by Jane Godman
Bryce tried to process what she had just said. There was a lot of information in those few sentences. Steffi’s words implied that this “big guy” they kept talking about lived in Stillwater. How was that possible? Bryce’s hometown might be the county seat, but it was still a small city in West County, Wyoming. Stillwater was a place where everyone knew everyone else. He had complained more than once, when he had been subjected to the scrutiny of the local gossips, that everybody knew a little too much about each other’s business. Bryce did a mental review of his acquaintances. Not one of them struck him as the sort of person likely to be involved with Russian organized crime.
“No one tells the Big Guy what to do.”
A slowing in the car’s pace and a change in the road surface signaled that they had left the highway. Bryce’s years of driving army vehicles came in handy and he judged they were on a gravel drive of some sort. When they halted, he did some quick thinking. His cell phone was in the front pocket of his jeans. If his captors found it—and, let’s face it, if he kept it on him, they were going to find it—he would give them everything. His identity, his contacts...his family. He had to find a way to get rid of that phone. Fast.
When they came for him and began to drag him out of the car, he opened his eyes and took a look at his surroundings. The unusual, intricately styled mansion built at the base of a mountain told him what he needed to know. With its quirky architecture and rolling gardens, Woodland Lodge was instantly recognizable. The Big Guy’s identity was no longer a mystery. It was a shock, but it wasn’t a mystery.
“Sleeping Beauty is awake, is he?” Sergei’s voice grated on Bryce’s nerves. “Good. That means I don’t have to carry you.”
There was an ornate pond and an elaborate arrangement of fountains in the marble courtyard in front of the house. There. Bryce needed to get to that pond. As Sergei, his hand clamped around Bryce’s upper arm, marched him past it, Bryce made a performance of staggering and falling, using the action to fumble his cell phone from his pocket into the palm of his hand. With a snarl, Sergei dragged him to his knees. Bryce put out his hand as if to use the marble surrounding the pond to help pull himself up from kneeling to standing. There was only the tiniest plop as he slid his cell phone into the water.
He breathed a sigh of relief and allowed Sergei to manhandle him the rest of the way inside the house that belonged to Walter Sullivan, billionaire businessman and aspiring senator.
Walter owned several factories in Wyoming and retail outlets throughout the country. He was one of the biggest employers in Stillwater. Born and bred in the city, he was fond of boasting about how he liked to give some of his wealth back to his hometown. Bryce hadn’t heard anything about his involvement with Russian gangs, but he had heard it wasn’t a good idea to get on the wrong side of Walter.
Which didn’t make his and Steffi’s future seem a whole lot brighter.
* * *
When Steffi had run from Greg’s apartment after she found the bodies, her only thought had been to keep running and find a place where she could hide forever. She had returned from filming in Italy the day before and the purse she carried still contained her passport and driver’s license with the name of Steffi Grantham—which was, of course, her real name—some cash, and the card for her checking account.
For the next few days, she had used the card to withdraw the maximum amount of cash. Once she knew she was the main suspect in the murders, she disposed of it in case it could be used to trace her.
Sitting in a cheap motel, hacking at her hair with shaking hands, she had finally drawn a breath and stopped to think. Fear was still her overriding emotion, but anger had started to creep in. Was she going to live with this feeling for the rest of her life? Look over her shoulder every minute of every day? Or was she going to take this fight to the man who had started it and bring it to an end...one way or another?
Her decision made this meeting the ultimate irony. She had come to Stillwater intending to see Walter Sullivan on her terms. When she and Greg had realized the identity of the man they used to call Uncle Waltz, they had been stunned.
Although Steffi’s adoptive parents lived in Sheridan, Wyoming, she had moved to Los Angeles six years ago. And she really didn’t pay much attention to politics. It had been Greg who had found the article about Walter Sullivan, the Wyoming businessman who was predicted to sweep his way to a seat in the national Senate.
They had both stared at the accompanying photograph in horror. He was a little grayer at the temples, had a few more lines around his eyes. But there was no question about it. Walter Sullivan and Uncle Waltz were the same person. Then Greg had been killed by a man with an eye tattooed onto the back of his right hand and Steffi’s world had been turned upside down.
Am I next? That was the first of the many questions Steffi wanted to ask Walter. Maybe coming to Stillwater and planning to meet with him in private wasn’t the smartest move, but it was the only one she could live with. She could run, but she couldn’t outdistance the nightmares.
When she’d fled, she hadn’t run from Walter. She’d run to him. Her biggest fear had been that his men would find her and kill her before she could look him in the eye and demand to know why.
For the last three months she had driven out this way every few days, studying his unconventional mansion for signs that its owner was in residence. There had been nothing. The place had been closed up, the gates locked, the windows shuttered on the outside. Impatiently, she had followed his whereabouts on social media, hoping to discover his intentions. Walter relentlessly documented his progress on various sites and he had not stepped foot in Stillwater throughout the time Steffi had been in the city. Since he had announced his intention to run for a Wyoming seat, he had traveled all over the state. One of the few places he hadn’t been was his hometown. Possibly he believed his popularity there was so great he would win without too much campaigning. The media and polls seemed to agree with him.
