Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  Four flashes and a long howl told him he was facing at least five. He felt it then--that stillness in him--the trained warrior taking over. No emotion, only the killing machine that had been developed at such an early age. His vision changed--widened--then tunneled as he saw in targets. Systematically he took them out. Dylan was losing soldiers tonight.

  He shot one after another, using kill shots, no mercy, kill or be killed. There could be no mistakes, no mess-ups, not when so many innocent lives were at stake. He wasn't trading one human trafficking ring for another. If he could shut the ring down before they managed to get started, he would do it.

  He fired fast--one, two, three, four, five. The fifth shot took out the man who had been wounded. Ilya cleared the area in less than forty seconds and was back to the kitchen, yanking open the door and signaling the others into the night.

  "They're coming right behind us." Eddie warned as they ran for the nearest car. "I heard them running down the stairs."

  Ilya slid his hand along the visor, dropped the keys into Eddie's hand, grabbed him by the collar and thrust him into the car behind the wheel. He spun around and fired several shots at the door to keep what was left of the assassination squad back.

  "You're driving, and do exactly what I say when I say it. Brian, backseat with Sergei. Stay down at all times, and I mean down. They'll be coming after us." He slammed the door behind Nikitin and dove into the front passenger seat. "Go. Get moving."

  Eddie shoved the gear into reverse and stomped his foot on the gas pedal. Tires screamed, and they swerved, straightened, and crashed into the gate. The gate crumpled and burst open, so that they emerged backward onto the street, hit the curb, jumped the sidewalk and then Eddie got control and managed to put the car in gear to go forward. Bullets rained on them, hitting the windshield, the doors and the sides of the car.

  Ilya leaned over and stomped his foot over Eddie's. The car fishtailed down the street with Eddie cursing every inch of the way. Ilya didn't let up at the corner, forcing Eddie to run the stop sign and shoot them in a wider turn into oncoming traffic before he straightened them out again.

  Ilya glanced over his shoulder. "Everybody all right?"

  Nikitin nodded. He kept one hand on Brian's back, holding him down. "Who are these fuckers?" the Russian boss demanded, his face tight with anger.

  "None of Tarasov's family could have orchestrated this move against you. A couple of the cousins were left alive, but they don't have the balls to try to take you out." Ilya didn't want to give up the information on Dylan before he was certain he got the names and locations of Nikitin's network of human traffickers.

  Ilya tossed his phone to Nikitin then steadied his gun with his other arm, waiting. It wasn't easy to shoot out of a moving car the way they portrayed on television. "Pavel Demidov was a traitor. Whatever he knew of your operation, the competition knows. They'll try to kill everyone. You're going to have to call your people and tell them to get undercover fast. He'll have exposed them all. I need time to find out who's behind this."

  Nikitin glanced behind them at the two cars moving through traffic at high speed. "Just get me out of this, Ilya, and I'll..." He abruptly switched to Russian to finish his sentence, saying, "I'll kill every one of them and their families. Find out." He kept his hand on Brian's back, his body shielding the guitarist, who had been pushed to the floor.

  He was furious. Ilya could hear it in his voice. Nikitin was many things, but he wasn't a coward. He would never tolerate an attempt on his life without brutal, bloody retaliation. There would be a bloodbath the likes of which few had ever seen the moment Nikitin knew who was trying to kill him. And from the way Nikitin was covering Brian, it would be worse for whoever was trying to kill them, their bad luck to catch Brian in the cross fire. Nikitin's feelings for the man had to be real, and that made him all the more dangerous, because if it was true--Brian was probably the only person in the world Nikitin had genuine feelings for.

  Ilya needed him to make those calls. He needed numbers--and names if possible. Pavel Demidov had always been Nikitin's right-hand man in the human trafficking operation. Ilya didn't dare even glance at the Russian boss. He needed to appear concerned only with keeping him alive, but inside, everything stilled. It was now or never that he would get the information they had waited so long for.

  Nikitin flipped open the phone, and while Eddie took the car screaming around another corner, weaving in and out of traffic, the Russian made his calls, warning his associates one by one to lay low, put everything on hold, until they could find and remove the threat to their network.

