Page 22 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ajax

Ajax, did you like my bullets? Next time, I won’t miss.

“I phoned Zhenya.” Bartosz returned to the small storage room. He’d talked to the cook, who owned the restaurant, and the waiter who’d served them. Dmytro held his hand up for Bartosz to switch languages.

“This is a goatfuck ,” Dmytro muttered in Russian. “You saw no one suspicious? Are you certain?”

“What does that mean?” Bartosz asked. “You doubt me?”

“Whoever shot at us is on top of our every move.”

Shoulders stiff, Bartosz glared. “You believe I’m being indiscreet?”

“Well, I know it’s not me. How could anyone follow us here?”

“It’s not me, brother. I’ve taken every precaution. Followed Zhenya’s orders to the letter.” Bartosz narrowed his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’ve done nothing.” Dmytro drew his jacket closed over Ajax’s shaking shoulders. “But I’ll get Zhenya to send someone to check us again for transmitters. There has to be something.”

“Can’t be on the car.”

“Exactly.” Dmytro didn’t want to believe it, but who else knew their position just then besides the three of them and Zhenya? “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Me? I’m not the one shooting fawning looks at the little mink .”

“It’s the job to take care of him.”

“You want him.” Bartosz switched back to English and directed a filthy look toward Ajax. “You told the girl who you are. Who else did you tell?”

Ajax’s jaw dropped. “I—”

“You gave her your name, and now this happens?” Bartosz shouted. “I’m sick of these so-called coincidences. It’s obvious what has happened here. The little shit is stirring the pot.”

“No way.” Ajax rose, gripping Dmytro’s jacket with both hands.

“No way have I done that. How could I? I have no idea where we are. I have no phone. No computer. Like it or not, this is on Iphicles, not me. You need to check your hardware and your people because this has got to be an inside job. And if I’ve figured that out, you can damn well bet Uncle Zhenya and my parents have too. ”

“You’re mad.” Bartosz got out his phone. “I’m calling Zhenya again.”

“Anyway, as you pointed out,” Ajax reminded them, “whoever fired on us was trying to miss us.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Bartosz argued.

Ajax lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. The pattern didn’t lie. “Duh. Of course they were.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Oh, believe me, I know angles,” Ajax said testily. “Whoever fired those shots could have hit any one of us. But he missed. Deliberately.”

Dmytro finally spoke up. “You can’t know for sure they weren’t aiming at us, Ajax. Perhaps they were simply a poor shot? Or shooting from a boat on the water, which moved unexpectedly?”

Cautiously, Ajax led them into the dining room where the three of them glanced up again.

“They fired three rounds. For a poor shot on a rocky boat, that’s an awesome pattern, don’t you think?

” Sure enough, three neat holes—one through each large plate-glass window—formed a straight line on the ceiling tiles, each about four feet inside the restaurant as if someone had shot out each window as they’d walked past. “That would make any shooter proud.”

Dmytro shared a look with Bartosz.

“I may not speak your language, but you have very expressive eyes, Dmytro. You think I have no clue what’s happening here, but I know anxiety when I see it.”

That took Dmytro by surprise. “I—”

“Yes, Dmytro of the expressive eyes.” Bartosz jumped right on that. “I was watching the pedestrian walkway. There was nothing. Ajax is right. A child would not have missed if they were aiming at us.”

“We didn’t follow the first plan.” Ajax pursued it. “We switched cars. We’ve done the unexpected everywhere we’ve been. Do the fucking math.”

“All right. Come on. You’re tired.” Dmytro took Ajax by the arm and led him back to one of the chairs. “You can nap as soon as Zhenya tells us to board the boat.”

Oh God, the boat. “I told you I won’t be able to sleep on a boat.”

“You must. Even if only briefly. You’re obviously exhausted, and we’re going to need your help later. Peter thinks if Ajax Freedom goes back online, the person who sends his regards with such”—Dmytro pursed his lips as if something tasted foul—“ specificity will be compelled to act.”

“Ajax Freedom is over. He’s done. That ship has sailed.”

“We have more than one ship,” Dmytro promised. “Iphicles has an armada.”

Dmytro seemed furious when Peter, the Iphicles point man, took charge of their operation.

He and several other burly men in black Iphicles polo shirts and black jeans descended on the docks to discuss the attack at great length with the police, who seemed equally unhappy to have them there.

A crime scene team checked the trajectory of the bullets.

They searched unsuccessfully for shell casings.

Dmytro, Bartosz, and Ajax gave answers to their questions and asked their own.

Now they were in a holding pattern, trying to decide what to do about the things they’d learned.