Now, instead of putting into practice her plan to sneak into the house and confront Walter on her own terms, Steffi was being carried through the front door by a thunder-faced Erik. Behind them, Sergei was dragging Bryce along with him. The bald man, who clearly had some sort of seniority within the group, strode on ahead of them. Steffi risked a brief glance in Bryce’s direction. A vivid bruise was already standing out on one side of his face and he looked pale, but, as she gazed at him, one eyelid drooped ever so slightly into a wink. It was just enough to give her waning spirits a boost. She didn’t know why it should. They were hopelessly outnumbered, in the hands of a group of murderous thugs, and about to be brought before the ruthless killer responsible for the murders of her parents and brother. Even if she was able to escape, she couldn’t run anywhere on her injured ankle. She very much doubted she could walk. But somehow that tiny gesture from Bryce mattered. It told her she wasn’t alone. It gave her a glimmer of hope.
That glimmer lasted about as long as it took for Erik to march into a luxurious dining room and deposit her on her feet beside a vast mahogany table. In acknowledgment of the cooler weather, a fire blazed in the huge grate. Heavy, full-length crimson drapes had been pulled across the windows, giving the disconcerting effect that night had fallen, even though it was afternoon.
Steffi winced as her injured ankle protested at the sensation of bearing any weight. Sergei shoved Bryce through the door so that he stood next to her. While Erik remained in the room, Sergei, walking with the delicate gait of a man in some discomfort, left.
The man sitting at the head of the table pushed aside an empty plate, wiped his lips with a snow-white napkin and regarded them from beneath hooded lids. Walter Sullivan was one of the most famous men in the state. His business interests, the factories and retail outlets he owned all over the country, raised him to the status of a celebrity, and his charitable giving had made him hugely popular. His darkly handsome features had grac
ed television news programs and newspaper spreads almost daily in the past twelve months. His rise to prominence and his recent campaign had been stylish and intelligent. This was a man who was destined for greatness. Even though he was just beginning his campaign for the Senate, his name was regularly mentioned in connection with a possible future presidency. Now that Greg was gone, Steffi seemed to be the only person who knew what lurked behind that charming exterior.
It scared her that she was the only thing standing between Walter and the political power he wanted, but she wasn’t going to let that fear show through. Tilting her chin, she met his gaze bravely. He had unusually dark eyes. It made reading his expression difficult. The last time Steffi had looked into those eyes, she had called this man Uncle Waltz. What frightened her more than anything was that he was regarding her with the same amused, affectionate smile she had seen from him all those years ago.
“You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, Stefanya.” Walter’s voice expressed the same mild irritation with which he would rebuke a troublesome child. She had heard his voice on TV recently, but being in the same room as him, hearing those cultured tones up close...that was what took her right back to the night he’d murdered her parents. It took every ounce of her strength to keep from screaming.
“You killed my brother.” She was pleased with the way the words came out clearly, betraying no trace of the nervousness she felt. “I wasn’t in the mood to make things easy for you.”
Something shifted in the depths of Walter’s eyes. Something dangerous. Something she guessed he wouldn’t want the voters to see. It was gone in an instant, to be replaced immediately by the public smile he showed the world.
“I haven’t got time to waste sparring with you. Where is the cell phone?”
Steffi took a moment to consider the question. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably, causing the pulse in her throat to hammer wildly. It was an unpleasant choking feeling. She had no idea what he was talking about. She knew nothing about any cell phone, but she sensed giving Walter that piece of information might not be the smartest move she could make right then.
“Why should I tell you that?”
“Because you have no idea how much I can hurt you if you don’t.” Next to her, Bryce made an impulsive movement in Walter’s direction, only to be stopped short as Erik caught hold of him by his upper arms. Walter turned his attention to Bryce, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, yes. We’ll discuss your involvement later. But first we need to return to the subject of Gregori’s cell phone. What have you done with it?”
Although Steffi might not know why he was so focused on Greg’s cell, she sensed she may be able to use its existence to her advantage. “It’s safe.”
“Where?” Walter’s voice was silky. That silkiness made her shiver.
It was a long shot, but she decided to go for it. “If I told you that, you wouldn’t have any reason to keep me alive, would you?” While she was being brave, she decided it was time to ask the question that had haunted her since she was five. “Why did you kill my parents?”
He seemed to debate whether to answer her, then he shrugged. “I first met your father when I visited Russia about a year before your birth. Our friendship and business partnership continued after your parents moved to America. Aleksander Anton was the leader of the Sglaz, one of the most feared criminal organizations in the world. But he made a big mistake when he tried to cheat me.”
Steffi frowned. “If the men with the eye tattoo were in the Sglaz, why were they working for you on the night you killed my parents? Why do they still work for you now?”
“Money, Stefanya. Your father thought he could double-cross me, but I was one step ahead of him.”
“And my mother?” It hurt to ask, to remember her mother urging her and Greg up the attic stairs that night, but she had come this far. She had to know.
