But how? Jesse considered. The deadbolt was engaged, and she hadn’t brought her key down with her to relock it after she went out. Not to mention that Brian was outside. Unless he’d been napping, she couldn’t have snuck past him.
Snuck past him…
The phrase conjured up the sense of betrayal he’d felt when he’d watched the video of her walking out of that hospital with Alexei Markov of her own free will.
But he shook it off. She wouldn’t just walk off, Jesse assured himself. He’d verified, as much as possible, that she’d been telling the truth about everything Alexei told her. And beyond that, he felt it in his gut. She’d been straight with him.
She was in love with him. He wasn’t – couldn’t be – wrong about that.
With that settled in his mind, he started thinking about an even worse possibility than her leaving again.
Namely, that she’d somehow been taken.
Jesse’s gut clenched, and he had to concentrate to hear Brian over the odd ringing in his ears. Jillian wasn’t in her studio. The other man was sure of it.
“We’re going to search every inch of this property. She can’t just have walked through the wall.”
Jesse ended the call, and stared at the open door to the storage room for one brief second before yelling Jillian’s name.
The sound of his own voice bouncing off the concrete was the only response.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SOMEONE was crying. Through the haze of pain, Alexei was almost certain that he heard the sound of weeping. Female weeping. It embarrassed him to admit he’d always been a bit of a sucker for a woman’s tears.
Shh, he started to say, but his mouth wouldn’t work. His jaw… he tried to shift it slightly, causing agony to radiate so sharply through his entire head that he very nearly blacked out again.
Something very cold, very wet, hit him in the face. He didn’t dare attempt to shake it off, but he did blink his eyes. Or he tried to at any rate. The right one was swollen shut, and the left appeared blurry. He couldn’t seem to lift his chin from where it rested on his chest.
Someone cursed in his native language. Then a hand twisted into his hair, yanking back his head. “Open your eyes.” The imperative was spoken in his ear. “Or I will cut them out.”
Cutting them out did not seem to be such a terrible idea, given the amount of pain they were causing him. But Alexei sensed that it was best to at least attempt to respond to the command.
His left eye inched open.
“That’s it,” said the voice from above him, and Alexei blinked the blurry features of Vitaly Igorevich’s face into focus. Three angry red scratches ran down one side of it, but otherwise it was his real face, his real hair. Not the disguise he’d worn to trick Jillian and – to Alexei’s great regret – himself. When he’d left his sister’s house last night – at least he thought it was only one night ago, although it seemed much longer – he’d been surprised to bump into the old man outside.
Even more surprised when the old man had jabbed a needle into his shoulder, injecting a fast-acting temporary paralytic of some sort.
When Alexei came to, he was tied to this chair. And his body remained essentially unresponsive to his commands, so that he hadn’t been able to defend himself from the blows Vitaly delivered.
Much as he used to when Alexei had foolishly considered him a friend – before he knew the extent of his and his son’s evil – Vitaly smiled and patted him on the cheek.
Alexei cried out.
“Does that hurt?” Vitaly said. “Good.” Then he turned Alexei’s head to the side.
“No.” The word emerged as no more than a harsh whisper, and one that was garbled at that.
Jillian was handcuffed to some sort of heavy shelving on the wall beside him. Her hair – so like the pictures he’d seen of their mother – was damp and loose around her face, which was pale and blotchy from crying. A dark splotch marred one cheek.
Apparently Vitaly had struck her.
Righteous anger swelled, but behind it came a sense of helplessness and disappointment. He’d worked so hard to protect her, and instead he’d played straight into Vitaly’s hands. And now he was in no condition to save her.
I’m sorry, he tried to communicate with his one working eye, since his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Jillian’s lip trembled, and in her eyes he saw the mirror of his helplessness.
Until Vitaly chuckled, and then her gaze went incandescent with anger.
“I’m been discussing, with our lovely Jillian, the various ways I’ve considered prolonging your emotional torment. Should I slowly flay the flesh from her lovely bones, as I did with that fool Losevsky? Or since you seem to have a soft spot for whores, perhaps I should turn her over to one of my establishments and provide you with videos of her being fucked to death?”
He ran a hand over his chin, as if considering. “Both have their individual appeal, although the latter would certainly last longer and create less of a mess.” He glanced around. “And though the soundproofing has held up admirably so far, I’m not sure I trust it that far. I could gag her, of course, but hearing her scream and knowing there is nothing you can do to help would be so much more traumatic for you, don’t you think?”
A sound of raw fury roiled up from Alexei’s gut, emerging from his throat broken and raspy.
“Do not worry,” Vitaly said in Russian. “I won’t leave you out of the fun.” He gestured toward a gas can in the corner. “Since you wanted everyone to believe that you’d died by fire, I decided to grant you your wish. Eventually,” he added.
He started to say something else but then his attention was caught by a flashing red light near the ceiling.
“That was faster than I expected,” he said with a frown, and then turned to look at Jillian. “That indicates the front doorbell,” he explained, pointing to the light. “Which we cannot hear due to the soundproofing. I suspect it will be one of your FBI guard dogs, who must be missing you by now.”
