Into the Flame

by Christina Dodd

  When Rurik spoke, he used his Air Force-captain command voice to snap her out of it. ‘‘Firebird, is there someplace you can meet me? Someplace flat?’’

  ‘‘Um. Yeah. Yes!’’ She sounded startled. ‘‘I can drive north toward Shoalwater State Park. There’s a parking lot there.’’

  ‘‘Perfect. I’ll be there in less than an hour.’’

  ‘‘In less than an hour?’’ She sounded confused and heartsore. ‘‘But—’’

  ‘‘Get out of there now, before they track you down,’’ Konstantine added.

  They heard the click as she replaced the phone.

  Zorana grabbed Rurik’s arm. ‘‘Bring her home. Somehow, bring her home.’’

  ‘‘I will, Mama.’’ Rurik patted her hand, then turned toward the door.

  Adrik ran in, smiling savagely. ‘‘Ann got it. I know where our long-lost brother is, and I’m going after him.’’

  ‘‘Make sure some of the Varinskis follow you,’’ Konstantine said. ‘‘And make sure they don’t come back!’’

  ‘‘Yes, Papa,’’ the boys chorused.

  Rurik hooked his elbow around Adrik’s neck. ‘‘Come with me.’’

  ‘‘Come with you?’’ Adrik snorted. ‘‘I’ll drive. I’m faster.’’

  ‘‘Yes, you can drive us to the airfield,’’ Rurik answered.

  Adrik stopped, narrow-eyed and wary. ‘‘What are we going to do at the airfield?’’

  Rurik said words guaranteed to put pride in a father’s heart. ‘‘We’re going to steal a helicopter.’’

  Chapter Thirty

  Doug didn’t know how long the Varinskis had been cutting on him. It seemed like days. It was probably no more than an hour, because the sun still hadn’t risen above the horizon. But if he had to say one thing they did well, it was torture. They had hefted him up onto the hood of his patrol car, gotten out the pocketknives, and gone to work. They cut off his shirt and one of his nipples. They probed between his ribs. And he didn’t even want to think about what they’d done to his hands.

  Blood, when it started to dry, got very sticky. And Doug wondered what Yamashita was going to say about the big red stain on the car. Did the enzymes in blood ruin a paint job?

  Foka stuck his face close to Doug’s and in his heavily accented voice said, ‘‘I am bored with you. I am bored with your resistance.’’

  ‘‘I’m not resisting. I told you. I sold the icon to the Wilders.’’

  Idly, Doug wondered how many bones they’d broken. Other than his knee, his ribs, and his hand, he was feeling pretty good. Of course, that might be because the loss of blood was shutting down his brain. . . .

  ‘‘Vadim doesn’t believe you. He said you are greedy. He said there are other bidders out there who would have paid more. He sssaid you haven’t had time to get your bids.’’ Foka leaned his ugly face close. ‘‘There are other body partsss Goga can cut off.’’

  Goga grinned and nodded.

  ‘‘Onesss that hurt worssse than a little finger. Do you know what they are?’’ Foka asked.

  Doug knew exactly what they were. He lifted his head off the windshield. Smiled insolently at the ugly trio, and especially at Foka. ‘‘Are you one of those guys? The ones who love to play with another guy’s family jewels?’’

  ‘‘Koshka,’’ Foka hissed, and when he did, the pupils in his eyes changed from round to up-and-down slits.

  ‘‘I’m a piece of shit? This from a guy who not only likes to play with another guy’s jewels, but really likes it when they’re his family jewels, too?’’

  Foka gestured to Goga.

  Goga slammed his fist into Doug’s gut.

  Great. A little soft-tissue damage, too.

  When he finished gagging, he thought the roaring in his ears would subside. It didn’t. It grew louder and louder. Then a whirlwind struck, filling the air with dirt and cedar, and a light as bright as the sun blinded him.

  It wasn’t his imagination, either, or the onset of death. The Varinskis were shielding their eyes and shouting in dismay.

  God had arrived to exact his vengeance on them all.

  Then a voice at the edge of the light spoke, and Doug knew it wasn’t God.

  It said, ‘‘You shits are going to be sorry for picking on my brother.’’

  Doug couldn’t believe it. His family had arrived, and in a helicopter, no less.

  A panther, black as the night, leaped onto the two wolf-guys, slashing one across the face, snapping the other’s neck with a single bite.

  Doug rolled off the hood, taking Foka down with him, and as they fell, Doug pulled the pistol from Foka’s belt and blasted him right through his cold lizard guts.