“We should go back to LA and start over.” Bartosz was adamantly, vocally opposed to staying one minute longer. “Perhaps they’re not trying to kill you. Perhaps someone is trying to squeeze you into a kidnap and ransom scenario. The more they narrow our options, the more I think—”

“You really think that’s what’s going on here?” Ajax asked. “It’s all about cash?”

After the shooting, Dmytro had convinced him to wear a bullet-resistant vest. They kept him isolated, under the protection of Iphicles men, one hundred percent of the time now.

Bartosz nodded slowly. “It’s a strong possibility.”

Dmytro had been listening without speaking for a while. Now he said, “If they want only to take you, then the coincidences make more sense. They’ll assume we’ll be rattled. Without resources.”

Ajax didn’t buy it. “But anyone can see we have resources everywhere.”

“Even so, our options are being taken away one by one.” Bartosz ran a hand through his thick hair. “Do you see?”

“He sees, Bartosz. Give it a rest.”

Peter shot Ajax a pained glance. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”

“It’s no one’s fault.”

“Except whoever’s doing this to you,” Dmytro muttered darkly. Ajax didn’t like that person’s chances if Dmytro ever caught up to them.

Since the restaurant had closed its kitchen, their waiter, Jason, took pity on him. He’d concocted a smoothie while they waited for the police to finish taking statements.

“You’ll like this,” he said. “Strawberry colada. Virgin so your boys there won’t blow a gasket.”

“I could use a real drink,” Ajax whispered.

“I hear you, baby. Done.” Jason waited until Bartosz and Dmytro shifted their attention elsewhere before bringing Ajax a half tumbler of vodka. Ajax discreetly slipped it into his drink.

He drank the sweet, boozy slush gratefully. The only problem was dripping alcohol on his busted lip. The third time he dabbed at it gingerly with his napkin, Jason said, “Look at you, pretty boy. You got banged up good. Let me get you some ice in a paper towel.”

When he came back with that, Ajax held it to his lip.

Jason asked, “Are you okay? You got anything you want to tell me?”

A little buzzed and unsure what he meant, Ajax nodded and lifted the ice pack to say, “This smoothie is very delicious. Thank you.”

“I don’t want your gratitude.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Are you okay hanging around muscle like that? They hurt you? You got a choice? Or are they—”

“No—yes… They’re not—” Ajax’s fresh grin hurt. “ Ow. My parents hired them. It’s fine. They’re my security detail.”

Jason nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “They any good? ’Cause I gotta wonder, what’s with them bringing you here and getting the place all shot up.”

“I’m sorry about that. No. They’re the good guys. This time the bad guys won a round, I guess.”

Ajax couldn’t imagine how he’d make it up to the owners.

Oh, he’d be the first to admit he’d done some stuff his parents had to throw money at.

He’d had some fender benders and was responsible for a memorable homemade slip-and-slide in the corridor of his dorm.

Now he earned his keep, and he paid his own way.

He’d made good money doing the Freedom gig, and he’d spent very little of it.

But someone’s restaurant had to close because of him. Someone had been hurt because of him.

“Give me your phone.” Unblinking, Jason held his phone out, and Ajax typed his lawyer’s phone number into it.

“Can you tell the owner to call this number? That’s my—that’s the number he should call to talk about reparations for all of this.

Tell them when this is all over, I’ll make up for the business they lost because of me. ”

If he made amends, he could disappear aboard the Iphicles boat and lie low.

Jason took his phone and squinted at it. “Owner’s name is Chance, and I’ll give this to him, but I’m sure his insurance will cover it. I’m just glad you’re okay. I came here from LA to get away from drive-by shootings.”

“I’m sorry.” Ajax felt like the first rat off a ship carrying plague. “It won’t happen again. Get in touch. Seriously.”

“You okay, Ajax?” By the time Dmytro stopped by with another Iphicles operative to talk to him, Ajax was a little looped.

“I’m okay.”

“Do you remember Peter?” Dmytro put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You met him that first night at your place. He took point on setting up the decoy, and now he’ll help us rig the trap.”

“I do. Pleasure.” Ajax held out his hand. They shook.

In daylight, Peter’s wide brown eyes were remarkably intense.

He wore his hair cut in a fade with a deep side part.

Unlike the rest of his men, he wore a casual but business-friendly plaid shirt, loose-fitting, slouchy blue jeans, and hiking boots.

He had gauges. Along with a thick, luxurious beard, he epitomized the modern male.

Were the men from Iphicles hired because they were hot?

Ajax asked, “Can I go home now?”