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It had been almost twenty-four hours since the meeting with Baz, which meant they only had two more days to get Olivia out of New Orleans. After that, Rykov wouldn’t guarantee their protection.
Roman wasn’t worried about Russia — their assault on New York was in full swing and Roman doubted they had an incentive to chase him down to Louisiana — but there were other elements that could become a problem if he overstayed his welcome here.
He looked up as Max entered the room.
“Guns are here,” he said.
Roman nodded and moved to the bar. “Enough?”
Max barked out a laugh. “Enough.”
“Any word from Baz’s man at the motel?” Roman asked. It was all he could to keep Ruby from going there as soon as she’d seen its name on the piece of paper.
Roman understood — she was desperate to see for herself that Olivia was okay — but they needed to move deliberately. They would have one chance to get Olivia out, one chance to use the element of surprise. If they fucked it up, Adam could disappear with her again and there were no guarantees they would find him a second time.
She’d spent the day alternately pacing the house and sitting on the terrace, surrounded by the expansive garden, her gaze trained in the distance, seeing something Roman couldn’t see.
“Adam’s still there with Olivia,” Max said. “Went out for a couple of hours earlier tonight, but he’s back now.”
Roman’s head whipped up from the drinks he’d poured. “He left Olivia alone at the motel?”
Max nodded.
“How do we know she’s okay?” Roman hated the hitch in his breath, the fear that turned his breath shallow. He cared about this all too much.
Far too much.
“Hale took Olivia to the vending machine for candy when he got back,” Max said.
“How did she look?”
“Guy said she looked fine,” said.
But there was the slightest of hesitations in Max’s voice, a beat that shouldn’t have been there.
“Tell me all of it,” Roman ordered.
“He said Olivia looked scared,” Max said.
“Motherfucker.” Roman was going to dismantle Adam Hale one limb at a time.
Unfortunately he wasn’t able to do it here in New Orleans, and the limitation chafed against his sense of justice.
Rykov’s territory, Rykov’s rules.
He carried the drinks across the room and handed one to Max.
They sat on one of the sofas — Baz clearly had a preference for leather — and Roman took a drink of the tequila in his glass.
“Do you have something to say?” he asked when he felt the scrutiny of Max’s gaze.
Max shifted and stared down at his glass. “Just want to make sure we’re not losing the forest for the trees.”
“Is Olivia the trees in this metaphor?” Roman asked, aware that his voice had turned tight.
“We have to get her away from Hale,” Max said. “I understand that. It’s our responsibility. But…”
Max wasn’t afraid of Roman like the other men — it was one of the things he liked about his best friend — but he didn’t enjoy raising Roman’s ire, and he’d become practiced at avoiding it.
