Hank’s how-colossally-stupid-am-I-being quotient notched up even higher as she stared at the sailor waiting impatiently for her to follow him. But hey...she’d run off to some deserted corner of a remote bayou on her own. Why not board the big, scary yacht all by herself, too?
The hallway the man led her down was narrow and dim, but she made out beautifully polished wood paneling of the highest quality. The sailor stopped at the foot of a short flight of stairs and gestured for Hank to go up alone.
Lord, she felt like she was stepping out to face a firing squad. Hesitantly she climbed the steps and found herself in a spacious salon. At the front of the triangular space a man stood, looking out the windows. She couldn’t make out his features, though, for he was silhouetted against the sunlight.
She stepped further into the room, and the man took several steps toward her, also. And that was when she saw his face.
“Max!” She raced forward and flung her arms around his waist tightly. “Oh my God. I thought you were dead!”
He chuckled a little. “I assure you, I am not dead. At least not yet.”
She leaned back to glare up at him. “Where have you been? How come you didn’t call me to let me know you were okay? I’ve been so worried. Who broke into your house and trashed your office? And what have you been—”
“Whoa. Back up. Someone trashed my office? In my house in New Orleans?”
“Yes. How come you didn’t tell me you owned a gorgeous place like that? Sheesh. I’d have come to visit you more often if I’d known. I thought you lived in some junky bachelor pad with empty pizza boxes and dirty socks strewn everywhere.”
That made him laugh. “I was never that big a slob.”
“Yes, you were.”
“God, I missed you. How have you been, sis?”
“Fine. Well, not fine. Worried sick about you. But other than that, fine.”
He took her by the arm and led her outside through a sliding door onto a teak deck. A brisk breeze ruffled her hair and blew it around her face. Max leaned in close and spoke under his breath. “What’s this about you working at the Who Do Voodoo? Are you nuts?”
“I was looking for you. It’s the last place I could trace you to.”
He shoved an exasperated hand through his tousled hair. “Cripes. You’ve walked into the middle of a den of vipers, Hank. You have no idea what goes on at that place.”
“Actually, I do. I’m not stupid, Max, and I have eyes. I saw plenty.” She likewise leaned in close and lowered her voice. “What have you gotten yourself mixed up in? Are you in trouble? I know people who can help you—”
“Stay away from this, Hank. I’m telling you.”
“Too late. You’re involved, and I’m not losing you again.”
He huffed. “Did you at least bring some backup with you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, perplexed.
“Backup. Please tell me you didn’t actually come out here all alone.”
“Well, yes, I did come alone. The man on the phone said to.”
Max swore under his breath long and hard. She waited him out, confused. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?
“Well, that’s that,” her brother announced. “I guess I don’t get to come home with you today.”
“What’s going on? I’m not a little kid anymore, Max. After everything you’ve put me through these past few months, you owe me the truth.”
“Not now,” he muttered.
The door slid open behind them, and Hank whirled around to face a man with silver hair and crow’s-feet that belied his athletic build. He wore a golf shirt and crisply pressed khakis...and a black leather shoulder holster holding a snub-nosed Makarov pistol.
“Who’s this, Maximillian? Wait—don’t I know you?” the man said to her in Russian. “Yes. You’re that waitress from the Who Do Voodoo club in New Orleans.”
Hank caught the faint eye roll of disgust her brother shot her, but said politely to the man in English, “Hello. My name is Hank. Have I seen you before? You look familiar.” She’d pretended not to know Russian at the Voodoo, and her gut told her to keep up the charade here, too.
The man turned to Max and spoke in rapid Russian. “Vitaly used her to keep an eye on the arms dealer. She was hanging all over the man last time I saw them together.”
Max’s eyebrows shot up. Then he answered in Russian, “This is my little sister, Evgeniya Hankova.”
“And she speaks no Russian?” the man exclaimed in surprise. The guy still spoke in his Russian tongue, but she vaguely recalled from the club that he spoke English, too.
“She hasn’t heard the language or used it since she was very young. Unlike me, she spent little time around our father after our parents separated. My mother refused to speak Russian after the divorce.”
“Ahh. A shame your father let Deena get out of control like that.”
Max shrugged. “My mother was a stubborn woman. Acclimated a little too much to American culture.”