  He figured he had five shots left, and as he rolled out from behind the car, he emptied every round into his tormentors.

  ‘‘Come on. C’mon!’’ Firebird paced beside the car, biting her nails down to the quicks. With every step, she was aware of the icon tucked beneath her bra against her heart.

  Once she’d found it, she’d gotten out of that house at top speed. She hadn’t hesitated to take the Glock, or Douglas’s car, either. She needed power if she was going to get this icon home without interference from Douglas and his Varinskis. The stop in Rocky Cliffs had been brief, long enough to call home, and the drive to Shoalwater State Park had been nerve-racking.

  She glanced around again. ‘‘C’mon, Rurik.’’

  She hadn’t wanted to stop in the empty parking lot filled with mounds of soggy leaves and faded white lines painted on black asphalt. She had wanted to keep driving, to get as far away from Douglas as she could. She didn’t want to face him, and not merely because he’d murder her, although that was a pretty good reason. No, she couldn’t bear to watch him smirk at having so cleverly fooled her into betraying her family—and giving him a blow job while she did it.

  Where was Rurik? What did he think he was doing? She could have driven Doug’s Beemer home in four hours, or five if the traffic was bad, and as long as she didn’t get stopped too many times by the state patrol, and as long as Doug hadn’t reported his car as stolen.

  The lousy son of a bitch.

  He probably had. Had probably demanded she be arrested for shooting off his lock. If he realized how gleefully she would shoot off his—

  The chop-chop-chop of helicopter blades interrupted her pleasant musing. It was coming fast, getting louder by the moment. She looked north along the shore, and there it was, black and white, silver and red, coming fast, dusting the treetops, creating a whirlwind of debris. The aircraft hovered over the parking lot, then gently came to rest on the asphalt. The passenger door opened, and she looked across the seat to Rurik gesturing her in. She ran, head down, as the blades chopped the air, blasting her until she settled in the seat. Before she’d even buckled in, he lifted off, straight up into the air, and once she was secure, he set a course east and north, flying fast.

  She donned the headset.

  He spoke into the microphone, his voice right in her ears. ‘‘What the hell happened to your hair? It looks like you backed into a lawn mower.’’

  ‘‘No, it got chopped off with a knife.’’

  She could almost hear him groping for the right answer. After a pause of thirty seconds, he said, ‘‘Great helicopter, huh?’’

  ‘‘Smooth,’’ she muttered. But it was a great helicopter, shining and clean, with complicated gauges and rich leather seats.

  ‘‘It’s a Bell 206B3 JetRanger III, seats five, does two hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. . . .’’

  She glared witheringly.

  ‘‘Or, for you landlubbers, one hundred and thirty-six miles per hour. We’ll fly straight home and be there in fifty minutes, give or take a minute.’’ His gaze flicked toward her. ‘‘Do you have it?’’

  ‘‘The icon?’’ She pressed her hand against the small, hard square hidden against her body. ‘‘It’s in a safe place.’’

  ‘‘Heaven does not hold me in its favor, but I have
been praying that the fourth icon would be found.’’ With typical brotherly bluntness, he said, ‘‘You found it? Are you sure you’re not our brother’s true love?’’

  ‘‘Where’d you get the helicopter?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Oh, come on, Firebird. Tell me what he’s like.’’

  ‘‘He’s a sneaking, lying, underhanded weasel.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Rurik was clearly horrified. ‘‘A weasel?’’

  In this family, she couldn’t even use a metaphor. ‘‘No. He’s a cougar. But that doesn’t change the facts. He should be a weasel.’’

  Rurik must have heard the wobble in her voice and feared a bout of tears, for he said, ‘‘I borrowed it from a friend.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘The helicopter.’’

  A hunch made her say, ‘‘Does he know you borrowed it?’’

  ‘‘He won’t mind. He’s a former Air Force pilot himself, a guy with a flair for making money. He’s always got a new toy to play with.’’ Rurik concentrated very hard on the gauges and the horizon.

  She plucked the clipboard off the dash and glanced through the flight records. ‘‘It’s only been out twice.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I’m breaking it in.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t know you could fly a helicopter.’’

  ‘‘Sure. Remember, when I change, I’m a hawk. I can fly anything.’’

  ‘‘Really.’’ She turned toward him. ‘‘Tell me, how many helicopters have you flown?’’

  ‘‘I’ve done a lot of work in a helicopter flight simulator.’’

