Page 34 of It’s Always Been You (Always #1)

“You overreact about everything. I asked you this simple question. You get defensive and say I’m getting worked up.”

He considered what she said. He did overreact. A lot. “Caitlin, I’m really sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I don’t want to fight about this.”

“We’re not fighting; we’re having a discussion.”

Travis tried not to grin as Caitlin shoved a spoonful of pancake into her mouth and chewed angrily.

He was oddly pleased that she appeared to be jealous because that would mean she cared enough to feel that way.

Jealousy was a ploy he didn’t like using though, because he knew how hurtful the feeling could be, and how easily it could backfire.

“I wish you’d been honest with me,” she added when Travis didn’t say anything.

“Caitlin, this has nothing to do with my honesty or my faithfulness,” Travis said. “It slipped my mind. She came on to me, yes, but that was nothing compared to what almost happened to you.”

“Hmm . . .” She took another bite of pancake, lost in deep thought.

He decided to say no more. The more he tried to defend his innocent omission of events yesterday, the more likely he’d be to put his foot in his mouth.

“I don’t like this feeling,” Caitlin murmured finally.

Shit. What now?

“What, babe?”

“I don’t like women coming on to you; it makes me jealous.” She eyed him possessively. “I get where you’re coming from now.”

Thank Christ. No games. Just the simple truth. God, how he loved her.

Travis covered her hand and gave it a squeeze. “No one else for me but you, babe. They can strip naked in front of me, and it’ll be like I have blinders on. ”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Jeez, let’s not exaggerate.” She stared at his plate. “You gonna eat that?”

Olga Milekhin parked her vehicle near the entrance to a hiking trail in Kienberg Park located east of Berlin. It was mostly deserted on the weekends since the businesses around the area were closed. She exited her car and walked up the unpaved path, her heart beating hard against her breastbone.

They had Pavlo. Her husband called her the day before, and it was implied that if she wouldn’t cooperate and meet the associate of whoever had him, she would never see her husband again. She couldn’t afford to lose him, too.

She spotted her contact seated on a bench that faced the rolling hills of the park.

As she neared, Olga noted the man was dressed impeccably in a custom-made Italian suit, and his shoes were patent leather Oxfords.

His dark hair was longish and curled at his nape, and his eyes were shielded by black-framed sunglasses.

The man she was meeting was no underling.

Without another word, Olga sat beside him and asked, “How’s Pavlo?”

“He’s in good hands, Ms. Milekhin.” The man’s deep-timbered voice had a commanding presence. She found herself believing him.

“Who . . . do you work for?”

“The Zorin Bratva.”

Oh, God. What did she get herself into?

“You’re . . .”

“You know me as the Angel of Death.”

“Dmitry Yerzov,” she whispered, fear seizing her entire body. Belatedly, she realized she had unconsciously moved away from him.

“That’s right. I’m their enforcer, among other things. Now that you know who I am, let me tell you what I need.” Yerzov waved his hand as if impatient to move things along. “You have a kill code for a contract on Caitlin Kincaid’s head.”

“Those transactions are supposed to be secure,” Olga said, spirit returning to her voice.

His smile turned shark-like. “Nothing escapes our eyes, Ms. Milekhin. Twenty-five grand is not going to get the job done. What kind of professional do you think you’re going to get? You’ll only interest the bottom feeders who have no idea how to do the job cleanly.”

Olga considered this for a minute before saying, “What are you proposing?”

“Do not deploy the kill code to create the contract yet. We need something from Ms. Kincaid—”

“Other than the hundred million she owed my brother?” Yerzov just stared at her so she continued, “And you’re paying me just to delay the kill code? That’s all? Because no amount of money will be enough to dissuade me from killing her.”

Dmitry stared at her. “Not even twenty five million?”

Olga’s eyes widened; her jaw dropped open. “How much exactly is stored in that woman’s head?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. So what’s it going to be?”

“Fifty million,” Olga said with a surge of bravado. “But she’s still dead.”

Yerzov took off his glasses to reveal whiskey-colored eyes that had flecks of gold. They were narrowed at her, pinning her with a piercing stare. “Greed will get you killed. Didn’t you know that?”

Fear clawed up her throat; she wanted to flee. She could almost feel the garrote, the rumored weapon of choice of the Angel of Death, tightening around her neck. “You kill me, that kill code deploys and you can’t stop it. I’ll have to disable it every twelve hours.”

She was smart enough to put a retaliation clause that would guard against her own assassination .

“Thirty-five million and you leave Ms. Kincaid alone.”

Olga started shaking her head. “It’s not the money, don’t you get it? I don’t care if I don’t get a dime. But I’ll agree to thirty-five million so I can buy the services of the best assassin out there.” And disappear .

“Very well.” Dmitry put his shades back on. “My comrade will get in touch with you to transfer the money. We will keep you apprised of when to expect the transfer.”

“How long?”

“Three weeks.”

Olga nodded.

“We will not meet again, Olga Milekhin.”

Olga watched Dmitry Yerzov, the Angel of Death of the Zorin Bratva, rise from the bench and walk away.

Dmitry got into his late model Mercedes convertible and pulled away from Kienberg park. He punched a number on his cell phone.

“Belov,” Leonid Belov, his computer-hacker expert, answered the phone. He was also holding Pavlo Milekhin in custody.

“Any updates on the Hephaestus-Carpathian files?”

“No. Blake took Caitlin out of town yesterday.”

Dmitry cursed. Blake was becoming a big problem.

“Did they take the laptop with them?”

Good thing they had a locator backup plan. Their tracking device had been fried when BSI ran a threat scan on the laptop.

“Yes, but so far I’m not showing any activity,” Belov replied. “I’ve tracked down their location using the coordinates returned by the geo-positioning software that self-installed from the USB drive. They’re in the Southwest Virginia town of Iron Ridge. ”

“On a fucking vacation,” Dmitry muttered. “We need to flush them out of that town. I doubt Olga Milekhin will wait more than three weeks and Grigori grows impatient. Buyers are lined up.”

Grigori was the Pakhan of the Zorin Bratva.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Do we have any contacts with any organized crime players out there?”

“The town is protected by an MC and the local sheriff. We can’t stage anything obvious; otherwise Blake or Caitlin will realize we’re tracking them.”

“Understood. But tell me you have a plan.”

“We have some connections to a Latino gang several towns over. I’ll see if we can bribe anyone to cause trouble.”

“Sounds like you have everything under control.”

Dmitry disconnected and headed back to Berlin.