“Nah. Registered to some shell, ‘The French Connection.’”
“Probably a shell company, the same way I registered mine.Thank you, Terry, for all your help today. I’ll make sure arrangements are made to compensate you for your assistance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Luciani. If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to call.” Terry gives me another nervous smile and then dips his head as he turns to walk away.
Constance is nearby but only paying partial attention to my conversation with Terry. She’s absorbed in watching the officers work over the plane.
The police have just pulled open the cargo hold, and I can see the flash of cameras as one of their technicians takes pictures of the scene. The haul is fairly predictable for a Russian gangster leaving in a hurry—cases of rifles and pistols, along with a briefcase packed with stacks of cash bundled tight with rubber bands. Nothing illegal to transport on a private jet, at least not on the surface.
Then they roll out a large suitcase that’s obviously heavy from the way the officer struggles to lift it from the hold. My smile is sharp when the officer unzips the suitcase and the bricks gleam up at him, white, pristine, and stamped with that red devil the Russians think makes them untouchable. Cocaine. Several dozen kilos of it at least.
The officers swarming the plane actually cheer, slapping each other on the back as if they just won the lottery. Reporters are already gathering just outside the fence around the airfield, where more uniformed officers are holding them back from the scene. Before sundown, the headlines will sing of a major bust in the Russian drug trafficking ring.
“This is good,” I reassure Constance as I put an arm around her, being careful not to touch her wound. “That much of his product being seized, along with more of his associates being detained, will help us corner the slippery bastard.”
Constance’s shoulders sag. “It looks good for the police, certainly, but Volkov got away again,” she whispers. “He’s stillout there, and this is just going to make him even more desperate.”
I wrap her hand in mine, warm and comforting. “For now. This was his chance to make a clean exit, and we ruined it. He’s rattled, on the run, and his people are fucked. We’ll keep pressing until there’s no room left for him to breathe in this city. Either the police get him… or I do. And I won’t miss.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the steel there again, that resilience that both worries and amazes me. She isn’t like any of the woman I’ve ever dated. Constance Monroe is a hard ass, every bit my equal.
“Then we keep pushing,” she agrees. “Until we get these bastards.”
I nod, though the ache in my leg and the tightness in my chest reminded me how worn we both were. “But not today,” I murmur. “Today we breathe.”
The war isn’t over. But the Volkovs are on their heels, and I intend to break them before they can recover.
A moment later, the Escalade swallows us up, the doors shutting out the chaos of the airfield. Constance leans lightly into me, warm and alive, and the promise settles like steel in my bones.
They hurt her once.
They won’t get a second chance.
Not while I still draw breath.
31
“Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It just means you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
As we leave the airfield,my phone dings with a message from Melissa:I swear I think I just saw you get shot on the news. Please tell me you’re okay!
It takes me a moment to think of how to respond. Melissa is going to think I’m insane if I tell her the entire truth. Hell, I’m starting to wonder myself if I haven’t lost my grip on reality after everything that’s happened these last few weeks. I finally reply to her with,That was me, but I’m all right. I can’t tell you everything that’s going on right now, but we’ll talk soon.
She replies almost immediately with:Please be careful. I’mhere for you. You don’t have to go through all this alone.Tears well up in my eyes as I read her response. I lean my head over against Maximo’s shoulder and try to relax as the highway slides by outside the window. I wish Melissa could help me carry the weight of all this, but the only person who can right now is sitting beside me.
By the time we return to the estate, I can hardly keep my eyes open. The ride from the airfield was quiet, Maximo and I both lost in our own exhaustion. My body still aches from trying to sleep in the hospital bed, and I can tell Maximo’s ribs and leg are still paining him by the stiffness with which he moves.
“Come,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple when I exit the Escalade and lean against him. “You need some rest before you burn out, firefly.”
As we step inside the manor, his voice hardens. “Enzo,” he calls into the kitchen where the captain is eating a sandwich. “Find out who we have in the county jail right now and make the arrangements. I want Francis to have an accident before tomorrow morning.”
I thought Enzo would ask for clarification or more instructions, but he only nods as if this is all completely expected. The chef’s betrayal has sealed his fate.
Maximo leads me upstairs, and turns on all the heads in his huge, walk-in shower. He helps me wrap the gunshot wound in my arm to keep it dry, then does the same to his leg. After that, we let the steam and warmth of the shower envelop us. The water washes away the grime of my long night at the hospital, along with the sharp sting of anxiety and fear I hadn’t realized I’ve been carrying in my chest.
