The Return (Butler Ranch Book 6)

by Heather Slade

  “I couldn’t say that either is right, Oruzhiye.”

  “Happenstance, then.”

  She nodded, willing her hands not to shake as she took another drink of wine. He was still as devilishly handsome as he’d been the last time she saw him, when she’d betrayed his love and trust. “Again, what brings you to Scotland?”

  “You know the answer, Merrigan.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Let’s say I’ve been sent to…watch over you.”

  “Not to kill me?”

  Sergei shook his head. “Again, you know better.”

  “Who sent you?”

  He smiled and waved at the waiter, who immediately delivered a chilled bottle of Green Mark vodka, two glasses, and a dish of pickled vegetables.

  “Not a chance,” Merrigan murmured.

  “Ah, but you owe me, nyet?” He looked at her in the same way an indulgent parent might look at a child.

  She watched as Sergei poured a shot for himself and then for her.

  “To your health,” he said and threw it back.

  Merrigan raised the glass and took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she’d taken the shots this tradition required. She threw it back and watched as he poured another.

  “Za nashu druzjbu.”

  Sergei smirked at her toast to friendship. He waited until she’d downed number two before he did.

  “To our love,” he countered, pouring and then throwing back the third. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked into her eyes. “Tell me, Fatale, how is the good doctor?”

  “Go to hell, Sergei.”

  He smiled with tight eyes and studied her. “You’re in love with him.”

  “You know better.”

  He leaned his head back and laughed. “I have missed you.”

  “Why are you here, Oruzhiye?”

  “I’ve already answered that question.”

  “For whom are you watching over me?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps it is just for me.”

  Merrigan poured another shot for Sergei and then one for herself to mask the chill that ran up her spine. It was her turn to make a toast, but coming up with one was a struggle. As she studied the glass, tears clouded her eyes. “To life,” she said, refusing to look at him as she threw back the fourth shot.

  “Lyubov moya,” Sergei murmured, reaching over to touch her hand.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Tell me what you want, or say goodbye.”

  Sergei grabbed her arm and yanked her close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. “No, Fatale, that is not how this is going down. Not even close.”

  —:—

  “Kade, is that you?” asked Lena.

  He’d been standing just outside the door that led from the kitchen to the patio for several minutes, watching her. “Mmm hmm,” he muttered, not asking how she knew he was there.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  She leaned forward and ran her hand along the tabletop until her fingertips touched the base of the glass of wine she’d been drinking. The display of finding her glass was far more dramatic than what he’d witnessed a couple of minutes ago. Granted, she was careful, but the more he watched her, the more he believed Mercer was right about something being up with her.

  He wished he could figure exactly how much of her memory had returned, or how much of the loss had been an act. The same thing with her eyesight. Was it returning and she was pretending it wasn’t?

  When he went back inside, Quinn was in the kitchen.

  “Hi,” she said, setting an unopened envelope on the counter.

  Kade walked over, picked it up, and looked at the return address. LabTech Testing.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  Quinn shook her head.

  “We don’t have to open it. Not ever. Whatever is inside that envelope makes no difference to me.”

  She reached over and picked it up. Rather than opening it, she folded it, and stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans. Kade walked over to where she stood and put his arms around her.

  “I’m not very good at this,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of his daughter, remembering holding her on his lap when she was little and doing the same thing.

  “What’s that?”

  “Being a dad.”

  “I disagree,” she said, resting her cheek against his chest. “I think you’re very good at it.”

  Kade closed his eyes and held her tight, regretting every single minute of the last fourteen years that he hadn’t been a dad to her at all. How much more of his life would he let seep away without really living it?

  “Throw it away,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  Kade let her go and watched as she walked outside and sat with her mother. Whatever the two had to say to each other was none of his business, so he went into the main room, lit a fire, and sat on one of the leather couches that he’d purchased years ago simply because of its size.

  He checked his phone, hoping against hope that he would hear from Merrigan. Instead, there was a message from Striker.

  “Doc, thanks for getting back to me so quickly,” he said when Kade returned the call.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Sergei Orlov has Fatale.”

  Fuck, he screamed inside his head, clenching his fist, and looking for something he could throw against the wall. “Where are they now?”

  “Heading in the direction of Ardrossan.”

  “Where did your intel come from?”

  “Shiv. He’s inside.”

  Thank God, thought Kade. Marquess Thornton “Shiver” Whittaker was one of the best operatives in all of the UK.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Kade waited, but Striker wasn’t talking.

  “Say it, Griff.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d need orders from the agency, Doc.”

  “Of course I don’t.” He ended the call and gripped the back of his neck.

  “What’s going on?” said Mercer, joining him in the main room of the house.

  “I’m heading out.”

  Mercer nodded. “What can I do?”

  “I’m taking Paps and Razor with me.”

  “I’ll handle the details. Where?”

  “Glasgow. Oruzhiye has Fatale.”