  "Coming up on our left," Ilya warned Nikitin calmly. "Eddie, don't evade. Sergei, stay low. Just keep up the speed, but hold the car steady until I say otherwise, then you're going to pull hard to the left."

  Eddie nodded his understanding.

  Ilya watched the big Cadillac barreling down on them, the calm, centered place inside of him seeing every target, every detail of the night itself and the traffic around them. A small pickup truck swerved, suddenly aware of the drama taking place on the highway, recovered and hit the brakes to allow the Cadillac to move into position. Gun hand braced, Ilya centered on the driver, ignoring the guns flashing, and very deliberately squeezed the trigger.

  "Now, Eddie, clip it hard."

  Eddie swerved into the larger vehicle, bounced off, recovered and kept going. The driver of the Cadillac slumped over the wheel, the deadweight of his foot on the gas. With their car sideswiping the caddie, the larger vehicle spun out of control, slamming into the guardrail, breaking through it at high speed.

  "They're gone," Nikitin said, looking back, satisfaction in his voice.

  "Get down." Ilya hissed the order between his teeth. "Eddie, take the exit and head down toward the river."

  "My concert's in an hour," Brian said. "Sergei, I have to be onstage in an hour. Everyone's going to be freaking out."

  There was silence. Ilya glanced back at Nikitin and saw the stunned look on his face. He was used to violence, Brian wasn't, and in that moment, Sergei realized how shocked Brian really was. "It will be all right," he promised.

  "Why are they doing this?" Brian asked. "I don't understand why they're doing this, Sergei."

  Nikitin rubbed his back, all the while looking out the window, watching the other car fishtail down the exit ramp after them. "I don't know, but we'll find out. Just stay down where you'll be safe. I don't want anyone to see you."

  Ilya didn't point out that Pavel Demidov had known Brian was in the house, and since he had, then chances were good Dominic Dylan had been told at the very least that Brian was a good friend, or worst case scenario, that he was Nikitin's lover. Nikitin had always been discreet about Brian. Ilya had guessed at the relationship for a number of reasons. Nikitin had been different since he'd met Brian, definitely mellower and much happier. His aura had changed, and around Brian, sexual colors had grown stronger.

  "Okay, Eddie, start slowing down. Stay ahead enough to keep them from getting a good shot, but make sure they follow us."

  The road ran along the fast-moving river. It had rained often and hard, and the river was swollen, threatening to breach the banks. In some places the road had a bit of water across it where the current splashed up over the sides.

  "They're on us, Ilya," Eddie confirmed, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Not tight, but they're coming, about a curve or so back."

  "We want a clear stretch without any witnesses or bystanders that can get hurt," Ilya said. "We should be coming up on a turn that will take us under the bridge. They'll lose sight of us. Slow down, let me out, and keep going."

  "No, no, that's not a good idea," Nikitin objected. "We shouldn't separate."

  "I'll take out the other car without a risk to you or Brian. Eddie can take you up the road to the exit back to the freeway. You should be able to see from up there. If I take out the car, come back and pick me up; if not, get clear." He tapped Eddie on the shoulder. "Here. Pull over right here."
>
  Eddie shot a quick questioning glance over his shoulder at Nikitin, but he was already stomping on the brakes. Ilya bailed out of the car almost before it stopped moving. It was ironic that he was saving the life of the man he knew he would eventually have to kill. Nikitin had no compunction about killing his enemies, and there would be no quitting undercover work until he was dead. At the same time, Ilya wasn't going to allow Dylan to take over the trafficking network. He knew eventually someone would step in and fill the void once he'd taken down Nikitin, but he hoped to slow things down for a long while.

  He shoved a clip into his gun, checked his other and waited. He found a spot on higher ground where he had a clear view of the driver's side of the vehicle. He'd have to take him out first. That was imperative. With the driver dead, the car would be a hazard. The others would have to bail or ride it out and try to survive a crash into the river.

