Sucov lifted his chin. “An eye for an eye. A womb for a womb. Don’t you remember, little whore? They spread you out like a sacrifice. They filled you, but you just wouldn’t go along with the plan. I wanted to bring you home to keep you. But Mr. Sabitov said no. It was such a shame. Even after bearing a child, you would have commanded a fortune. You woke up. We had to change the game.
“We didn’t want you to go to waste. There is nothing like virginal flesh. I remember how you begged when I broke you. We took you until you had nothing left. Those children drugged you. It was to be a peaceful death, but you, little whore, you woke up again. Such a tough little thing. You remembered nothing.”
“How did you know that?” Her eyes widened.
“You are naïve. The man who knew you as a baby. The man who worked side by side with your father. You were tough then too. You survived.”
Cassie slapped him across the face and screamed, “You bastard. You killed my family!”
Sucov licked the blood from his lip. “Not me. The man, Devereaux. He was responsible. He told us you lost your drive to paint and remembered nothing. Mr. Sabitov let you be. It worked out okay. Another baby paid the debt—not as impressive a womb. Six years and nothing, but then Ames—the fool—awakened the sleeping tigress. And then we heard about the dead child. Connections could be made. And…”
“The Caravaggio.”
“You did see it.” He chuckled.
“Twenty million dollars.” Cassie swallowed more bile.
“Do you know what you are standing in the way of?” Sucov lifted his chin. “An American presidency. Favor with the Russian president. Control of the world markets. Money and power beyond your wildest dreams. No one is going to let a whore ruin that.”
“Where’s the painting?” Cassie demanded.
“My little whore, you need to ask the judge. Your efforts brought it to the States. Millions changed hands; deeds were done, and it went to its new home. It was part of lore until you threw it at me. And now, Sabitov sent me to clean up the mess. Once they know you are alive, they will never stop trying to kill you—and everyone you love. You can’t hide forever, little whore.”
Cassie forced a smile and switched to English. “Thank you for your time.” Exiting the area, she promised the two men she would convey to Mr. Chase how much they helped her. She made it to the front of the garage before she threw up in the bushes. Every step stole her breath. Sucov’s words made her surer about what to do.
Noah’s car was the last car parked on the circle. Cassie was thankful it was not a rental. He always hid a set of keys in the front wheel well. Searching, her fingers wrapped around them.
She disappeared into the night.
* * *
Mia Donnelly sat in her new Foggy Bottom apartment and went over intel. Joe Maddox, autopsy blood type: O positive. Robert Bynum Jr. autopsy: B positive. Robert Bynum Sr. health record: B positive. Elizabeth Bynum health record: O positive. Sebastian Ames autopsy: O positive. Blood type from the cigarette butt from Burt Marshall: O positive. Bradford Whitman health record: O positive. Adrienne Whitman health record: O positive. Garett Whitman: B positive. Cheyenne Whitman OB record: O negative.
She looked at all the children a second time. Blood type all O positive. A quick call to Hunter confirmed what she was seeing—it had been a long time since college biology class. None of them were William’s sperm donor. Even more intriguing, Bradford Whitman was not Garett’s father, and Garett was not the father of his children either. Was it a coincidence his blood type was the same as the senator’s?
When Mia called Ian, it went to voicemail. She tried again, dialing his private suite number. She phoned Kieran next. “I can’t reach Ian. It’s urgent.”
After a brief summary, Kieran said, “Have Cowboy report to the estate. Stay ready. I hope his phone is just off.” Dread filled his belly. It wasn’t like Ian not to answer.
Kieran tiptoed from the bed, trying not to wake Monique. He threw clothes on and ran to the other wing of the house.
Tucker and Eric hit the steps at the sound of Kieran’s cries for help as he knelt beside his unresponsive brother. Cassie was gone.
Kieran called in an Epsilon alert; his first fear was someone had kidnapped Cassie. Orders went out to scour the home and estate in a complete grid search. Always methodical, he checked on the prisoner. A volcano of anger erupted after the guards explained Cassie’s visit. “What did he tell her?”
Both men stood at attention. “Sir, we don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kieran bellowed.
“Russian. They spoke Russian,” the first guard said.
Kieran tore from the room to inspect the tapes. Noah Paulsen met him. “My car is gone.”
“Shit. GPS?” Kieran unlocked the office door.
“No tracking at all. What is she thinking?” Noah asked.
“She thinks she’s protecting us.” Kieran scanned the office. “There’s a tablet missing.” He cued up the computer to pull up the interrogation room surveillance. “Damn it. How the hell did she do it? Cassie looped the feed.”