  “Shit.”

  Kade walked closer to Mercer and leaned in. “While I’m gone, you figure out what the hell Lena is up to.”

  “Roger that.”

  Mercer was already on the phone when Kade went upstairs to get his gear. When he came back down, Quinn was waiting for him.

  “You’re leaving?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize. I understand.”

  “I have no idea when I’ll be back.”

  She looked away.

  “Quinn? Do you want to open the envelope before I go?”

  “No. We’ll do it together when you get back.”

  “The guys will meet you at the airfield,” Mercer told him when he and Quinn came back into the main room.

  “Thanks. While I’m gone, figure out who the hell Animus is,” he muttered.

  Kade saw Lena out of the corner of his eye, and while she tried to hide, she didn’t do it fast enough to keep him from catching her quiet gasp and the way the color drained from her face.

  He leaned into Mercer again. “And find out how Animus and Lena are connected.”

  Whoever the sonuvabitch was, was somehow tied to his ex-wife.

  Kade waited until they were on the plane before he briefed his teammates on the mission they were about to undertake.

  “He’s taking her to Arran,” said Paps.

  “What makes you think so?” asked Razor.

  “It’s where Fatale is from,” he answered.

  Kade was surprised that Paps knew as much as he did, given he hadn’t t
old them where they were going or why until a few moments ago.

  Like Lena, something was off with the man who had been by his side through some of the darkest days of his career. Whatever it was, he couldn’t wait any longer to confront him.

  Since they’d be in the air for at least fourteen hours, Kade got out a bottle of Scotch, poured three glasses, and handed one to Paps and one to Razor.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

  When they had, Kade proposed a toast. “To lifelong friendship,” he said, looking Paps square in the eye.

  The man raised his glass and threw back the whiskey. “You ready, Doc?” he asked.

  “For what?”

  “For me to tell you who I think Animus is.”

  —:—

  The ferry had just pulled away from the berth when Sergei parked the car in the waiting lot; it would be close to three hours before the next departure. Merrigan knew this delay hadn’t been part of Orlov’s plan, and she had no idea what he would do now.

  “You aren’t a captive, Fatale,” he said, likely because of the glare of death she leveled at him.

  She held up her hands that were cuffed together. “Are you telling me your sexual proclivities have changed?”

  He turned and rested his head against the car window. “You’ll see.”

  “I most certainly will not,” she spat at him.

  “Settle down. I’m in no mood for your outbursts.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “That, I cannot do.”

  She looked out her window and then his. “No one is here, it’s pitch dark, and the firth sits before us. Why not kill me now?”

  “I have said, more than once, that I’m not going to kill you, Fatale.”

  “What then, torture? I can assure you, I hold little or no information that would be of value to you.”

  “I cannot believe I told you I’d missed you less than three hours ago.”

  “My feelings are mutual. Never seeing you again would’ve been too soon for me.”

  He sighed and pulled a bottle of vodka from the backseat. He twisted it open and passed it to her.

  “No, thanks. I’d prefer a direct shot to the head over poison.”

  He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed it back to her. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Sergei looked in the direction of the ferry’s berth and laughed.

  “Why the Isle of Arran?”

  He shook his head and gave her the indulged-child look for the second time. “I have always found you fascinating, Fatale, but tonight you bore me.”

  For a few short moments, she’d allowed herself to hope that Orlov hadn’t discovered that her brother and his family lived on the isle. Now she knew he had.

  “As I said before, let me go.”

  Sergei sighed, shook his head, and took another swig of the vodka. “You are giving me a headache.”

  “Just tell me, Orlov. Put us both out of our misery.”

  “Nyet.”

  Merrigan folded her arms and looked out the window into the blackness of the night. The conversation they were having was indicative of how their relationship had been since they’d met when she was a wet-behind-the-ears agent trying to make her mark in MI6. She wouldn’t say Sergei was her mentor necessarily, particularly given he was former KGB who now sold his services to the highest bidder, but they had been lovers for a brief time.

  Whether he worked for an ally or an enemy was uncertain and would change depending on who was offering him the most money. He’d said he wasn’t going to kill her, which given she was in handcuffs, meant torture was likely on her horizon; it didn’t matter how many times he said he was sent to watch over her.

  “Tell me what you want to know. I’ll save both of us time and me—pain.”

  Sergei let loose a slew of curse words in his native language followed by an announcement she hadn’t necessarily expected. “As soon as the good doctor arrives, you’ll perhaps understand more.”

  Merrigan processed his words. Whoever he was working for was either after Doc Butler, or wanted something from him. That Orlov had asked about him at the Bistro now made more sense. But what did he want from Kade that she wouldn’t have or, at least, know about?

  “He’s made a deal with UR,” she said, waiting to see if he reacted, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he watched, waiting for her to figure it out.

  “SBU,” she murmured when it finally dawned on her whom he was working for.

  Orlov smiled and nodded.

