* * *
The ride home was too long for Ian. He needed to see Cassie, and then he was going to have a discussion with Martin. “I don’t care if she asked, Kieran. If she asked to shoot herself, would he give her a gun?”
Kieran grabbed a bottle of soda from the limo fridge and handed a bottle of water to Monique. “Take a deep breath and a big step back. Cassie needs to feel some sense of control and independence. Would you have preferred he restrained her? She’s fine. Eric told you so.
“Let Julian and Zach have a crack at those men. If they get nowhere, I’m sure Noah wouldn’t mind having a chat. You’re not in the right frame of mind to handle this. Remember the lesson you taught me in San Diego? When we get home, get some rest beside Cassie. That’s where you need to be. Tomorrow will be another hard day.”
* * *
Ian entered his suite and found Martin, Tucker, and Eric camped out in the sitting area. Cassie was sleeping—wrapped around his pillow. A light knock on the door followed, and Colby joined them.
“Thanks, Cowboy. I won’t be too long. She doesn’t leave the room.” Ian pointed to the other men. “You three, my office.” He paced the office and held up a cautionary finger. “Don’t say a word. Eric and Tuck, how is she? What happened in the interview area?”
Tucker straightened in his seat. “We screwed up.”
Eric nodded. “We didn’t watch her food and fluid intake tight enough. She is brittle and dehydrated quickly, which caused a syncopal episode. When we got her back to bed, her pulse was high—and her blood pressure was low. We gave her a liter of fluid and made her eat. She was upset, so we pushed a low dose of a sedative. We gave her the evening feeding that finished an hour ago. As you saw, she’s stable and comfortable.”
Ian squinted at Martin, who relayed the events the same way he reported earlier. “When I got to the safe room, she interrogated me within an inch of my life. She stomped her foot and threatened to pull out the feeding tube. I caved and went with her to the interview room.”
Ian pressed his lips together, refusing to laugh.
“I know better, I’m sorry. She was manipulating me. I considered throwing her over my shoulder, but I figured she would keep trying. It fell apart after that. Cassie watched Julian from behind the glass, and when Sucov turned his face toward the mirror, she paled and started to sweat. Her legs gave out. He said nothing except his name,” he sighed.
“She knows who he is, Ian. I don’t think she realized she answered Julian’s questions. She played me, and I let her. I’ll stay on until you find my replacement. No mistakes on this assignment.” Martin sounded ashamed.
“If this were just business, you’d be gone—but we’re family. And that stubborn woman is going to be the death of us. I know this will not happen again. If she tries to pull something like this again—and this goes for all of you—tie her up if you have to. I will take full responsibility.”
The shared laugh stopped when they focused on Ian’s face. He meant it.
“Once Cassie gave me a name, it was easy to find identities on the other men. They are all tied to Sabitov.” Martin gave Ian a set of printouts he made after Cassie was safe.
“We still have nothing to act on. Anything else?” Ian pinched the bridge of his nose.
Martin closed and opened his eyes. “Cassie and I were talking about her security team. I have a group of good candidates and thought it would build trust to include Cassie in the final decision. It never occurred to her she would need long-term security. She said she was your weak link—the look in her eyes. I’m worried she’s gonna try to flee to protect you.”
Ian sighed. “So am I. We need to solve this before she does.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ian, still dressed in his suit shirt and pants, sat at the desk and went over the portfolio from Martin and the report from Colby. The fog of evidence was clearing. As much as he would like to exact revenge, a legal case remained out of reach. He dialed Paul Yates’s direct line.
“Yates.”
“Arkady Sabitov? What’s Cassie’s involvement with him?” Ian asked without preamble.
“Chase, you do realize it’s one in the morning?” Yates yawned.
“Four of his goons tried to get to the journal today with enough explosives to take out my whole neighborhood. Cassie told me she met Sabitov when she worked for EAF. How does she know his assistant, David Sucov?” Ian could hear shuffling in the background, then a door opened.
“They took the bait. Gotta hand it to you, Chase. Who’s the leak?”
“I need to run the tapes, but Rachel Paulsen made a specific reference to Judge Marshall and his wife.”
“Sabitov is on the Interpol watchlist. He also runs a legitimate art gallery in Moscow. Extracurricularly, he moves things—money, women, drugs, and art with questionable lines of ownership to fund his political endeavors. He exists with little or no interference from the Russian government.
“Interpol is frustrated. They get close, but when they move in, they find nothing. He was purported to have hidden a Van Gogh valued at fifty million behind a Calyo worth about a hundred and twenty-five thousand. The last two agents who infiltrated his US operation were found dead. Cassie would know Sabitov from her work with Interpol, but if she says she knows him from EAF, why disbelieve her?”
“I don’t disbelieve her,” Ian stammered.
