My brother meets my eyes again and something like understanding passes between us.We can’t speak–he can’t even acknowledge me–but he sees me.And he sees that I see him.
He knows I know, and that I’m not going to leave him down here alone.
I’m not going to let Corinne or him go.Because this is what I’ve been searching for–Beau and Corinne.This is why I came back.
I just need to get with Lucien and pass him the information so we can come up with a plan.
Simon closes the door again, muttering something about us having been down here too long already, but I’m not listening.I’ve got my phone out and a brand new text thread pulled up.The one Lucien started with his own phone this morning, so I would have his number if I needed it.
“So you’ll text me for help next time, instead of Camille,” he’d said.
I laughed at the time, but now I’m goddamn relieved he thought of it.Because I need help, and Lucien is the only one I want.
I need you,I type quickly.I found your sister.My brother has her.
Lucien
“God I’m tired of the rain.”
I glance at Daniel, but don’t answer.The man is a valuable second in command, always there when I need him, but he also complains an awful lot for someone who gets paid as much as he does.
I turn my eyes back to the rooftop in front of us and focus on what’s going on across the parking lot from us.Through the rain–which isn’t as bad as Daniel’s pretend–I see two figures in the shadows next to the wall.They’ve crept away from the glare of the fluorescent lights around the edges of the place, trying to take advantage of the night time gloom, but it’s far too late for that.
I clocked Mikhail Morozov the moment he reached the rooftop parking in his dark sedan.He parked and waited for his contact for several minutes before he got out of his car and dragged the man over to the shadows where they’re now talking.
The other man is a no one, of course.Just a local courier in charge of taking messages and goods back and forth for people who don’t want to transport them on their own, and I wonder, not for the first time, what Mikhail is telling him.And who that message is going to.I know enough of Mikhail to know he has some very elevated contacts in the Russian Bratva, but I’ve already decided that’s not who he’s working for down here.
These Russians don’t feel like mafia to me.If they were, there’s no way they’d be working with someone like Dom Landry.Real mafia–real Bratva–would have found the hardest, most cynical gangsters in New Orleans.Not the soft lizards like Dom and his crew.
Rich Russian businessmen, on the other hand, who like a man that’s going to compliment them and do whatever they say for the right amount of money...
That feels a more more possible.
“I want to get closer,” I grumble.“I want to know what they’re talking about.”
Daniel snorts.“So let’s get closer.No reason to stay out here when we could go get a first-row view.”
This catches me by surprise, because Daniel’s usually very straitlaced.He’s never approved of my riskier plans, and I know he doesn’t want to mix with the Russians.I glance at him, surprised, and he just shrugs.
“The quicker we get information from him, the quicker we stop having to sit in the rain on the roof of some parking lot.”
I actually laugh.“It’s not a sexy answer,” I say.“But it is an answer.And you’re right.”
I didn’t come here for a shootout; I came on a tip from one of the guys we have planted at Dom’s mansion.But I do want information, and we’re not going to get it sitting here peering through the rain at a meeting we can’t hear.
I hit the engine of the car and grab the wheel, then slam my foot down on the accelerator and peel out of the parking place, heading right for Mikhail and his little friend.When they run, I swerve in front of them, forcing them to turn back, and by that time Daniel is already out of the car and dashing after Mikhail.I put the car in park and jump out , my feet already taking me toward where Daniel is struggling with the Russian.I don’t bother with the courier, who isn’t important enough to chase after.
Mikhail is the one Jacky told Luke about.
He’s the one we need if we’re going to get information on who’s pulling Dom’s strings.
When I arrive, Mikhail has almost struggled free of Daniel’s grasp, but I grab him by the jacket, spin him around, and throw him against the wall.By the time he shakes off the blow, I’ve got him by the collar and have my knife against his throat.
“Mikhail Morokov,” I mutter, by way of greeting.
“Lucien Boudreaux,” he snarls in return.
I am surprised now, because I wasn’t aware he knew me.I’ve never dealt with the Russians because I don’t trust them, and he has no cause to know my name.