Vitaly started toward the door, and then paused. “I almost forgot.”
He walked back to retrieve the wig he’d used to make himself appear to be an older man with balding white hair. Then he touched the three scratches on his cheek, which Jillian had apparently given him at some point. “I’ll have to say I had an altercation with a cat that was attacking one of my birds.”
He stooped his shoulders, taking on the mien of Adam Pratt, crotchety old man.
“You young people don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.”
“ALEXEI. Alexei!” Jillian said for probably the twentieth time.
But after mumbling something unintelligible to her, her brother appeared to have passed out again. Not that it surprised her. She didn’t know how he was even alive, given that almost every visible inch of him was black, blue or bleeding.
Tears sprang into Jillian’s eyes, but she blinked them clear. She didn’t have time to cry or to panic. Since Alexei didn’t seem capable of helping at the moment, she’d have to manage on her own.
When she’d fought with Igorevich after he’d refused to let her go near Alexei, he’d once again grabbed her by the hair. Her bobby pins had come out, sending her hair cascading down her back. But more importantly, one of the bobby pins was now lying on the floor in between her and Alexei. If she could just get hold of it, she might be able to use it to pick the handcuff lock.
Escaping from handcuffs was one of the self-defense tactics she’d learned after she was attacked. It had been quite some time since she’d tried it, but it was worth a shot.
At this point, it was her only shot.
She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the things that Igorevich had said. If she did, she would curl into a blubbering ball, which wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.
Jillian stretched her arms as far away from the shelving unit as she could, and then reached out with her bare foot to try to slide the bobby pin closer. It was just beyond the reach of her big toe.
She let out a frustrated breath. There seemed to be a clock ticking away in her ear, because she knew that Igorevich could return at any moment. And once he did, it was all over. Of that she had no doubt.
Steeling herself against the certain discomfort, Jillian yanked at the cuffs until they bit into her skin, the metal pressing hard against the bones in her wrists. She winced, biting her lip on the philosophy that one pain distracted from another. Having gained a fraction of an inch in her reach, she once again stretched out her leg.
“Turn… your knee…”
Startled, Jillian almost fell. After regaining her balance, she looked at her brother. The one eye that wasn’t swollen shut appeared focused on her.
“You will be able… to stretch… your leg…farther.”
His voice was weak and raspy, but she thought she understood his point. If she turned her knee in toward her body, she could slide her foot a little further out. And as a dancer, he would know all about stretching.
Jillian took Alexei’s advice, shifting her position. She could just touch the bobby pin with her toe.
She laughed her relief, sending a smile toward Alexei. He winked his good eye.
Okay, and now to slide the pin toward her rather than inadvertently kicking it away. Jillian forced herself to pause and take a deep breath, and then carefully lifted her foot and placed her toe down on the thin piece of metal. Bending her knee, she slid it backwards across the concrete.
When it was close enough to her that she could stand up straight, Jillian loosened the tension on the handcuffs, which had torn little chunks of flesh from her wrists. Blood trickled down her arms, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to focus on picking up the bobby pin with her foot and then getting off the rubberized piece and bending one side of the pin at a ninety-degree angle. That much she remembered.
Concentrating fiercely on not losing her balance, Jillian grasped the pin between her toes and lifted it. She may not quite have Alexei’s athletic grace, but she was fairly flexible. She bent her knee, bringing her foot up toward her cuffed hands.
The door opened, causing her to drop it.
No!
Desperate, panicked, Jillian stared at the pin. It took her a moment to realize that someone was rapidly approaching her. She looked up, expecting to see Igorevich’s gloating face, but a little cry of surprised joy emerged when she realized it was Jesse.
He gently touched the bruise on her face with his free hand and then kissed her hard on the mouth.
“We’re going to make this quick,” he said to her in a low voice as he released her. “Brian is distracting him at the door. Backup is on its way.” He glanced at Alexei. “And an ambulance.”
“I have a bobby pin,” Jillian said, indicating her cuffs.
“I have a universal key.”
“You win.” She held her hands still while he unlocked the cuffs. His jaw went tight when he looked at the blood. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She shook out her hands, reveling in the freedom. “How did you –”
“I’ll tell you when we’re out of here.”
He then turned toward Alexei. “I don’t guess you can walk.”
Her brother gave a weak approximation of a smile. “Perhaps… I could… pirouette.”
Jesse handed Jillian a knife. “Cut the ropes. I’ll have to carry him out.”
Wincing in sympathy over his poor, battered body, Jillian tried to be gentle as she sawed through the ropes that bound his arms and legs to the wooden chair. Alexei gritted his teeth, but didn’t issue a single complaint, despite the fact that she knew he had to be in tremendous pain.
When the last rope was through, Jesse handed Jillian his gun. “Hold this while I pick him up.”
Jillian took his sidearm, almost crying as she watched Jesse bend in preparation to lift her brother over his shoulder.
Then the flashing red light caught her eye.
