“It’s an honor working for the ambassador,” she replied.
“My friend, Dmitri Petrov, he say Bulgrov weak.”
A wave of nausea had her flagging down the server. “Can I get another water?”
Before the server returned, Donskoy asked, “You okay?”
“Just feeling lightheaded,” she replied, fighting against it.
“Outside. Cold air.”
She didn’t feel good. The lights in the restaurant started looking fuzzy, like caterpillars. Donskoy pushed out of the booth and, with clumsy hands, pulled her coat onto her shoulders. With a strong hand clutching her waist, he guided her outside on rubber legs.
“I need to go home,” she muttered as she struggled to stay awake.
“Not home. Pavel and Minka to have kinky fun.”
GABRIEL
Dressedin black with his face hidden behind a ski mask and a helmet on his head, Gabriel walked into the backyard of Donskoy’s split-level house. The Arlington neighborhood was filled with older, brick front homes. Some tidy, others in need of repairs and upgrades.
Five minutes earlier, he’d checked the app confirming Halston was at Krov bar. According to their plan, she’d have one drink, then suggest they head back to his place.
His skin crawled.
Hehatedthe idea, had asked her to cancel the date. Told her she could accompany him when he broke into Donskoy’s houseto deep six him while he was sleeping. She rejected it outright, insisting she wanted to go through with their original plan.
The back door of Donskoy’s home was locked. Rather than shoot it out—and alert anyone who might be there—he used his lock pick. The old lock wouldn’t give, so he tried a different pick.
C’mon, open.
This one worked. He opened the door, waited for the blare of a house alarm.
Nothing.
He lowered the goggles attached to his helmet, entered the dwelling, and shut the door behind him. With his CANiK in hand, he glanced around the dark room.
No one slept on the sofa, no one appeared from the shadows. While there could have been surveillance cameras, he saw none. Moving silently through the lower level, he cleared the storage room, cleared the bathroom. Upstairs on the first floor, the kitchen was unoccupied. No one in the small dining room, same for the living room. At the base of the short staircase leading to the upper level, he listened.
Silence.
He cleared the upstairs hall bathroom, cleared the primary bedroom, noting the unmade bed. The other two bedrooms lacked furniture, their closets empty. Back on the main floor, he saw papers scattered over the small kitchen table.
Everything was in Russian. One snagged his attention.
A map of the US.
He couldn’t read Russian, but Halston could. After shoving the papers and the map into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, he checked the time.
He’d been there fifteen minutes. Based on their plan, Halston and Donskoy should be arriving in the next three-to-five. He opened the app, viewed Halston’s location.
Adrenaline punched through him.
Halston was headed in the opposite direction from Donskoy’s house. He checked his phone. No texts, then he remembered she didn’t take her personal phone.
Fuck. Fuck.
He flew down the basement stairs, out the back, didn’t stop to close the door. He strode through the yard, flipped up the goggles, and broke into a run through the adjacent yard. He had no idea where she was or why she wasn’t following their agreed-to plan. But he did know that whatever was happening was not good.
