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Jim was beginning to drool and foam at the mouth. The pain was agonizing and growing worse by the minute. His insides were burning…disintegrating. What an idiot he’d been. Oh, God…
Dmitry ran out of the room, barely making it to the bathroom before he vomited.
Max remained, rising from his chair to closely watch every dying moment. With a total lack of emotion, he nursed his vodka, studying Jim as he twisted and writhed on the floor.
It was only when Jim contorted and then went deadly still that Max nodded in satisfaction, put down his shot glass, and left the room.
Slava would dispose of the body later.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Once again, Ryan had lost track of the time. Part of that was Claire’s fault. She’d come into his lair a little after midnight, locked the door, and pulled him down onto the small rug in the corner of the hard-floored room. She’d seduced him shamelessly—what choice did he have but to give in?
His lips curved, remembering. For such a soft-spoken, perfect lady, Claire was anything but that in bed. Or on the floor. Or anywhere they happened to be when they tore each other’s clothes off. So, frankly, he didn’t care that it was three a.m. The half-hour interruption had been well worth the time spent away from his efforts to locate Miles and Julie.
But now it was serious business time. His progress had been moving along at a breakneck pace since Claire’s visit. Maybe she’d gotten his juices flowing. Maybe he was just so close he could taste it. Maybe…
Success.
Leaping to his feet, Ryan pumped the air with his fist, filled with self-congratulations and the taste of excitement to come.
Miles had been a worthy adversary, but the pupil had a lot to learn from the master. Ryan had set multiple traps for ScoobyDoo—traps that would triangulate and reveal the digital footprint of ScoobyDoo’s Internet activity. Any one trap would be insufficient to break the anonymity afforded by the darknet, but working in concert, Ryan could narrow the list down to a couple of IP addresses, and from that, to the most likely location.
The winner was Upper Montclair, New Jersey, which had turned up a seventy-three percent probability. Awesome that it was that close to Manhattan. No unrealistic time commitments, plane flights, or convincing Casey—which would never happen—to close in on his quarry.
It was field trip time. And he wasn’t going there alone, not when he had a badass Navy SEAL to ride shotgun.
Marc Devereaux’s cell phone rang.
Groaning, he untangled his limbs from Madeline’s and groped for the offensive object that was ringing on the night table beside his head. It had to be close to friggin’ four in the morning, and he and his beautiful fiancée had just fallen asleep—something they didn’t do much of when they were in bed together. The last thing he wanted was a conversation.
“You’d better answer that,” Maddy murmured, nestling her face against Marc’s shoulder. With great difficulty, she raised her head and glanced at her nightstand clock. “It’s after three thirty. It’s got to be work.”
“Yeah. Lucky me.” Marc took a quick look at the Caller ID. “It’s Ryan.”
“What a surprise.”
“Not a welcome one.” Marc punched on his phone. “This had better be good,” he said to his teammate.
A chuckle. “Are you and Madeline still burning up the sheets? Damn, you’re getting married in a month. The good stuff should be over by now.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Marc was in no mood for chitchat. “What’s going on?”
“I know you’re interviewing suspects in the Worster case.” Ryan got down to business, referring to the current FI case. “But Claire-voyant has to do her thing with the suspect list anyway before you start interrogating people. Can you disappear for a while tomorrow?”
“Does Casey know about this?”
“Not yet. But don’t worry. I’ll run it by her as we drive.”
“When we’re already halfway where we’re going, and she can’t say no.” Marc rubbed his eyes. “By tomorrow, I assume you mean today.”
“Yeah.” Ryan sounded a little sheepish. “I guess it’s late.”
“Only if you keep normal hours.” Marc folded his free arm behind his head. “Is this about those people you’re hunting down for Emma?”
“Uh-huh. I think I found Miles—or at least the town he’s in.”
“I’m not flying to Hawaii.”
