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“Let’s just say it was Razor’s doing.”
She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t really care what that meant. As long as Gunner intended to let her find her mother, she wouldn’t question why.
“I have information that may assist them.”
“Talk to me, Raketa.”
—:—
“Raketa believes that Petrov may have fled to Iran,” Gunner told Doc.
“Based on what information?”
“Something she heard about a deal as she was being escorted into Petrov’s office.”
“Would he be that sloppy?”
“It was the tail end of a conversation and only one word mattered—Azarpassillo.”
As soon as she’d said it, Gunner understood where she was headed. The Iranian construction company was controlled by the country’s Revolutionary Guard, notorious for greasing the hands of Azerbaijan’s wealthiest and most powerful oligarchs.
He knew from the Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index, Azerbaijan was among the most corrupt nations in the world. A perfect place for the likes of Petrov to operate. However, if he needed to ghost, the Iranians were the most likely to offer him a place to land.
“What about United Russia?” asked Doc.
“I’m not so certain they want him dead.”
“We’ll work this angle and report back.”
Gunner disconnected the call and looked into Raketa’s hopeful eyes. “I think we’re on the right track,” he told her.
She stood and paced the living room. He could almost see the thoughts as she processed them. Raketa wasn’t just an assassin, she’d been trained as an operative, and he trusted her instincts.
“I need access to a computer.”
Gunner stood, walked over to a locked cabinet, opened it, and handed her a laptop.
“Is it secure?” she asked.
Gunner pulled out a card, inserted it into a slot on the front of the machine, and logged on.
“You’re trusting me?” she asked when he turned the computer toward her.
“You’re trusting me?” he asked in response.
He watched as she made several attempts at hacking into encrypted Azerbaijani sites. In less than a half hour, she was successful. Most of what she was looking at was in Azeri, although some of the documents were written in Iranian and Russian.
“I’ve compiled the information you need to send,” she told him after more than two hours.
The entire time, Gunner had sat doing nothing but watch her. She was equally impressive in her espionage skills, ability to quickly decipher what she was reading and de
termine what was worth passing on, and hotter than shit.
Gunner shouldn’t have been turned on watching a woman sitting in front of a computer, but he was.
“What?” she said, looking at his expression.
“Nothing,” he answered, willing his body to settle the hell down.