  She’d grown up in this family of daredevils. It took a lot to make her lose her cool. But this time, he’d managed it. ‘‘This is your first time at the controls?’’

  ‘‘Don’t shriek like that!’’ He tapped his helmet over his ear. ‘‘It’s merely my first time in the air. And I’d like to point out that you were driving a nice Beemer.’’

  ‘‘I borrowed it from a friend.’’ Firebird bared her teeth in a ferocious smile. ‘‘He won’t mind.’’

  The radio crackled to life. ‘‘Rurik, you bastard, what are you doing with my JetRanger?’’

  ‘‘Just taking it out for a spin, Ethan. Just taking it out for a spin.’’

  ‘‘I just traded the old one in on that beauty, and if you get one scratch on its pristine paint job—’’

  ‘‘Oops! Was that a goose hitting at two hundred and twenty kilometers per hour?’’ Rurik shouted.

  ‘‘A single scratch,’’ Ethan shouted back, ‘‘and I’ll have you arrested and locked up in a prison cell so deep, the only way you’ll know it’s Christmas is if you have an erection to play with!’’

  For the first time since she’d found the icon, the tension slid out of Firebird’s shoulders, and she smiled.

  Rurik touched her cheek with his finger. Still with that outrageous innocence in his voice, he said, ‘‘Gee, Ethan, you’re being awfully strict about this. It’s not like I even know how to fly a helicopter.’’

  Firebird settled into her seat and allowed the men’s quarreling to distract her from her worries, from her sorrow, from the awful truth she’d left behind, and the formidable responsibility she faced at home.

  She held the fourth icon. Now it was up to her, and her alone, to unite it with the other three and end the pact with the devil.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Doug woke slumped in the passenger seat of his patrol car as it raced down the highway, the siren screaming. He stared at the mile markers that whipped past at a horrifying speed, and in a voice that was no more than a croak, he asked, ‘‘What the hell are you doing?’’

  ‘‘Getting us home in a hurry.’’ A hand appeared before Doug’s face. ‘‘I’m your brother Adrik.’’

  ‘‘For the love of God, put those fingers on the wheel,’’ Doug said.

  The hand disappeared. ‘‘You worry too much.’’

  ‘‘I’m a cop. It’s my job to worry.’’ Doug rolled his head toward the driver.

  Except for the dark hair and green eyes, this guy looked like the guy Doug saw in the mirror every morning—tall, broad shouldered, exotic, and meaner than shit.

  Wow. He really did have a brother.

  A brother who could save Firebird. ‘‘Someone needs to—’’

  ‘‘—go after Firebird?’’ Adrik finished. ‘‘Someone is.’’

  ‘‘Honest?’’

  ‘‘I don’t lie.’’

  ‘‘Thank God,’’ Doug mumbled, and slowly inched up in the seat.

  As far as he could tell, every part of his body had been crunched, ripped, broken, and chopped. While they’d tortured him, he’d screamed like a little girl, but he had his revenge—he’d killed a man who looked like a lizard, taken out one more, and watched with satisfaction as Adrik, his panther brother, had cleaned the road with the last of them.

  Now Doug should have been a wreck, physically and emotionally, but instead, when he realized that his family had sent someone to save his ass, he felt good. ‘‘I’m your brother Douglas,’’ he said.

  ‘‘I want to congratulate you.’’

  ‘‘For living through that torture?’’

  ‘‘No. For having a normal name.’’ Adrik gave a crack of laughter. ‘‘We Wilders live to be tortured.’’

  ‘‘Glad to carry on the family tradition.’’

  ‘‘Here. This is for you.’’ Adrik handed over a bottle of water. ‘‘Drink it all. You’re a Wilder; we’re fast healers, but you’re in shit shape, and we’ll need you to keep up your end in the battle. There’s a sandwich for you on the floor, too.’’ The water quenched a horrible thirst, and the mere mention of a sandwich made Doug’s salivary glands work overtime. He dove into the brown bag and brought out a twelve-inch tuna salad on wheat and a big bag of chips.

  A big bag of chips.

  ‘‘Open those up and put them in the middle.’’ The tires squealed as Adrik took an exit off I-5.

  ‘‘In a minute.’’ Doug scarfed down half the sandwich before he could unwrap his fingers from the sub. ‘‘Thanks, man, I needed that.’’

  ‘‘You’re going to make our mother very happy,’’ Adrik said obscurely.

  Doug opened the chips and wondered why the mere mention of his mother made his palms sweat. When he thought about what he had to confess . . .