“Still. Look what happened to the daughter. Your father should have kept a firmer hand on them both.”
“She’s my problem, now, Remi. I’ll keep her in line.”
Narrowing his eyes disapprovingly, the Russian reminded Max, “She didn’t look in line when she was sashaying around half-naked and throwing herself at that American.”
“I’ll have a talk with her about it. If Vitaly put her on the guy to watch him, though, wouldn’t it make sense that she was sticking to him like glue?”
“She didn’t have to like it so much,” Remi snapped.
Fascinated by the exchange, Hank had to work actively to keep her face passive and her eyes blank. Max knew, of course, that she was fluent in Russian. Interesting that he’d chosen not to give away her knowledge of the tongue. Games within games were afoot here, apparently.
“Have you eaten breakfast, Hank?” Max asked her abruptly in English.
“No,” she replied docilely. No need to tick off the raging chauvinist Russian dude by making a sarcastic comment about haring off into the bayou in the middle of the night because some guy had called with a message from her missing brother.
“Will you join us, Remi?” Max asked courteously in English.
“No. You two catch up. I have places to go. People to see.” Hah. The man was as fluent in English as he was in Russian.
“The meeting is at nine tonight,” Max reminded him.
“I know. I know. I’ll be here.” A quick switch to Russian. “And then we’ll see if this American of your sister’s is real or dead.”
Hank’s entire being stiffened. Were they talking about Ashe? What did Remi mean, real or dead? That sounded ominous. With great difficulty, she released a pent-up breath and even managed a wan smile at the silver-haired Russian.
“I’m going to have some food brought up, sis, and we can eat it on deck. And you can tell me about this American guy you’ve been making a spectacle of yourself with in New Orleans.”
Remi harrumphed and excused himself from the room. The same guy who’d tied up her boat brought in a tray of steaming scrambled eggs, bacon and stewed tomatoes. They were just sitting down at a table to eat it when a sleek cigarette boat roared away from the dock with Remi at the wheel. Tension visibly eased from her brother’s shoulders.
“Who’s that?” she asked Max.
He spared a brief glance at the guy laying out their breakfast and murmured, “A business associate. No need to concern yourself over him.”
“Oh...okay.” She shrugged casually and took a seat across from Max. The door slid shut, leaving them alone on deck again. Pasting a smile on her face, she asked lightly, “What’s up, bro? Talk to me or I’m calling my friends.”
“Don’t make any calls from the boat,” Max responded sharply. He took a bite of eggs and mumbled around it without moving his lips, “All transmissions are monitored.”
“Are you tangled up in the mob?” she asked back, sotto voce.
“It’s complicated. I’m sorry I dragged you out here and got you in the middle of it. I was hoping you’d bring the cavalry with you.”
“Is the American you were talking about with Remi a big, dark-haired guy named Ashe?”
“If he’s an arms dealer, yes. That’s the guy.”
“And he’s coming here tonight for a meeting?” Hank asked.
“Yup.”
She grinned. “Then your cavalry’s coming after all.”
Staring at her intently, Max barely breathed, “Who is he?”
“US military. Special ops.”
Max swore under his breath. “You don’t mess around, do you, little sister?”
She smiled broadly. “Not where my big brother is concerned.”
He just shook his head. “I don’t know if Remi will want you at the meeting tonight. If he does, I need you to play dumb like nobody’s business. It’s your best defense. I’ll do whatever I can to convince Remi and his buddies that you know nothing.”
“About what?”
“About anything. About tonight’s deal. About the Voodoo operation. About the whole organization.”
“Why would Remi want me at this meeting of yours?”
“Leverage,” Max replied grimly.
“Against Ashe?”
A nod. “He’s planning to use you as a hostage to ensure that your boyfriend delivers what he promised.”
“Or else what?” Hank asked in alarm. She knew darn well that Ashe would not hand over actual weapons to a bunch of Russian mobsters, even to save her life.
Would she and Ashe both be killed? Oh, dear. This was not good. Not good at all.
* * *
“I don’t like this, Frosty,” Ashe muttered. “I’m telling you. I don’t think Hank is part of the setup. I think they’re using her as bait to lure me in.”
“They don’t need bait. You’re already scheduled to walk in their front door tonight.”