For the first time, Walter appeared shaken out of his calm. Steffi thought she saw a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. “Ekaterina was...” He shook his head. “No. No more. This is ancient history.”
“Did you kill her because she could identify you?”
Walter gave a harsh laugh. “You know nothing about my motives, Stefanya, but you and your brother are two of a kind. He made his first mistake when he recognized me in Los Angeles. He should have had more sense, walked away, let the past lie. He had no idea what he was dealing with. Instead, he insisted on a meeting.”
It took every ounce of Steffi’s acting ability to listen to what he was saying and not allow the surprise she was feeling to show. At the start of her career, she had spent a season traveling the country, working in masked theater, an old tradition that was rarely performed by modern actors. The experience had taught her how to hide her emotions behind a blank expression. Even so, her thoughts were raging out of control. A meeting? What had Greg been thinking of?
“You agreed to meet him.” She managed to keep her voice level, midway between a question and a statement. It seemed safe to assume Walter had met with Greg.
His face contorted as if a twinge of pain had caught him unawares. “He told me he had proof I was guilty of murder. Even though I was sure he was bluffing, I wasn’t going to take a chance. When we met, it turned out I was right. The proof he was talking about was his own memory. I couldn’t believe his nerve. He started rambling about Aleksander and Ekaterina, talking about my men and the tattooed eye on their right hands, talking about what happened that night when your parents died. As if I was an idiot who couldn’t remember every detail of my own life. And he assumed I was still involved with Russian organized crime. My involvement with your father was my first and only foray into that world. Even though our partnership made me billions, I was never tempted to repeat it. Your father’s men may work for me now, but they are my security guards, not my gang members.” Walter shook his head, clearly still struggling to believe Greg’s audacity. “That was your brother’s second mistake. It was only later he sent me a message to let me know he had been recording that conversation on his cell phone.”
Slowly, Steffi exhaled the breath she had been holding. So that was what this was all about. That recording was the key to all of this. It was the reason Greg and the mystery girl he was with had died. “That recording confirmed everything.”
Walter’s lips twisted into an unpleasant smile that told her all she needed to know. Walter’s ego was so huge he had responded to Greg’s questions truthfully. Maybe he had even boasted about what had happened all those years ago when he killed their parents. A horrible sick feeling squirmed low in Steffi’s stomach.
“Gregori was an idiot.” Walter gestured dismissively. “If he’d asked for money, taken that recording to the press, or walked out of that meeting and gone straight to the police it would have been all over for me. But no. By hesitating, he gave me time to make a move against him. Three days after he made that recording, he was dead.”
Steffi bent her head, hiding the rush of tears that threatened to spill over. Why hadn’t Greg told her what he was planning to do? As Walter had begun his campaign and risen to prominence over the past twelve months, they had watched with mounting horror, recognizing that unforgettable face. Once they had known who the Big Guy was, they had discussed ways of bringing him to justice, but they had never come up with a satisfactory solution. They had been so young when their parents were killed...
And the man they were accusing was Walter Sullivan. He was one of the most powerful men in the country, and, with his political ambitions, his might was growing. Without any evidence, their story was too far-fetched. Going public would mean they would have been labeled attention-seekers. They would have given up their anonymity, drawing Walter’s attention to them. And they would announce to the world that they were the children of Aleksander Anton. Putting their murdering, crime boss father’s activities in the spotlight would not have been the smartest move two Hollywood
actors ever made.
Now it seemed Greg had not only confronted Walter, but he had actually managed to get a confession from him. Even better than that, he had recorded it. But instead of going straight to the police, her brother had done nothing. Why? Greg might have been honorable, but he wasn’t stupid. He wanted Walter brought to justice as much as she did. She had no idea where the cell phone was now, but by hiding it, Greg might just have given her a chance of survival. If I can find the phone. That was one huge if.
“A word of warning.” As Walter’s voice intruded on her thoughts, she felt Bryce move infinitesimally closer as though attempting to offer her comfort. “You may be tempted to pick up where your brother left off and take that recording to the police.” His gaze hardened. “Let me advise you against it, Stefanya. Even if I was temporarily detained by the forces of law and order, Alexei would find you and ensure you met the same fate as Gregori. And I can assure you that my many friends in police forces all over the country would ensure the recording was destroyed before it ever reached a courtroom.”
Steffi raised her head, looking Walter squarely in the eye. She had no doubt he meant every word of his threats. “I need time to get it.”
He frowned. “Surely you have it with you? I figured you came to Stillwater because you had listened to it and you wanted to ask me for money. Even a movie star would be drawn by the prospect of billions.”
Her instinct was to react with anger instead of fear. How dare this man—this murderer—suggest she would attempt to make money out of her brother’s death? “I don’t want or need money from you.”
As his eyes narrowed, she realized too late she had placed herself on dangerous ground. “So why did you come to Stillwater?”
Think fast. “I thought this was the last place you would look for me.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “You were right. My men have been scouring the country for you since you staged your little disappearing act. Luckily, my guys are just a little smarter than the police. I already had your adoptive parents’ address, so I knew you were not with them.”
