These weren’t thugs. No, they moved like trained men. Obran had seen enough soldiers in his life to spot them. And these men were definitely soldiers. But who did they belong to?
He glanced back at his daughter only to find her staring at the one camera she knew about. Her lips were moving, but she was speaking to the man in front of her.
What was she saying?
They weren’t killing her?
A dark haired man circled around her and went to a knee. They’d found the bolt cutters. Obran had been forced to keep a pair on hand after a few years ago when they’d had to pick up and run quickly.
The man snipped the chains off her while another brought her shoes and a coat.
“No,” Obran muttered. “No. No you don’t.”
He leaned back and watched his daughter dart back to the bed and pull out the passport she thought he didn’t know about.
Felecia.
It wasn’t a name he’d have picked, but that was likely the point.
The blond man ushered her out of the room, the other four men clustered around them.
“No,” Obran snarled and pushed to his feet.
He had to get off this train. He had to go back to her.
Obran should have listened to his gut. For days he’d known he should pick up and move again, but the next site wasn’t ready yet. He hadn’t been satisfied with the security or lack of running water. These moves took time.
And it was costing him his daughter.
Felecia. She’d call herself Felecia now and he should, too. The name might offer a thin shield against his enemies.
“Think.” Obran began to pace the car, ignoring the stares.
He knew very well his relationship with his daughter was fractured. She didn’t understand, no matter how many times he explained it to her, why she had to lie low. Because he’d taken care of her, she’d never understood the danger she lived in.
Whenever she did get free of him, Obran spent more in manpower taking care of the threats hot on her heels than he did in actually recovering her. But now someone else had her. These men he didn’t know.
His phone rang.
Not answering wasn’t an option.
What if it was those men? The last of them had passed out of sight of his cameras.
He reached over and his scowl deepened when he saw the number.
Skilton.
Not the person he wanted to talk to, but not someone he could ignore.
Obran flicked the answer button. “This isn’t a good time.”
“No, it’s not,” Skilton said in a voice that was brisk and bored at the same time. Obran imagined Skilton as a thin, balding Caucasian man. Like his voice, he’d have no color, no personality. He had more in common with a corpse than a human. “I’m calling to alert you to a possible threat. I have it on good authority that an American team is interested in your operation.”
Once more Obran’s body went icy cold.
Americans.
The rat infestation of the world.
They could all go to hell.
“That would have been good to know a day ago. Hell, an hour ago.” Obran pushed to his feet. If the Americans were involved, he had to pick up and go now.
“What’s happened?” Skilton’s tone perked up. His organization had a vested interest in keeping Obran out of that they’d term enemy hands.
He crammed his feet into shoes and began throwing things on the bed. “They found the workshop.”
Skilton didn’t miss a beat. “And your daughter?”
Obran swallowed. He hadn’t realized Skilton knew about her.
“Are you there? Did they get your daughter?” Skilton repeated.
“Gone. She’s gone,” Obran replied.
“I’ll send a team.”
“I have my own people.” Obran couldn’t pretend his life wasn’t tethered to Skilton and his organization, but he didn’t want to rely on them. Not more than he already did.
“And I have intel. We can use the Four Horsemen.”
Obran paused at the mention of the four Navy SEALs whom he’d made new identities. Faking their death had been a bit of magic.
“Is that wise?” he asked.
“The team who took your daughter, I want them dead.”
Obran nodded. “Okay. Yes, call your Horsemen.”
He would accept their help, but he’d also work on getting his daughter back himself. He had enemies Skilton didn’t know about. Jobs Obran had done behind the other man’s back. Skilton wouldn’t remain loyal to Obran if he knew all the clients he’d taken without sharing details. He needed to keep Skilton in the dark, which meant Felecia had to be brought back quickly.
3.
Friday. Unknown. Kiev, Ukraine.
Felecia’s head was spinning despite sitting down.
She was free. To an extent. She doubted these men would let her just walk out of here wherever here was. They clearly wanted something from her father. Who didn’t?
They also didn’t know she spoke English.
It hadn’t been an intentional move on her part, least not in the beginning. She’d been so shocked when the door opened and strange men walked in. Her father rarely brought people to the workshop. It was both to protect the workspace and to keep her a secret. By the time she’d regained her balance, they’d begun talking about her and she’d listened.
They were Americans. That much was obvious even if they hadn’t admitted it. The accents alone betrayed them.
What did they want with her father?
A nagging suspicion bit at the back of her mind.
She hoped she was wrong.
Felecia peered around her at the flat where they’d taken her. It was sparse. The furniture had likely come with the place. The wooden chair she sat in was wobbly. The sofa was threadbare. They were a good four stories up, which meant her only means of escape would be out the front door or down the fire escape, both of which they’d be watching.
She was stuck.
For now.
But she was one step closer to freedom.
She needed a plan.