“Insurance, then. Maybe they want to be positive that I’ll come.”
“Then why hasn’t someone called you to let you know they’ve got her and that she’s at the boat waiting for you?”
“I don’t know. I just know what my gut’s telling me.”
“Look. I know you like this girl. Maybe even a lot. But you’ve got to get your head in the game, Ashe. Logic doesn’t lie. She’s one of them.”
“How can you be so sure?” he bit out.
“Come on, Hollywood. Get with the program. Why else would she have fled in the middle of the night, stolen a vehicle and made her way down there? Not to mention, you didn’t tell her where the meeting is going to be. How else did she know if she’s not one of them?”
Ashe sighed. It didn’t help the roiling mess of nerves in his gut to have his boss voice aloud the very same possibilities he was thinking to himself.
“Set aside your feelings for her. She’s a target. Nothing more.”
Easy for Perriman to say. He hadn’t made love with her and bared his soul to her. And Ashe thought she’d bared her true feelings to him, too. But was all that a lie? Aloud, he said heavily, “I’ll try to distance myself from her.”
“I need you to do more than try, Hollywood. I have to know I can count you not to flake out on me. I can’t have you taking any stupid risks or going off script. Got it? You stick to the plan. That’s an order.”
Jeez. Cole Perriman pretty much never gave direct orders. His men respected him too much not to do exactly what the man politely requested of them. Ashe replied tightly, “I understand, sir.”
He might understand, but that did not mean he was going to comply with the order. It would cost him his career and maybe get him locked up in the brig—or killed—but he was not throwing Hank to the wolves. Period.
* * *
Hank wandered the ship, learning the passageways and paying an unintended visit to a compact but amazingly tricked-out kitchen—a galley, the guy cooking in it called it. She hung out on deck for most of the afternoon, napping in a shaded hammock. But mostly, she fretted about Ashe. Why hadn’t he called her when he discovered her missing? Did he believe his boss’s insinuations that her family was full of spies and maybe she was one of them?
As the sun dipped into the west and bled across the open water of the bayou, Max stepped outside to join her. He muttered softly, “You’re clear on tonight? You don’t understand Russian. If the deal goes down in English, you still don’t understand anything. Everyone who’ll be here tonight is dangerous and likely to be armed. But Remi’s the one to watch.”
“Why him in particular?”
“Because he’s a psychopath, sis. Won’t hesitate to shoot you for no good reason and won’t bat an eyelash doing it. Don’t draw his attention and don’t piss him off.”
“Umm, okay,” she mumbled, alarmed.
“If tonight’s meeting goes bad, get off the yacht, Hank. Jump over the side if you have to. Shrimp boats sail up and down the bayou all the time. You’ll be able to flag one down and make your way to safety.”
“I’m not leaving you behind,” she declared. “I lost you once. I’m not losing you again.”
“There’s a great deal more than meets the eye going on here. You have to do as I say. If I tell you to run, I need you to do it. No questions, no hesitation. Just go.”
“What is going on, Max? Just tell me once and for all. Are you involved with the mob?”
“Yes and no. I told you. It’s complicated. Promise you’ll run if I tell you to.”
She stared at him intently. Did she trust him? With her life? He was her big brother, after all. He’d always looked out for her in the past. Had set his life and his dreams on hold to care for their mother and then for her. The Max she knew would never do anything to hurt other people. He was an honorable guy. Decent. Kind. If he was tangled up with the mob, there was a reason for it. He might not be in a position to tell her, and goodness knew, he probably shouldn’t tell all while standing on a mob yacht that was en route to some sort of big mob powwow.
But at the end of the day, she trusted him. Deep in her gut, she was dead certain he would do the right thing. He and Ashe were a lot alike in that regard.
She nodded firmly. “If you tell me to run, I promise I’ll go.”
Max’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“However,” she added, “you’d better not go incommunicado with me again, or I’ll come looking for you again. And now I know where to look, buster.”
He grinned ruefully at her. “I’ll get in touch with you when I can. No more communication blackouts.”
She stepped forward to hug him. “Love you, bro.”
“Love you, sis.”
Max jerked away from her at the sound of a motorboat approaching at high speed. “That’ll be Remi and his crew. Remember, be invisible. Your life depends on it.”