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Luka
The SUV swerves into the private airport’s tarmac, and Nik, Igor, and I get out, pulling our bags from the trunk.
“Well, that was successful, don’t you think?” Nik’s cheesy grin is plastered on his face. When Nik came to me with some additional suppliers to vet, I let him take the lead. And when he said it was imperative to fly to Moscow last week, I was on board. We flew in and went to work, assessing their financial stability and touring their facilities, trying to gauge their operations firsthand.
We spent the rest of the week coming to payment terms and negotiating the contract conditions. With the new delivery schedules in place from these suppliers, we will have double the inventory coming into the United States that we can then distribute. This means more products to secure our powerful hold and more money—a lot more.
This trip was crucial, and the strong new relationships in place are invaluable, but the pull home was unbearable. I always love coming to Russia and diving into our heritage and culture—it feeds the soul, especially those in our business. But the whole trip something was missing—or someone.
“Da. Nikolai, you did well, Brother.” I grip his shoulder and give him a smile. I’m proud of him.
Igor smiles, and we all walk to the plane’s stairs. This jet has been in the Morozov family since my father, and it offers us quick turnarounds when we have to do a lot of back and forth between countries. But right now, it can’t leave fast enough.
The plane has sophistication in its sleek design. I settle in my plush leather seat and instantly sink into its comfort. I glance at the fully stocked bar with its marble countertops, wood paneling, and metal accents, debating a drink.
Instead, I opt to pull out my computer and check in on some emails. I pull out my phone and scroll back through the couple messages Kate sent me, wishing me a happy birthday. Ilena and Nik are the only ones who know when my birthday is and adding her to that list feels right. I wanted to keep talking to her, but when she didn’t respond, I assumed she had found something much better to do.
The plane’s engines roar to life, and we taxi down the runway. Within several minutes, we accelerate and lift off. Moscow’s city skyline shrinks away below, leaving behind buildings and roads in favor of blue sky and clouds. Igor leans his seat back and shuts out the world with his headphones, while Nik picks at the charcuterie board the crew has put together.
A message on my phone pops up from Ivan.
Call when available.
I motion toward Nik, holding up my phone. “Did you talk to Ivan already?”
He stabs a piece of cured meat and shoves it in his mouth.
“Nyet.”
I dial Ivan and wait for him to answer. Each ring that passes unsettles me. It’s not like Ivan to be cryptic in his messagesornot answer his phone. I hang up and dial again, Nik sliding into the seat across from mine.
Ivan finally answers on the third ring, and I click over to speakerphone.
“Da,Boss. I wanted to let you know Kate called me. She asked me to come pick her up at the office. I’m unsure why, but I wanted to check with you before driving her.”
This is why I appreciate Ivan; he is quiet, loyal,andrespectful.
“Da. Let me know where she is off to. Stay with her,” I say and click off the call.
Nik narrows his eyes before turning my computer toward him. He types for a few minutes and brings up the office cameras.
The first footage of Kate is when she strides into the office area, smiling at Natallia. I watch as she takes the black card I had Natallia order for her and marches her perfect legs over to my office door. She slides the envelope under the door, and I internally groan at the way her stubbornness gets to me.
Nik chuckles, and I shoot him a glare. We fast forward a couple hours, and that’s when we find the phone call.
Kate glances at her phone, but she ignores it. When the phone rings again, she picks it up and I see her face pale. My heart races on instinct. Her voice is too low to make out what she says back, but she stands suddenly and grabs her purse. Finally, we hear the last of her conversation.
“Wait. Derek I’m coming.”
The camera’s words distort her addicting voice, and she takes off to the elevator. A deep-seated restlessness taps into the tension from the phone call, and I explode to stand.
“Who the hell is Derek?” A knot of unease tangles with the bitter taste in my mouth, and my mind rolls into a tangent. I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve brought her with me. What’s wrong with her? Is she okay?
Damn it.
“Luka.” Nik’s calm voice brings me back to the computer, and he has brought up a digital file folder, a headshot of a familiar-looking man in a police uniform. He has short brown hair and brown eyes, but underneath his photo is his name.
PO Derek Conley.