“Wait, that’s –”
The shot struck Jesse somewhere near the neck. Jillian turned toward the doorway, screaming her shock and rage even as she fired.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“SINCE you couldn’t come to Christmas, we’re bringing Christmas to you.”
Jesse watched his mother set up a fully lit and decorated tree in the corner of his hospital room.
“Christmas was last week, Mom.” He knew, because the date was written on the chalkboard on the wall that held his current nurse’s name and other pertinent information. And he could read it because someone had finally brought him his glasses.
Addison Wellington turned her pretty blond head, giving him The Look. “And I couldn’t exactly have decorated your cubicle in the critical care unit, now could I?”
Knowing when he was defeated – and not having the energy to argue anyway – Jesse settled back against the pillow. He shut his eyes, noting that he could still sense the lights even through his closed lids. At least they weren’t blinking.
The corners of his mouth turned up a little when he felt his mom’s hand stroke his hair back from his forehead. He opened his eyes, ready to tease her about her enjoying the opportunity to mother him while she could, but it wasn’t his mom leaning over him. It was Jillian.
“Hi,” she said with a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Confused, he shifted his gaze toward the corner. The tree glowed cheerfully, but there was no sign of his mother.
“I could have sworn my mom was just here.”
“She was, but she had to leave about an hour ago.”
“I guess I fell asleep.”
“I guess so. But you started mumbling, so I was worried that you were having a bad dream.”
A bad dream. That was a pretty fair description of his life since being shot.
Then he frowned at Jillian. “You met my mother.”
She nodded. “And your father. And your grandparents, one of your aunts, a couple cousins and your brothers. Although I’d already met Jack. And it turns out that Jordan is going to be my self-defense instructor. I have to say that I prefer him in that role as opposed to prosecuting me for public intoxication.”
“They dropped that charge, right?”
“Right.”
Jesse lifted a hand, dismayed by how much effort it took, and dragged it down his bearded face. “I feel like Rip Van Winkle.”
“I hope I haven’t… overstepped,” Jillian said. “By being here with your family.”
Jesse cut her off with a Look of his own. “It saves me the trouble of having to arrange a dinner or something to make awkward introductions. And speaking of family and awkward introductions: how’s your brother?”
Her expression clouded. “He’s doing better. But Igorevich broke his legs. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever dance again.”
Jesse fumbled his hand toward the edge of the bed so that he could take hers. “I’m sorry.”
She gave his a light squeeze, careful of the tubes that remained attached to it. “He’s alive. Your friend LeRoy is still alive, and seems to be recovering. You’re alive – the doctors have said that you’re incredibly lucky in the way the bullet hit you. And Igorevich is dead.”
Jesse knew that – someone had told him that, maybe Brian. “Are you okay?” Jesse had taken a life in the line of duty before, and though the man – like Igorevich – had very much deserved it, he knew that it took an emotional toll.
Jillian nodded. “Brian arranged for me to talk to one of the psychologists who work with you.”
“Good.” Figuring that was enough about that for the moment, Jesse returned her light squeeze. His memory as to what exactly had gone down was fuzzy at best.
“You dropped one of your hairpins,” he said “in the storage room in your basement. It still had damp hair attached to it, so I knew you’d dropped it recently. I thought,” Jesse closed his eyes, trying to remember. “I thought that you couldn’t just have walked through the walls, like a ghost. And then I recalled how I
gorevich – they called him The Ghost – had gotten into Losevsky’s apartment without us knowing. And though this was a basement instead of an attic space, the thought stuck with me. There must have still been some plaster dust,” he said “from where they’d worked on the new alarm system, and you tracked it because your feet were still a little damp. I found a faint bare footprint, seeming to head straight into the storage room wall.”
“Brian told me that you were the one who figured it out. And that a quick records check showed that Robert Pratt didn’t have a brother named Adam.” The smile she gave him was rueful. “He also said that you were supposed to wait for backup to show up before you went inside.”
Jesse lifted his good shoulder. The other one would be out of commission for a while, seeing as how a bullet had ripped through it, barely missing his throat. “I broke protocol. Entered through one of the back windows. But all I could picture was the Losevsky crime scene. You’d been gone for almost thirty minutes. That was more than enough time for him to have… hurt you.”
“Are you going to be in trouble?”
“Maybe a little. But at this point, Mateyo – that’s my boss – is just glad that I’m not dead.”
“So am I.”
Jesse shifted his head on the pillow so that he could study her face. The bruise from where the bastard had struck her was almost entirely faded, but there were dark shadows beneath her gorgeous green eyes. The past week hadn’t been easy on her, either.
He made the effort to lift his arm so that he could brush his thumb over her cheek. Then he let it drop, and made a bigger effort to scoot over. “Come rest with me.”
She looked alarmed. “In your hospital bed?”
“That’s where I am, unfortunately, so yeah.”
“I’ll hurt you. Or they’ll kick me out.”
“You won’t hurt me. And if they try to kick you out, I’m going with you.”
“I don’t think you’ll be walking out of here under your own steam any time soon.”
“Want to bet?”
She only shook her head. “I’ll lay down with you. But only for a minute.”
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 28