Felecia took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She wanted to be excited. This was an opportunity. But it had been a long time since she’d been out of her cell. There was some safety to be had from always living under her father’s wing. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that these people would just let her go. They could kill her or do worse before she got free from them or her father came to take her back.
A plan.
She needed one.
The faucet turned on.
She glanced at Evan. He’d come back into the kitchen with a white kit, washrags and something else draped over his arm. She preferred this view of him. There was something unsettling about his bright blue eyes, the way they looked through her, as if he could read all her secrets. His ass wasn’t that bad either.
He was still wearing his guns under his clothes. She’d seen one and felt the other when she’d bumped into him in the dark hall.
These were dangerous men. She couldn’t forget that.
How was she going to get away from them? What did they want? Should she tell them she spoke English or should she keep playing dumb? What was the most likely path to freedom?
She shifted on the chair.
The most obvious way was to play the sex card. Men were blind when it came to their dicks. If she acted helpless, there was a chance one of them would let down their guard enough for her to slip away. Get free.
Except they knew her as Felecia now. The name would be burned as soon as she was on her own and she had no other means at her disposal to make a new passport.
Sex wouldn’t be the best first move. She didn’t want to admit that she was relieved to take that off the table. In the past she’d done what she had to, but it didn’t mean she liked it. Maybe it was best to tread lightly, flirt a bit, see who responded to her, where the weak link was and bide her time.
Evan turned from the sink with
a large salad bowl in his hands.
Her gaze jumped to his face and she froze.
Those eyes.
Her heart beat just a little faster and she seriously wanted out of this sweater. The flat was far too warm.
He took a step closer and she shifted in her seat.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” Evan said gently. He still spoke in Ukrainian, operating under the assumption she didn’t speak English.
Felecia felt a stab of guilt over that. She hadn’t meant to hold that back. And why was she feeling guilty at all? These men hadn’t come out and said it, but she was now their prisoner, too. The lack of a chain didn’t mean anything. They wouldn’t allow her to leave, so why should she feel guilty about anything that gave her a leg up.
He really was a handsome man. Tall. Broad shoulders with a chest she would have bet money was just a plain of rippling muscle. His loose T-shirt didn’t shed any light there. He had a kind mouth, more inclined to smiling than scowling or frowning. Not that she’d seen him smile, it just seemed to her that it would look better on him. His close-cropped blonde hair glinted in the light like pale gold.
She had this feeling about him.
Was this the knowing her grandmother had talked about?
If she looked Evan in the eyes, she just knew something was going to happen. Not now, not tonight, maybe not soon. But something. And whatever it was would mark her for the rest of her life.
Evan set the things down on the small wooden table. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” She folded her hands in her lap, now acutely aware of the sweat and grime now dried to her skin.
It had been a long time since she was around a handsome man. She felt silly for getting hung up on his appeal what with everything else going on. But she couldn’t help it. This close she could smell the gun oil, soap and something minty. Gum?
He went to a knee in front of her, face up tilted. She had the craziest urge to reach out and run her fingers along his jaw.
“I want to take a look at your ankle, if you don’t mind?” He gestured to her foot.
“It’s fine.” She shifted away from him slightly, hyper aware of how gross she felt and that her sock was crusty, probably even stuck to her skin, with blood.
Evan ignored her statement, took her calf in his hand and eased her sneaker off. The sharp stab of pain deflected any irritation she might have had about him touching her after she’d tried to put him off. Felecia bit the side of her mouth to keep from hissing in pain and clenched her hands.
“Jesus,” he muttered still holding her shoe.
She peered down at her foot and winced. He had her shoe half off. Sure enough, the blood had dried everything together. Clearly her work at destroying the flesh had worked. The skin had been rubbed raw to the point of bleeding in several spots. No wonder her socks had been stiff.
Evan looked up at her, his blue eyes stormy now. “Your dad did this to you?”
Felecia flinched away. She couldn’t help it. The anger coming off him was hard to take.
“Sorry.” He glanced down, his tone gentled and he squeezed her calf. “He did this to you?”
Her mind was still whirling, but she heard the warning bells. She’d been sitting here mooning over the handsome man while he was puzzling things out about her.
When had she ever said Obran was her father?
Those words hadn’t come from her. Instinctively she knew she wanted to separate herself from Obran. Let them think she was anything except his child. Because family was always leverage. He’d told her that back in the beginning when he refused to allow her to see her grandparents.
“He’s not my dad,” she said.
Evan kept studying her. “You look exactly like the pictures we have of Obran’s wife. We also knew he had a daughter. We thought they were both dead…”
Felecia opened and closed her mouth.
Her mother?
A sense of longing and sadness swept her.
Was she still alive, too? Could she be out there?
“Do you have that picture?” she whispered.
Sometimes Felecia found it hard to recall what her mother sounded like and the memories of her face were getting fuzzier, harder to recall. Dad refused to keep pictures around, saying they were like ghosts haunting him.