  Above the roar of the water, he could hear the powerful engine as the car rounded the bend and accelerated. The driver held it steady in his lane, making the target easier than anticipated. Their attention was on the road, trying to find Nikitin's car. Windows were rolled down, arms and heads hanging out. Ilya concentrated on one target. He steadied his arm and took the shot, drilling the driver through his left eye.

  The windshield fragmented, and the car slewed back and forth; then as someone tried to grab the wheel, it abruptly turned, spun and slid into the rapid current of the river. The car tipped forward, drawn into the powerful current. Water poured into the windows. Ilya heard a shout. Someone fired a wild shot. The car began to be dragged downstream, still sinking.

  Ilya made his way down the slippery slope and walked along the embankment. A head popped up, and without hesitation he took the shot. If any of these men lived, and they knew about Brian, the guitarist was dead. He kept his eyes on the body. It was torn loose from the car and carried away, the water rolling over and over the limp form.

  A second man emerged, coming up out of the water like a geyser, spewing bullets, aiming wildly, spraying the shore even as he fought to stay afloat. Dirt flew into the air all around Ilya's feet, splattering his jeans as the bullets came close.

  Ilya shot the man twice, a quick one-two as the river swept the bobbing head away. The bodyguard was certain he'd killed the shooter, but he raced along the bank to make sure. The body turned facedown, tumbled and churned, a red stain spreading, and then it was pulled under.

  Ilya waited, watching the surface of the water. No one could hold his breath that long, but if it had been Ilya, he would have gone out through an open window and swum downstream, letting the current carry him before sticking his head up and chancing it getting blown off. He began to jog along the riverbank heading downstream, reloading as he went and watching both sides of the bank as well as rocks the fourth man might be able to cling to.

  Movement caught his attention. At once he dropped to the ground. Bullets spat around him, one actually going through the sleeve of his jacket. He felt the kiss, the heat, and then he rolled, stretching out in a two-handed grip to steady his shot as he fired back. The gun bucked in his hand, feeling familiar, part of him, his aim natural. Where he looked he shot, and the bullet traveled true, striking his target.

  He watched the man fall back into the river. He knew his opponent was dead; he knew exactly where the bullet had hit. He turned and began to jog toward the freeway exit. Within minutes, he saw the car driving in reverse back toward him.

  Nikitin grinned at him as he slid into the car. "Well done."

  "Get us out of here, Eddie," Ilya said. "We have to clean this mess up. You rented that house, Sergei, and your prints are everywhere. I did my best to get rid of Brian's, but I had no way of knowing everything he touched."

  "He'd only been there a few minutes when the strobe went off." Nikitin took his hand off Brian and allowed him to sit up. "If you wiped the glass and the couch, we should be good."

  Brian pressed an unsteady hand to his mouth. "No one knew I was going there. I had the taxi let me off several blocks away."

  "Good, that's good, Brian," Ilya said, praising him to steady him.

  "Why is this happening?" he asked again.

  Ilya didn't want to take any chances with Nikitin's patience--or the fact that Brian had witnessed a battle between two warring factions of the underworld. "Sergei must have mentioned to you that he was born into a family in Russia that controlled certain aspects of business. They don't want him getting out. He's been legitimate for some time, but a few powerful people fear his knowledge." It was Nikitin's standard story, and it was what Brian wanted to believe. Believing it now might save his life.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya saw Nikitin visibly relax.

  "I've tried to tell you," Nikitin said. "I know it looks bad, but there's little I can do about the family I was born into."

  "We have to go to the police. These people tried to kill you, Sergei. What if there are more of them?"

  Nikitin handed Ilya's phone back to him. "Don't worry. This isn't the first time. We don't want the police involved, because these are the kinds of people who buy off the police."

  Ilya tucked his cell phone safely into the inside pocket of his jacket. He deliberately glanced at his watch. "Can you perform tonight, Brian? If you can't, say so. Everything has to be exactly as if you never were a part of this. Not only you, but everyone around you would be in danger, and especially Sergei. Can you handle performing?"

  Brian swallowed hard. "Will you be there?" he asked Nikitin.

