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There was a slight hesitation on the line, then Rolfe asked, “What is it you want?”
“To meet, of course. I feel we have unfinished business. When is a good time for you?”
“I’m currently busy with—”
“Later this afternoon, then?” she said, not giving him a chance to back out. “It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask. Shall I come to you, or would you like to meet me?” she said, naming a location far enough away from where she was told he was staying so as not to arouse suspicion. “I’m just leaving the airport.”
As expected, he chose to meet her at his location and gave her the address.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” she said.
—
SHE AND VIKTOR drove out to the secluded house and were met at the door by Gere, who limped as he led them down a hallway toward a dark-paneled salon. Rolfe was seated in a leather armchair, drinking what she assumed from the gold flakes floating in the clear liquid was Goldwasser vodka.
“Tatiana,” he said, rising.
“Rolfe.” She walked up to him, smelling the strong alcohol on his breath as she let him kiss her on both cheeks.
He glanced at Viktor and, as expected, promptly ignored him. Looking at Tatiana, he waved her toward the matching chair opposite him.
She sat, looking around the room. The heavy, dark wooden furnishings appeared expensive, including the paintings on the wall: bloody battle scenes from the Middle Ages. “Charming,” she said, eyeing the artwork with distaste. “How did you find this place?”
He returned to his chair, picking up his glass. “It belongs to a business associate of mine.”
“You have business associates in Kaliningrad?”
“I have business associates all over Europe.”
“Perhaps you should introduce me to some of them.”
He took a sip of his drink, then set it on the chairside table. “What is it you’re doing here, Tatiana?”
She studied the man for a moment. There was a definite change about him. Normally, he was eager to see her, wanting to foster a relationship that he hoped would tie their two businesses together. That thought always amused her mostly because she was the one who’d planted the idea in his head. Today, though, his eyes held a slight annoyance, and there was a stubborn tilt to his chin.
It galled her that she had to handle it this way, but she had no choice and so she just came out with it. “I’ve come to make a deal. I want in on the Romanov Ransom.”
His brows rose slightly as he picked up his glass, swirling the liquid so that the gold flakes spun about. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You need me.”
“The moment I find out what I want to know, I won’t need anyone.”
“I thought that’s what the contents of the courier bag were supposed to have told you?”
This time, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “How do you know about that?”
“I make it my business. Your man—what was his name?”
“Gere?”
“Not him, the other one.” She glanced over her shoulder at Viktor, who stood stock-still behind her. “What was his name?”
“Durin,” Viktor said.
“Yes. Durin . . .” She focused on Rolfe. “The courier bag he stole from the plane was supposed to be on its way to me. Had he not been killed, I’d have it now, not you.”
Rolfe stared at her for several seconds, the only reaction was the bulge of a vein beating fast at his temple. He drained his glass, then set it on the table, as a muffled thump came from the room next door.
