Ignoring the lump in my throat, I ask, “But it’s not entirely unthinkable. Right?”
“I guess.” The tapping of a keyboard almost drowns out what Carmichael says next, “But none of Vladimir’s accounts have been accessed in over a year. If he’s paying Maxsim, it’s not in money. . .”
His words trail off, replaced by a massive gasp.
“What is it?”
Carmichael sounds distant when he answers, “A parcel of land the Popov entity has held since the seventies is scheduled to be transferred next week.”
“To whom?” My voice is as high as my brows.
“Hold on.”
Stomping sounds down the line. I’m shocked I can hear it for how hard Carmichael’s lungs are working. He sounds as if he is running.
I push Trey’s cell in close to my ear when Carmichael sneers, “You did it again, didn’t you?!”
A man replies, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
“For fuck’s sake, Jeremy! Did the loss of your finger not teach you anything? They’ll kill you this time when they discover what you’ve done.”
My heart twists from the concern in Carmichael’s tone. He loves his brother, but he’s struggling not to strangle him right now.
“Where are they?”
A commotion sounds down the line before heavy breathing follows it.
“You won’t need to worry about him once I’m done with you. I nearly lost my license to practice because of you. I’m not risking it twice.”
Carmichael’s voice softens, as if he’s set his phone down.
My assumptions are proved right when a phone being scraped across wood sounds down the line seconds before I hear Carmichael’s dejected tone. “Send your crew to Centennial. There’s a dirt road hidden by bushes off Kyle Cannon. I don’t know if Nikolai is there, but you may find the answers you’re seeking.”
I don’t get a chance to offer my thanks before Carmichael disconnects our call.
“Kyle Cannon.” I leap to my feet before charging toward where Trey, Maddox, and a handful of Nikolai’s crew sit.
Trey’s finger circles the area I’m referencing on an aerial map. “Except for a few housing developments, there’s nothing out there.”
“Carmichael said there’s a dirt road hidden by bushes.”
Trey’s lips quirk. “I’m not seeing any roads.”
I snatch the map to my side of the desk. “Because most men can’t locate their nose. Give it to me.”
There are several clumps of shrubs on the map, but none show a clear road veering away from them. “What’s this?” I point to a shimmer on the map. If the map were old, the glimmer might be thinning paper, but these were recently printed.
“A dome?” Maddox suggests before raising his eyes to Trey. “What material was used to build Clarks?”
“Anything we could get our hands on, but a majority of our supplies came from a decommissioned airstrip on the outskirts of town. Others were shipped in.”
“Decommissioned?” Maddox’s finger stretches from the area I’m pointing at to a barren strip of land nestled at the back of it. “Or still in operation?”
All eyes in the room snap to me when I say, “Maxsim had to get me to Vegas somehow. What if he didn’t use a commercial airstrip?”
They remain quiet, unsure what to say. What could they say? My theory is plausible. So much so, Trey barks at the men to be ready for combat before he’s even halfway out of his chair. The only time his stomps cease is when he spots me on his tail.
“No, Justine. Just because I didn’t send you away with Kristina doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have. You can’t come with us. It isn’t safe.”
