Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  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, Sergei." 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.

  Some of the tension that had coiled in Ilya's stomach drained away. "Let's go, Eddie. Take us to the safe house."

  "Do you have any idea who those fuckers were?" Nikitin asked.

  "Not Tarasov," Ilya said. "Someone here in the U.S. How much did Demidov know about your operation?"

  "Everything. He knew everything. He's been with me for years."

  "So how did they get to him? Money wouldn't have done it. What did they use to turn him against you?"

  "I don't know," Nikitin said, "but I'm going to find out."

  Chapter 19

  "WHAT the hell were you doing out there, Brian?" Rick demanded, throwing a towel on the low-slung couch. They were in the suite at the Arco Arena, surrounded by some of the crew, a few friends and girlfriends. "You played worse than an amateur. Joley covered for you time after time. You were lagging. You forgot which song you were playing. Shit. It was crap tonight."

  Brian swung around, his expression going from upset to furious instantly. "You know what, Rick?" Brian shouted back. "Fuck you and your opinion. I don't see you playing the kind of music I play. You're all safe back there on your bass, playing off my lead."

  Rick took several aggressive steps forward. "Lead? Is that what you think you were doing tonight? You couldn't pick up the beat. You were all over the place tonight. It was my bass that saved your ass more times than I can count."

  "Then you can fucking take over." Brian picked up his guitar, swung it over his head and smashed it repeatedly against the floor.

  There was a shocked silence. Brian was the mellow one, the diplomatic one. The band counted on him for stability.

  The baby started to cry, and Logan put his arm around Tish and pushed her toward the door. He held it open. "Everyone out. You too, Jerry. Just the band stays."

  The members of the crew, Rick's girlfriend, and Jerry went out. Logan shut the door firmly, stood in front of it and crossed his arms.

  Joley took what was left of the guitar from Brian's hand.

  He jerked away from her and paced across the room. He was trembling. His melody and aura was so sorrowful she felt weighed down, drained. A hopeless, shattering despair ate at her, and she knew it was coming from him.

  Brian flung up both hands. "I'm out. How 'bout that, Rick? I'm gone. You fucking play the guitar if you're so damned good at it."

  Rick puffed out his chest. "You think I can't? Hell, I could play better than that any day of the week."

  "Stop!" Joley stepped between them. "Everyone has a bad night. All of us have had them. Flu, hangov
ers, losing a girlfriend—all of us have had accidents and lost our mikes, pulled wires, come on. This is crazy. Everyone's on edge here. We've been on tour for months. We're tired and need a break."

  "We're all tired, we all need a break. But we're not fucking throwing a tantrum," Rick snapped.

  "That's exactly what you're doing," Logan said. "Shut up, Rick. Can't you see something's wrong? What the hell's going on, Brian?"

  "Nothing. Nothing at all." Brian couldn't control the rush of adrenaline, the buildup of aggressive energy. He was looking for a target, pacing back and forth, his fists doubled up.

  Joley had a bad taste in her mouth. She knew. It had to be Nikitin. Brian wouldn't look at her, wouldn't meet her eyes. He'd gone to see him again, and this time something had happened. He knew the truth about the man he'd grown to love. She felt sick for him.

  Denny leaned against the door, watching his friend with worry in his eyes. "Dude. Don't blow us off. We've been your family. You've never been upset like this. I've never seen you angry. Not once in all the years we've been hanging together." He spread his hands out in front of him. "Whatever it takes, man, it's yours. Whatever you need. You've always been there for us, we're not walking away from you now."

  "Really? Really, Denny?" Brian's eyes glittered with anger. His face was flushed red. his hands balled into two tight fists. "I'm your friend? Your family? What the hell are you going to say when I tell you I'm fucking gay? Yeah, man, that's right, I'm a fucking fag."

  "You say it like that again, Brian," Joley snapped, "and I'll slap your face."

  Brian stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving as he fought for air. He looked defiant, ready to fight. His challenging gaze fell on Rick.

  Rick glared right back. "Shit, man, that's what this is about? If coming out of the closet was going to make you play like an asshole, why the fuck didn't you wait until after the tour was over."

  "I…" Brian's mouth opened and then closed; he stared at them in shock. "You… knew about me… about… How long?"

  "Hell, Bri, of course we knew." Logan shook his head. "We've known each other since grammar school. Did you really think you were that good at keeping a secret?"

  "You never said anything," Brian said. He was still breathing hard, trying to assimilate what they were saying. He was stunned, staring around the room in astonishment at his friends.

  "What was there to say? You never brought anyone around, not that it would have mattered, and then we figured you were careful because of the paparazzi. If you didn't want it splashed all over the tabloids, neither did we."

  Brian looked at each one of the band members. "I can't believe this. All this time you knew and never said anything?"

  Denny shrugged. "It wasn't our business. What's the big deal, man?"

  Brian shoved both hands through his hair several times. "I thought it would change everything between us if you knew."

  "Why the hell should we care what you do, Brian?" Denny asked.

  "I don't believe this. Weren't you afraid the tabloids would make up a bunch of stories about us traveling together?"

  "They make up shit all the time," Leo said. "What the hell, Brian? You've known us since we were five. Did you really think it would make a difference to us?"

  Brian shook his head. "I told my old man after my mother died and he told me he never wanted to see me again. Hasn't anyone ever wondered why I never go home?"

  "Your old man's a drunk, Brian," Rick pointed out. "Screw him. You never liked your family anyway. You slept on my couch half the time and on Denny's the other half."

