* * *
Heartbroken, Cassie watched the press conference on the closed-circuit cameras. She was responsible for the deaths of two good men and injuries to eight. Kieran and Ian looked so sad. When Monique wrapped a caring arm around Ian to pull him into the house, Cassie cried. Kieran could have died without seeing his child. And to insinuate that they were fighting was too much. When Cassie heard the door open, she wiped her eyes and put on her smile.
Ian insisted Cassie continue her rehab. “Time to keep your end of the bargain. Get that butt moving.” He slapped it gently.
Lillian raised her famous eyebrow, and Ian froze. Cassie laughed. “Mom wins.”
* * *
Kieran came in with Declan just as Cassie and Lil were heading to the gym. “She looks amazing. You would think she’d be more rattled.” Kieran handed Ian a fresh cup of coffee.
“Don’t believe it. She’s skilled at hiding her emotions, but we did settle something. I helped her sort some trust issues out this morning.”
Declan smiled at his son. “I’m happy for her. Be good to her, Son.” He put his hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “And you, young man, if you keep hiding that pregnancy from your mother, she will skin you alive.”
“How’d you know, Dad?” Kieran sounded dumbfounded.
“Do you think you two are the only investigators? I did work naval intelligence once. My coffee-addicted daughter-in-law drinking peppermint tea? Wearing less clingy clothing? While you were doing the press conference, I answered the phone. A lovely young lady called to confirm her fitting at Sugar and Spice Maternity Wear in Union Station.”
“Congrats, bro. I am so happy for you two.” Ian embraced Kieran. “When is the baby coming?”
“He’s coming in January,” Kieran said with pride.
“You do realize it could be a girl,” Declan said.
Kieran paled. “I…I never thought of that.”
“Hahaha, we have something wonderful to celebrate.” Ian smiled, happy about the news.
Chapter Forty-Two
“We’ve got names,” Brett said as he entered the office. “Borz Dudeyev, Anton Maronov, and Lom Umarov. Russian nationals. All are here legally on tourist visas. I’m checking prints on the others.”
Kieran scowled. “How about the full check I asked technical analysis to run on Arkady Sabitov? Cassie says he’s a gallery owner. We have intel that he’s part of Bratva. I want to know if and how they are connected to anyone in our sights.”
“No file yet. We’re hitting roadblocks. We know Sabitov is on the terrorist watch list. Mia said these three guys are retired security forces, something about tattoos, but they came through legally.”
“They should be pretty uncomfortable security forces from all that IV fluid and the bare minimum of pain meds. Tell Mike and Noah it’s a go.” Ian pursed his lips.
* * *
Zip-tied to a hard chair, Borz had two gunshot wounds. Eric removed a bullet from his calf and treated his shoulder.
Noah, fluent in Russian, started the conversation in English. After twenty minutes of playing games, muttering derogatory comments under his breath, and only giving his name, Noah switched to Russian. “Borz, my girlfriend would be very insulted by your comments about my prowess. Now, you’re in a tough spot. There are a lot of people who want a piece of you. That RPG puts you on the radar of multiple agencies—DHS, ATF, NSA, FBI, and CIA. I’m sure Mr. Putin will not be thrilled one of his former operatives got caught by a simple Virginia homeowner.”
“I demand a lawyer,” Borz yelled in English.
Noah laughed. “There’s a little problem, Borz. I’m not from any particular agency. I’m just a plain old civilian protecting my home. And I don’t give a damn about your rights or the rules of engagement.”
Three hours later, sweat dripped from Borz’s forehead. A full bladder and pain were potent tools. “Who was your target? Don’t you dare pee on my floor. I see you’re uncomfortable. How about a bathroom break, some pain meds, and a smoke? Then we can speak like civilized people.”
Ian monitored the interrogation through the two-way glass. Thirty minutes later, a little more comfortable, Borz began to talk in exchange for being turned over to the FBI. He was under the impression they would go the easiest on him.
“Who do you work for? Who was your target?” Noah asked.
In Russian, Borz replied, “We were supposed to take out a little redheaded girl—Cassiopeia Ellis. If anyone got in the way, oh well.”
“How did you know who she was?” Noah followed up.