  She should’ve figured it out sooner. No one hated United Russia more than the Ukrainians. If the power struggles in Russia were a three-headed monster, UR, Ukraine, and the Maskhadovs would each represent a brain.

  “MI6 and the CIA took out the Maskhadovs; now you want our help taking out United Russia?” The idea was ludicrous. “Not only lofty, impossible.”

  Sergei didn’t respond, but he watched as she processed through it.

  “No, that wouldn’t be it, would it?”

  The conflict in eastern Ukraine was becoming increasingly violent, with artillery attacks and small arms battles reported daily. Estimated counts were that over ten thousand Ukrainians had been killed by Russian troops in the five-year war being waged in Donbas.

  The trade imbalance, however, was Kiev’s bigger problem. While Ukrainian exports to the EU were on an upswing, there would never be a fair trade agreement between them and Moscow. Hardliners pushed for the government to halt all imports from Russia, but the reality was, without those imports, the Ukrainian people couldn’t survive. Conversely, the economic sanctions Russia held over them, coupled with their lessening trade exports, were crippling.

  If whatever Calder had on United Russia was as big as MI6 and the CIA thought it was, Ukraine could certainly make more use of it than the UK and the US combined.

  The possibilities gained from having the upper hand ranged from balancing their trade agreements, to ending the war entirely.

  “Why would you lure either of us here? What you want is back in the States. By taking us out of the game, you’ve handed UR easier access.”

  Sergei’s expression turned from amusement, as she processed through why he’d abducted her, to a gray and grave-looking mask.

  “Animus, you foolish girl.”

  Merrigan bristled. How was it this man still had enough influence over her that his insults stung?

  She picked up the bottle of vodka and took her own swig. She should be able to figure out the connection between Kade, her, and the enigmatic Animus. That’s what Orlov was trying to tell her.

  —:—

  Kade listened to Paps’ theory about who Animus was with a mixture of disbelief and concern that his teammate had simply lost his mind. He couldn’t read Razor’s expression well enough to know whether he was considering Paps’ ideas plausible, or also believed the man had gone bonkers.

  “Let’s consider it one possibility, but continue adding to the list of suspects,” said Razor when Paps finished talking.

  List? There’s one person on it, who was as likely to be Animus as Santa Claus.

  “Let’s talk about Fatale. Paps, you believe Orlov is taking her to Arran.”

  “It’s the only place that makes sense, Doc.”

  “If she’s still alive,” added Razor.

  Kade shot him a look.

  “Sorry, Doc, but—”

  “She’s alive,” said Paps, looking at his phone. “They’re in Ardrossan.”

  “Where in Ardrossan?”

  “You aren’t going to believe this.” Paps laughed. “They missed the ferry.”

  “Where are they?” asked Kade for the second time.

  “Waiting for the next one.”

  If Kade had any hair to speak of, he’d be pulling it out at this point. “Where?” he bellowed.

  Paps held the phone so Kade could see the image Shiver had sent him.

  “Jes
us Christ,” Kade muttered at Orlov’s blunder. Sometimes the wiliest spies made the stupidest mistakes.

  “Tell Shiv to shoot the sonuvabitch in the head, and get Fatale out of there.”

  Paps shook his head. “No can do.”

  “Why the hell not? If it’s an MI6 thing, call Rivet and tell him to order it.”

  “It isn’t MI6, Doc. It’s an Animus thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oruzhiye knows who Animus is.”

  Doc didn’t ask how Paps knew. It was what made all of them good at their jobs. Act on instinct. Don’t hesitate, execute. If his teammate’s gut was telling him Sergei knew who Animus was, then Doc, too, believed he did.

  17

  The abrupt movement of the car jarred Merrigan awake. She rolled her shoulders and attempted to stretch, although the handcuffs didn’t allow for much arm movement.

  Sergei pulled as far forward as he could on the ferry and turned the engine off. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

  She didn’t respond. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry, and her body hurt all over. She didn’t feel like talking.

  “Less than an hour, and we’ll be in bed.”

  She turned and glared at him. “Separate beds.”

  He laughed. “What fun will that be?”

  “I’ll-kill-you-first fun.”

  “You fell asleep before you figured it out.”

  Merrigan shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Shall I give you hints?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care who Animus is.”

  “Hmm. I see. Perhaps the good doctor will care more than you do, and he’ll play my game.”

  “Don’t let your hopes spiral out of control. I’d lay odds he won’t show at all.”

  “It would be unfair of me to accept your wager. Your wiles have not diminished even though your self-confidence has.”

  Merrigan shook her head and yawned. “You’re boring me now, Orlov.”

  The accommodations the Ukrainians ponied up shocked her. “This is where you’re holding me prisoner?” she asked when he pulled through the gates of Brodick Castle. Although, as soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. It was a bloody medieval castle, for Christ’s sake. The fortress had been around since at least the fifth century and probably had a torture chamber and gallows.