He’d taken everything from Felecia. Her family. Her life. Her freedom.
“Yeah.” Evan dug in his pocket and brought out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times then showed it to her.
Felecia sucked in a breath, emotions pelting her from all sides as she looked at the two faces captured on the screen.
The flash was too bright, washing out their faces a bit, but the resemblance was clear. Her mother stood with one hand braced against the bricks in front of Felecia’s grandparent’s house, the other around Felecia. Mom wore a dress, likely one of grandma’s, with an old shawl around her shoulders. Felecia’s clothes were hidden under a coat and she was looking off to her right at something besides the camera.
How old was she?
Twelve?
This had to be the last time they’d visited. The last time Felecia had seen what remained of their family. Dad had ushered them into his way of life, cutting them off from everything else.
“I bet I can print you a copy,” Evan said, still speaking softly.
“Please?”
There was no denying the resemblance. Felecia could see it. The dark hair, the shape of her eyes, her mother’s height and figure. All those slightly fuzzy memories solidified and she could almost hear her mother’s laugh again.
These men knew she was Obran’s daughter. One look and they knew. Refusing to admit that truth was an effort in pointless futility.
Felecia kept looking at the image while her mind turned the situation around, trying to make the pieces fit.
How was she going to survive this?
They knew who she was. They likely knew she would be valuable to either the right people or as bait for her father. She wasn’t concerned about her father’s life. They could arrest him, kill him, make him disappear. None of it mattered.
But what would they do to her?
How much did they know?
Her gaze focused once more on her mother.
What about her? Was she really dead?
It wasn’t like Felecia knew for certain. She’d just assumed.
“What happened to her?” Evan picked up the washrag, dipped it into the bowl then began carefully washing the area above her sock.
The budding hope wilted in her chest.
So much for happy dreams.
“I don’t know.” She powered off the screen. Looking at Mom brought up too many emotions she didn’t want to deal with in front of strangers.
Evan frowned up at her. “You don’t know?”
“No.” She shook her head and mentally barred the doors against the feelings of a little girl whose mother was ripped away from her. “Mom and Dad were fighting a lot. They left me with a friend for a night then when Dad came back Mom was just…gone. He never said what happened just that I should be glad it wasn’t me.”
Evan gently peeled her sock off. He’d soaked the fabric to the point that it didn’t hurt much where it had stuck to her. She winced a little and grit her teeth, but didn’t complain. This was something she’d done this to herself.
Felecia studied the top of Evan’s head. She’d grown up around conmen and swindlers. It was a type she could spot. Evan was neither of those. She was looking at a white knight if she’d ever seen one. He was one of the good ones. She didn’t know about the others, but she had him pegged.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked, opting to be direct with him.
“For now, nothing,” he said. It wasn’t much of an answer, but he wasn’t hiding the eventual cost from her. They just hadn’t decided what they wanted.
These people wanted her father, likely to find someone he’d made disappear. She needed these people to either
protect her or let her go. Dad had clearly seen their faces thanks to the camera. He’d know she’d gone with them willingly. She was valuable to these people because she was his daughter and because she knew how he ran his business. She’d seen people’s faces, knew what they looked like now, where they’d been sent to start new lives. Dad would want her back for the exact same reasons. Very soon, his fondness for her mother wouldn’t be enough to keep Felecia alive. She was wearing her father down. At some point he had to weigh the costs. Keeping her alive and chained up wasn’t worth the emotional cost. It wasn’t like her father had ever truly connected or cared about her.
The facts were she was lucky. Someone far worse than Evan could have found her. Which meant she needed to make this most of this opportunity.
She needed to use Evan, even if it made her feel dirty and cheap. No one was going to look out for her.
Felecia licked her lips and watched him continue to clean the damaged skin around her ankle. She wished this wasn’t a matter of necessity. Evan’s quiet ways put her at ease, at least until she looked at him and those eyes sucked her in. Physically he was attractive, but she had a feeling there was more to him. He was tending her when he didn’t have to. She was a prisoner despite being allowed to roam the flat freely. There was no reason to be kind to her.
It was Grandma who’d told her that men were easily manipulated creatures.
Felecia glanced around the flat, noting that the other men were out of sight. It was just the two of them.
“This is going to sting,” Evan warned.
She welcomed the momentary pain of the disinfectant solution he applied to her ankle. Pain let her know she was alive. For now.
Her saviors could be government agents or mercenaries or some other group her dad had pissed off. Until she knew how to get out of this herself, she needed someone to shield her. She had to start putting her safety first, at any cost.
She stared at the top of Evan’s head, the sour taste of what she needed to do making her want to grimace. She didn’t. Not now when she needed to be in control.
“I owe you,” she said.
“No, you don’t.”
She gathered her resolve, holding tight with two mental hands, and pushed forward. “You saved me. I should do something to say thank you, at least. Right?”
Forged Risk (Aegis Group Task Force Book 2) Page 4
