Cassie rolled on top of him and took a moment to cherish the feel of his hard body beneath her. His eyes warmed, and he nuzzled her cheek. “Did I tell you how much I love you today?”
Tears formed in her eyes. “Please forgive me, Ian.” Her hand reached beneath the pillow.
He felt the stick from the needle, and his eyes locked on hers. “Why, Cassie?”
“It’s my fight, Ian. No one else needs to get hurt because of me. You don’t deserve this. I need to finish this.” She pressed her fingers against both sides of his neck. He tried to move, but the drugs and the diminished blood supply to his brain took over.
Once she was sure Ian was out cold but safe, she kissed him and said, “I love you.”
Cassie opened the tablet. With a few strokes of the keys, her plan went into motion. Dressing in black pants, a black shirt, and black boots, with a black bag across her body, she grabbed Ian’s wallet and key card. She swiped away tears before leaving a letter for him on his bedside table.
The upstairs hallway was empty. Careful to stay flush to the walls, Cassie moved with grace through the house. She hoped the thirty-second video of the in-house surveillance playing in an endless loop was working.
Earlier, she overheard Martin talking to Julian: “Ian had Mia bring in some guys from California. They have the night watch on Sucov. He gave us nothing. Interpol is due to pick him up tomorrow afternoon.” That made things a lot easier for her. She hoped they were working on a need-to-know basis. She did not need to be known.
The anteroom to the interrogation area was dimly lit. Two men stood and pointed weapons at her when she entered. “Stand down. I’m here to speak to the prisoner.”
A tall, lanky man in his thirties lowered his weapon. “Ma’am, we don’t have the authorization to let anybody speak to Mr. Sucov.”
Cassie shook her head. “Ian never forgets these kinds of details, but he’s been so distracted. He wanted me to speak to the prisoner before he shipped out.”
The man looked at a clipboard. “Ma’am, I don’t have any orders.”
Cassie sighed. “Well, you’re more than welcome to give Mr. Chase a call, but I doubt he will be happy to be awakened at this hour in the morning, in light of three days with no sleep,” she purred, picking up the phone on the desk.
The other man whispered something in his ear. “I guess if I went in with you, it wouldn’t be a problem. As you know, ma’am, no arms in there.”
Sucov’s eyes lit up when she entered. Secured to a metal chair, he greeted her in Russian. “I see the rumors of your death are exaggerated, my little whore. It’s been a long time.”
Neither guard budged, so she was sure they didn’t understand the language. “Six years—and that’s why I’m here. I have some questions for you. Who sent you?”
“Why should I tell you?” Sucov raised an eyebrow.
Cassie leaned toward him. “Because I asked nicely.” Her breath was warm against his neck.
He laughed. “Your friends are quite civilized about their techniques. I have no worries.”
Cassie placed her booted foot between Sucov’s legs, blocking the other guard’s view. “I’m a whore, remember? I’m not civilized.” In spite of the pain in her legs and chest, she leaned forward, her mouth an inch from his. She flashed a boning knife from her cuff. “I remember you were quite proud when you raped me. I will be more than happy to cut it off in pieces and feed it to you for breakfast.” Cassie dragged a finger over the length of his fly.
“Sabitov sent us. You were trouble then—and you are still trouble now.”
Cassie laughed. “Trouble? Why am I trouble to such strong men? Who hired him?”
Sucov chuckled. “No, little whore. He is in charge. You were too smart, but even drugged, you wouldn’t cooperate. The baby was part of the deal. You broke the contract.”
Cassie swallowed back her nausea. “What contract? Why me?”
His lips curved. “You still don’t know, Dr. Ellis?” Her name sounded dirty on his tongue. “You were chosen the minute your face appeared in the newspaper at sixteen years old. You were called ‘the little survivor.’ Heir to the most significant art procurement house in the country. Your marriage was prearranged.”
“Prearranged by whom?”
“The three families and Mr. Sabitov.”
“What families?”
“The Whitmans, the Marshalls, and the senator and his wife. All was fine—everyone was winning—until the moron fell for you. He told you he couldn’t have an heir on his own. You knowing that was unacceptable to his parents. Your child was to be a payment for the sins of the fathers. It was reparations. That child was never to be yours to keep. You were the vessel. In the end, you knew too much. You sealed your own fate.”
“I don’t understand. What sins?” Cassie’s eyes widened.
