Like he’d just sprinted the last three hundred yards of a marathon, Cody’s pulse hammered and his chest constricted. If these guys knew each other well, they could very easily recognize voices, even with the bad connection.
Cody silently cursed. He was committed now. “Neutralized,” he said again. This time he was slower. Louder.
A second passed. Then another. It seemed like hours.
“Copy that,” the kidnapper said. “Extraction is delayed twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Plane can’t land due to the incoming blizzard. Return to your safe house and wait for my call. Belkin’s orders.”
Cody’s head dropped back against the headrest and he let out a long sigh. He had to keep the smile from his voice. “Copy,” he said.
He tossed the walkie-talkie onto the console between the seats and scrubbed his face with both hands. He turned to Viktoria. “We might not know everything, but at least we know that your son is in the area and likely to remain here for the next day to day and a half. That’s good. Most important,” he added, “is that we have a name.”
He turned to look at Viktoria. Even in the SUV’s darkened interior he could see that she’d gone pale. She licked her lips and exhaled. “I know who Belkin is.”
* * *
Gregory’s face flashed in Viktoria’s mind. She pictured what he must have gone through tonight. Gregory’s dark eyes, so much like her own, would have sought her out, wild with terror. Then, her throat closed at the memory of the very real hand that had squeezed her neck.
She had failed her son. Would she ever be able to forgive herself?
“Can you drive?” Cody asked Viktoria. “We need to get off the road.”
Viktoria’s head snapped over. She had almost forgotten about Cody, her handsome savior.
“Drive?” It took effort to say the word, as if her tongue were heavy. A sheer cliff rose upward on one side and the road fell sharply away on the other. Snowflakes, fat and thick, fell from the sky and dusted the roadway. They blew in through the shattered window. Balls of safety glass coated the car’s interior and twinkled with reflected light from the dashboard.
“Let’s get out of the middle of the road,” he said. “We aren’t safe here. If you can’t drive, I can.”
Drive? Yes, she could drive. Shifting the SUV into Reverse, Viktoria eased away from the guardrail. The simple task unleashed a burst of adrenaline within her. “We should go to the sheriff,” she said, thankful that she finally made a decision.
Although that plan wasn’t perfect, either. Was she still wanted by the authorities in New York State? If she was, then the local sheriff would be interested in her case. At the same time, legalities from home didn’t matter, not where Gregory was concerned. Without question, she had to stop Peter Belkin from delivering her son to her father-in-law. She could deal with the legal consequences later.
Up ahead was a turnaround. Viktoria drove the short distance and pulled in. With a little maneuvering, she turned the SUV so it faced the road. “Which way to the sheriff’s office?” she asked.
“Wait just a minute, will you?” Cody said. “I don’t want to go to the sheriff.”
“What? Why not?”
Cody hit the ignition button and the engine fell silent.
“Before we go anywhere,” he said, “tell me everything you know about Nikolai Mateev.”
She hadn’t expected Cody to ask about her father-in-law. “I’ve only met him once. He traveled to New York from Russia for Lucas’s—my husband’s—funeral. My husband and his father had a falling out years ago, before Lucas and I met.”
“Anything else?”
“Nikolai is wealthy, I know that.” She didn’t bother to add that she now knew her father-in-law to be corrupt as hell.
Cody regarded her with eyes narrowed. “So you claim to know nothing?”
His challenge hit her like a slap in the face. “The sheriff,” she said, “can help sort all of this out.”
“One more thing before we go. Tell me what you know about Peter Belkin.”
Viktoria opened her mouth, ready to insist that he stop grilling her and just point her toward Telluride, then her jaw clamped shut.
Peter Belkin.
The man on the walkie-talkie had said they were following Belkin’s orders. Viktoria had told Cody that she knew Belkin. But she’d never said Belkin’s first name. And yet, Cody had known. He had known her name, too.
This night had gone wrong at a terrifying rate. Viktoria hadn’t questioned Cody much—or really at all. He had saved her life twice and to her that proved some kind of trustworthiness. Or did it? Cody could be even more dangerous than Belkin, with his own deadly intentions for Gregory—and for her.
It was her turn to insist on answers.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I told you. My name is...”
“I know your name,” she interrupted. She turned to watch him, gauge his reaction. “But there’s a lot about you I don’t know. For starters, how did you show up at exactly the right time to save my life?”
Cody drew the black cap from his head and raked his fingers through this thick, dark hair. “I investigated your family, the Mateevs, when I was with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”
“Was?”
“Look, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. For now, can you just trust me?”
“Actually, no. I’m done trusting you for no reason.”
“No reason? I saved your life,” he said. “Twice. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“If you really were with the DEA, why won’t you go to the sheriff? Aren’t you both on the same side?”
Cody let out a long exhale. He hit the ignition button and the car rumbled to life. “I have reason to believe that the sheriff was involved in the raid on your cabin tonight. That he passed on information to Belkin about your whereabouts.”
Viktoria went cold. Was there no one she could trust? No place to go for help?
“Let’s get out of this SUV. We can use my truck. I left it up the road from your cabin. Go to the right.” Cody pointed to the road. “I’ll explain while you drive.”
“Everything?” Viktoria asked.
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
* * *
Peter Belkin unlocked the rented ski house and held the door ajar for the head of his personal security detail, who carried a sleeping Gregory Mateev. Belkin watched as the kid was maneuvered through the doorway and then followed, locking up behind them.
He was very happy to be back in comfortable surroundings. If he had to bide his time during a job, this wasn’t a bad place to do it. The house belonged to an American footballer from San Francisco, a tax shelter no doubt, and one of the nicest homes available in Telluride. Situated halfway up the mountain, a mudroom, complete with heated floors and cubbyholes for skis and snowboards, served as the entryway. A set of stairs descended to a well-appointed basement that featured a sauna and a home theater with leather recliners for two dozen along with a popcorn machine. Floor-to-ceiling picture windows in the great room looked out to the nearby woods, with a private trail heading to the white stretch of ski slopes visible between the spindly tree branches. Beyond a fireplace large enough for a grown man to stand in was the kitchen, which held a five-hundred-bottle wine cooler and multiple pantries along with what seemed like acres of granite countertops and shiny appliances.
Even