. She scuttled beneath the desk, using her left hand to depress the little tiny button built into her watch. The one that looked like it belonged on the watch to wind it.

The explosion was loud in the tunnel, rock and dirt falling with a terrible roar. She heard rocks pelting the desk and she ducked lower still, making herself as small as possible. She heard the yells and grunts of the two guards. Uri’s startled yell. The sound of human voices cut off abruptly, and then someone screamed. That sound too was cut off.

She lay beneath the desk, her legs curled tight under her, cradling her arm, straining to hear anything. When no sound was forthcoming, and all the dirt and debris seemed to have settled, she crawled out from under the desk. The top was cracked nearly in two, and sagging in the middle where the split was, a large rock was resting on it. It was impossible to see the surface, covered as it was in dirt and dust.

The room was nearly filled with various-sized rocks, far more dirt, and steel bars that had been in the concrete used to hold the tunnel in place. Dust swirled in the air, forcing her to cover her nose and mouth.

She picked her way to where Uri lay, half buried under a pile of rocks. His gaze jumped to her face. Bright red blood bubbled around his lips and nose. She could see that his injuries were too severe for him to live. She sat down beside him, careful of her arm.

“All those young children your father took from their parents, the parents he murdered, those children served their country. They took orders and gave up their own lives to carry out your father’s orders. You rewarded them by sending killers after them. You had to have known that sooner or later one or more of them would retaliate.”

She looked around her, taking in the fallen rocks and destroyed tunnel. “You’re so predictable. Kostya always preferred underground for his dirty work. He liked to have escape tunnels and little places to interrogate his prisoners so there was no chance he could be discovered. Every single one of those very skilled assassins your father had trained knew that about him.”

She turned back to him with a little smile. “They study their targets. I study mine. That’s all you ever were, Uri, a target. They’ll work frantically to dig us out of here. You’ll be dead. Your men will be dead. They’ll pull me free, battered and bruised with a broken arm, but alive. I’ll be a heroine for their newspapers. Of course I’ll say what a wonderful man you were and how we were drinking champagne one moment and the next someone was shooting at us. I look quite convincing weeping, don’t I?”

He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.

“That doesn’t look good. Your lungs are filling up with blood. Nasty way to die, although it seems fairly fitting, since you intended to bring your prisoners here to die.” She smoothed back his hair. “I’m married to one of those men.” She smiled at him. “I make him very, very happy. I intend to continue to make him happy. He’ll be having a great life, and believe me, we won’t think about you ever again.”

He tried to spit at her, but he couldn’t. He only succeeded in making more blood dribble down his chin. She made no move to wipe it away. Instead she stared at him just as dispassionately as he had her.

“It was so easy. You thought you were so clever inviting me here, telling me all that nonsense about how you read about me in a magazine. The truth was, Gavriil came to Sea Haven. He led you right there. You knew he settled on the farm with my sister and you figured you’d get me here, introduce me to this room and get the information you wanted about the Prakenskii brothers. I knew that’s what happened the moment you sent me the invite. Still, I figured killing you would be a good thing, so here I am.”

His eyes clouded over and more blood bubbled around his lips. He coughed, spewing blood, and then his head turned slightly and his staring eyes went glassy. She waited a heartbeat before checking his pulse. He was gone. She checked the other two soldiers, found them dead and settled back to wait for her rescuers.

Her arm hurt like crazy. It was difficult to breathe the air in the small room. There was also the terrible feeling of claustrophobia, knowing more rocks could fall at any time, but that didn’t matter. Her family was safe. Her sisters. Casimir’s brothers. She was still alive, and somewhere out there, her husband waited for her.