  ‘‘By the way, sorry about your finger. After we killed the Varinskis, I looked around for it, but no luck.’’

  Doug lifted his right hand and held it before his eyes. Only a bloody stump remained where his little finger had been. ‘‘You couldn’t find it. They chopped it off a little at a time.’’

  ‘‘They did something to your other hand, too.’’

  Doug lifted his left hand and stared at the deep gash in his palm. ‘‘Oh, yeah. I remember. They wanted to take my thumb, but they were using a pocketknife and the bone was too tough. So they gave up and went for the little finger.’’

  ‘‘That sucks.’’ Adrik sounded as if he knew exactly how much it sucked, and also knew Doug would survive to fight again. Soon.

  If they weren’t killed by his driving. Adrik dug into the chips with one hand, and used the other to shove his dark hair out of his eyes.

  ‘‘What are you steering with, your pecker? Really, man,’’ Doug said. ‘‘Slow down.’’

  ‘‘I was a juvenile delinquent, you know. Driving a patrol car is a lifelong dream.’’ Adrik sounded cheerful. ‘‘Besides, we have a war to fight.’’

  ‘‘Later.’’ Doug ate another bite of the sandwich and a handful of chips.

  ‘‘Papa’s pushing up the schedule. So Rurik and I led four Varinskis on a wild-goose chase on the way to the airfield, and when we had them trapped, we eliminated them. That’ll help, but not enough, because the battle is starting right about’’—Adrik glanced at his wrist, not that he wore a watch— ‘‘now.’’

  Doug appreciated a brother with a sense of humor. He wasn’t as happy as Adrik pres
sed down on the accelerator. ‘‘The speedometer only goes to a hundred and twenty.’’

  ‘‘We want to beat Rurik home.’’ Adrik laughed out loud. ‘‘We haven’t got a chance—the chopper will take fifty minutes. But I do love the speed.’’

  ‘‘Why do we want to beat him home?’’

  ‘‘Because he’s the one who has Firebird.’’

  ‘‘He has her safe?’’ Doug wanted to collapse in relief. ‘‘You know that for sure?’’

  ‘‘I do know that for sure.’’ Adrik’s friendly tone disappeared. ‘‘I also know she said you betrayed us to the Varinskis.’’

  The torture Doug had suffered was nothing compared to the anguish of having Firebird find out what he’d done. ‘‘She knows?’’

  Adrik’s expression was about as friendly as the lizard’s when he’d hacked at Doug’s finger. ‘‘Every-one in the family knows.’’

  ‘‘Fuck everyone in the family. I don’t care about the family. I don’t know the family.’’ Vaguely Doug knew he had alienated the man who had rescued him from certain death. ‘‘But I love Firebird, and I screwed up so badly. . . . I love her, and she’s got to hate my guts.’’

  ‘‘That’s pretty much what she said.’’

  If Doug had been thinking, he would have noticed that Adrik sounded friendly again, like he approved of the guy who loved his sister above all else.

  ‘‘I don’t know what I’m going to do to make it up to her.’’

  ‘‘Just a suggestion—if I were you, I’d save her life.’’

  ‘‘What are you talking about?’’

  ‘‘Firebird’s got the fourth icon.’’

  ‘‘The hell you say.’’ How had she found the icon? When Doug had left, he’d locked his office door. What had she done to get in? And why?

  Adrik continued, ‘‘The Varinskis have already surrounded the valley, more are coming all the time, and they’d do anything to kill the bearer of the icon.’’

  Suddenly, all the aches and pains, all the questions and guilt that plagued Doug fell away. ‘‘Drive faster,’’ he said.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  ‘‘As you know, the fourth icon is on its way. The other three are upstairs in the safe room waiting for the chance to be united with it.’’ Konstantine sat at the kitchen table, directing operations in that calm, confident manner he had always used on untried troops. ‘‘Yet Ann has discovered for us on her computer that the young leader of the Varinskis, Vadim, will in an hour land in Everett on a private jet. He has hired for himself a limousine to bring him here, and another for his private guard. He brings with him a dozen men. These will be the best fighters and strategists the Varinskis have to offer. The troops that surround us . . . are not.’’ He gestured in a circle toward the outside of the house. ‘‘We need to provide a distraction so Rurik and Firebird can bring us the icon. We need time for Zorana to put the icons together and break the pact. And, of course, we want to provide young Vadim with such a scene of chaos that when he arrives, he weeps like an infant. So for all these reasons, I have decided to take the initiative and commence the battle. Now, I know we are few.’’