Page 180 of Ruthless Creatures

I hear Mojo barking, but the sound grows fainter, drowned outby the engine gunning and the squeal of tires against the ground as the SUV rockets forward.

I try to sit up, but can’t. Something isn’t working right. My brain isn’t communicating with my muscles.

A face materializes in my line of vision, swimming into focus.

A man leans over me. He’s midthirties, with jet-black hair, a hard jaw, and eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. They’re such a vivid blue it’s breathtaking.

In a low voice lilting with an Irish accent, he says, “So this is the woman who got my men killed.”

His gaze drifts over my face. It pauses on my mouth, where it lingers. “Can’t say I see what all the fuss was about.”

I’d punch him, but it’s impossible at the moment. Maybe later, when my brain isn’t sloshing around inside my skull like a guppy in a gyrating fishbowl.

After some concentrated effort, I manage to form words. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

“I’m Declan. I’m taking you to Boston to speak with my boss. As for what happens when we get there… that’s not up to me, pet.”

The blue-eyed stranger pauses, leaning closer. His voice drops. “But you did start a war, so I’m guessing you won’t like it.”

Flying out of the parking garage, we land with a lurch so jarring my woozy head smacks against the door handle.

The last thing I see as the world fades to black are Declan’s piercing blue eyes gazing down with searing intensity into mine.

PREQUEL

KAGE

The job is simple. Find the girl. Get the information. Kill the girl. Dump her in the lake.

So many bodies have been buried in the frigid watery graveyard of Lake Tahoe that another one won’t matter.

It’s a seven-hour flight from the city to Reno-Tahoe International Airport with a stop in Kansas City to refuel. I fly the turboprop Pilatus PC-12 because I love the way it handles and the way it sounds. The flight is smooth, the landing uneventful. A black SUV waits for me on the tarmac when I arrive at the small private terminal.

The sunrise drive up Mt. Rose Highway into the small alpine enclave of Kings Beach is pretty. At least it would be, if I were paying attention to it. My mind is occupied with other things. This job Max has tasked me with is an important one.

“Ya rasschityvayu na vas,”he said. I’m counting on you.

The boss of the Russian mafia has always counted on me to do the work others can’t or won’t. I’m the best at this kind of thingbecause I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. After so many years living this life, any conscience I might have once had is long dead.

Most importantly, Inevermake the rookie mistake of mixing business with pleasure. Business always comes first. I never fail.

I’m Max’s right hand for good reasons.

When I arrive at my destination, I cruise slowly down the street to have a first look. It’s a quiet neighborhood. Unlike the flashy lakefront places where the millionaires live, these are small, rustic homes on the hillside, A-frames and cabins surrounded by trees.

I’d say they’re charming, but I can’t be charmed.

I spot the address of my target. The house is unassuming, like the rest. I know Damon too well to be surprised. He’s smart. He wouldn’t advertise the fact that he stole one hundred million of Max’s money by buying a flashy house or expensive cars. He wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself.

People in the Witness Protection Program need to be careful that way.

I drive on by, then head over to the shabby motel I passed on the way in that had a vacancy sign lit up in its front window. I pay for a room in cash, give the old man at the desk one of my many fake IDs, then collect the keys. The room is indistinguishable from a thousand others I’ve stayed in over the years when I’ve been on assignment. It’s small, bare, and ugly.

Like my heart.

For the first time in weeks, I smile.

I lie down on my back on the rickety queen bed and close my eyes. I never really sleep, so I’ve learned to catnap. I keep my boots and jacket on, and my semiauto within reach. Listening to the clock tick and an owl hooting somewhere outside, I rest until my stomach starts to rumble, then I rise and drive back to the quiet neighborhood with a briefcase of cash.