  "Well, shit," Brian said and sank down onto the couch. He stared around him in a kind of dazed confusion. "I really don't believe this." He flashed the beginnings of a faint grin. "I ruined my fucking guitar for no damned reason."

  Rick toed the wreckage. "Waste of a damned fine Gibson Les Paul." He sat down beside Brian. "Next time you decide to come out of the closet, Bri, smash a cheap guitar instead. This just makes me wanna cry."

  Brian managed a faint smile. "You all knew?" He repeated. "You all discussed it? Talked about me?"

  Denny snorted. "Hell yeah, we talked about you. We talk about everyone, why should you be any different? But, no, if you think we sat around talking shit, it was never like that. I'd beat the crap out of someone who talked shit about you. Any of us would."

  Brain rubbed his hands over his face again and shook his head, obviously dazed by their reaction. "I don't know what to say."

  "You can say you need a new guitar before tomorrow night," Joley said with a quick grin. She'd never loved her band members more than at that moment. But she could see the raw pain still swirling around Brian. In spite of what he'd revealed, in spite of everyone's reaction, he wasn't all right. He was struggling to maintain. She had to find a way to distract the attention from him. "The next time you have a secret, try not to go all Jimi Hendrix on your guitar. Of course, if you really wanted to do it right, you could have smashed your guitar onstage. Then we could have gathered up the pieces, autographed them and sold them as souvenirs."

  She redirected the conversation, all the while keeping watch on Brian. The anger had drained away, but the dark moody colors still swirled around him and his melody was sad and lonely, as if his heart were breaking.

  Talk gathered around them, the band members teasing Brian about breaking his guitar into tiny matchsticks and selling the pieces on eBay. Brian took the teasing in his normal good-natured way, but while his mouth was smiling, there were shadows in his eyes, so she stayed with the band, being there with him, with them, laughing and teasing in a way she hadn't done in years.

  Eventually, as the others drifted out and made their way to the hotel, she sat down beside Brian. "Are you all right?"

  He shook his head. "It hurts, Joley. I've never hurt like this before. Not even when my father disowned me."

  "What happened?"

  "Someone tried to kill Sergei tonight. I was with him. If it wasn't for the bodyguard, Prakenskii, we'd all be dead."

  Joley inhaled sharply and reached out. Ilya didn't answer her. She closed her fingers over the mark on her palm and pressed her hand to her heart. "Is everyone okay?"

  Brian glanced at her sharply. "You mean the bodyguard? He just about killed everything that moved, but he got us out alive. I have to take back everything I said about him. He didn't hesitate to come into that house after us, when we were completely surrounded. I thought we were dead, Joley. I really did." He hung his head, scrubbing his face with his hand, over and over, as if he could wipe away the memory.

  Her heart pounded hard. She tried to still it by taking deep breaths. "But everyone's okay?"

  "Yeah. After a car chase and a shoot-out."

  "And then you came here and performed."

  A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Not very well, apparently."

  Joley answered his smile with a teasing one of her own. "I don't know. After all that, I'd say you did pretty well."

  The smile faded from Brian's face, and he looked as if someone had ripped out his heart. "He's a mobster, Joley. Prakenskii tried to cover for him, and I knew he was doing it for my protection." The words stumbled over one another fast, coming out in a rush, as if all the air in his lungs was bursting out with the revelation. "Prakenskii was worried Sergei would hurt me if he guessed I knew the truth."

  She bit at her lip, frowning. "How did you find out?"

  "You mean aside from all the dead bodies? Bodyguards aren't like that. Prakenskii is a machine, Joley, cool and without emotion; he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, not one time. There were so many of them, and he killed them all. Sergei and the other guy, Eddie, took it all as if it happened every day—and for normal people that's just not the case. And then, when we were in the car, Sergei told Prakenskii he would kill the people who attacked us and kill their families."

  "He said that in front of you?" She tried not to let her alarm show.

  "He spoke in Russian. I know he thoug
ht I wouldn't understand, but I've been studying Russian for the last year. It was supposed to be a surprise for him…" He trailed off, tears swimming in his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Businessmen don't say they're killing not only their enemies, but the families of their enemies. I knew right then."

  Joley put her arms around him and held him close. "I'm sorry, Brian. I'm really, really sorry." She didn't like the crazy thoughts swirling around in his head. "Come back to the hotel with me tonight, Brian, and we'll just talk for a while."

  "I don't want to intrude."

  "Don't be silly, you wouldn't be intruding. Say you'll come. Steve can drive us both back together. And if you don't want to hang with my family, you can call it an early night."

  Brian looked around the empty room. "I loved all this. The music—the life—all of you." He spread his hands out in front of him. "Now it seems so empty."

  "Because you need someone to share it all with," Joley said. She stood up and tugged at his hand. "You know you shouldn't be alone, Brian. I may not be Nikitin, but I love you, and I'm always here for you. Come on back with me. You can sit in a corner and read a book if you don't want to talk. I'll spoil you with gourmet chocolate," she added, using a clear bribe.

  He managed another laugh and toed the wreck of his guitar. "I can't believe I did that."

  "Me either. That was your favorite guitar."

  Brian put his hand in hers and they walked out of the room. Jonas and Aleksandr shot her an inquiring look as they stood and closed ranks around Brian and Joley.

  "Everything okay?" Jonas asked.

  Joley nodded. "It's all good."

  They walked through the halls until they came to the exit. Security was everywhere, and a few lifted their hands when Joley flashed them a smile. Steve stood beside the car waiting as they came over.

  "I'm sorry I held you up," Joley greeted. "We got talking."

  Steve shrugged. "It's my job. No big deal."

  Jonas opened the door for her. "We'll follow behind you in the other car."