  Ilya flinched at the raw emotion in Brian's voice. He didn't want Eddie to have a clue about Brian's relationship with Nikitin. It was too late. Far, far too late. Nikitin flicked a single glance at Eddie, and it was enough to let Ilya know Eddie was a dead man. In spite of his loyalty, in spite of the fact that he'd helped save both Brian and Nikitin, the Russian boss wouldn't take any chances with his relationship being made public.

  Brian had no way of knowing what kind of a man Sergei Nikitin really was and what he was capable of doing. Murder was second nature to Nikitin. He'd grown up making hits when other boys were playing ball. He'd learned torture before he ever went on his first date. As with Ilya, there had been no childhood, and violence had become his way of life.

  I have to make certain Sergei is safe, Brian," Ilya said. Until we know who is trying to kill him, we can't take chances with his life."

  Brian nodded. "That's right. You're right. Maybe you should get out of town, Sergei. Leave tonight. We have one more gig to play in San Francisco and then we're finished with the tour."

  "Where do we go?" Eddie asked.

  "We have to switch cars. This is full of bullet holes. Then we take Brian to the Arco Arena if he thinks he can put on a show."

  "Yes, yes, if it will help," Brian agreed. "Of course."

  "You have to act as though nothing happened. You have to be normal, Brian," Ilya reiterated and pulled a cell phone from inside his jacket. His hand slid over the other one, the one with the special chip that had sent every number Nikitin called to Ilya's bosses. They'd be moving on the information, matching numbers with names in order to set up raids.

  The two phones were identical, just in case Nikitin wanted the phone destroyed. Ilya would have cooperated fully. He wanted the original phone for evidence, but if not, they still had the numbers.

  He spoke briefly into the phone then turned to Eddie. "Take this next exit, Eddie. A car will be waiting at the McDonald's parking lot. We'll ditch this one in the parking garage just next to it." He glanced back at Brian. "You don't have any blood on your clothes, do you? Or your shoes?"

  Brian shuddered, but inspected his clothing. "No. I'm fine."

  "Good. You're doing great."

  Nikitin nodded. "I'm sorry this happened. It comes with the territory. At least you know I was telling you the truth."

  Brian took a deep breath as Eddie pulled into the parking garage and found a dark corner on the second level. "You don't lead a boring life, Serg
ei." He made an attempt to smile.

  Ilya pulled open the door. "Don't touch anything. Eddie and I will wipe the car down. Stand over there, where I can see you, but no one can approach you."

  Ilya worked vigorously, wiping the steering wheel, seats and door handles in the front seat, while Eddie wiped down the back and floor.

  "Let's go. Brian, walk normally, we're just looking for a Big Mac," Ilya instructed. "You're recognizable, so hunch a little and keep your head down so no one sees your face. You're doing fine," he added as he herded the men through the parking garage and out onto the street.

  Darkness had fallen. If they were going to get Brian to his performance, they would have to hurry. Ilya wanted him gone. He didn't want to give Nikitin an opportunity to regret protecting Brian, or to figure out that Brian was an intelligent man who would sooner or later realize Nikitin was no legitimate businessman.

  Ilya glanced down at the guitarist as they walked, noting his aura, and everything in him went still. Brian did know the truth. The shakiness, the trembling, his fear, had nothing to do with the attempt on their lives, and everything to do with his knowledge of what and who Sergei Nikitin really was. Brian's melody was sobbing, wailing, every note drawn out in utter and real despair.

  He rested his hand briefly on Brian's shoulder, the merest of touches, but sending healing warmth and encouragement to him, a small salute that the man was holding up under the worst circumstances. Brian kept his head down, stumbled a little, recovered and kept walking.

  The car was waiting right where Ilya had instructed. Nikitin didn't ask who had put it there, but if he had, Ilya had a ready answer. He covered every detail--that was how he stayed alive.

  The Arco Arena was already filled with cars and a crush of people. They drove around the top where the buses were parked, and Brian slid from the car.

  "You can do this, Brian," Ilya said, keeping his gaze steady.

  Brian nodded. "Don't worry. I won't let you down."

  "I know you won't," Nikitin said.

  Brian lifted his hand and turned and walked away.