Tall and lithe, she looked more attractive in person than she had in her photos. She wore blue jeans along with a red plaid shirt over a light-colored Henley. More than her beauty, she was clearly a loving and attentive mother, spending time teaching her son how to measure, stir and bake. Laughing with him. Talking with him.
In fact, Cody couldn’t quite find any sign of the unhinged parent the paperwork described. Or one hint of any of the other ruthless people he knew her family to be. Meaning...she had to be here alone.
The kitchen light went out, leaving the cabin dark. Viktoria and Gregory had gone to bed for the night. Why the hell hadn’t local law enforcement or social workers shown up yet? Slipping his phone from his breast pocket, Cody hit the home button. This far into the mountains there was no cell service, but the time was still accurate—9:15 p.m.
On his last trip to RMJ headquarters in Denver, Cody had returned his satellite phone because of a promise for an upgraded model with tighter security software in the New Year. At the time, Cody had doubted he’d need much over the holiday weekend.
He’d never been more wrong in his life.
With a sat phone, he could call Sheriff Benjamin and find out what was amiss. Because there was one thing Cody knew for sure—something was wrong about this case.
Turning his field glasses to the east, Cody followed the road. In the moonless night, the asphalt coiled in and around the snowy terrain, like a large black snake. Nothing. No headlights. No taillights. It was as if the report he had filed with the sheriff’s office had been forgotten.
And then the black road undulated. Rummaging in the pack at his side, he withdrew a pair of binoculars with night vision capabilities. Looking through the ocular, the world turned an eerie and unworldly green. Glancing back to the road, he saw two black SUVs traveling without lights. They turned up the long drive to the cabin, their engines running whisper quiet. Clouds of exhaust billowed and rose in the cold mountain air. At the front door of the cabin, three men dressed all in black exited the two SUVs. They adjusted balaclavas over their faces and checked their sidearms.
These definitely weren’t the local sheriff’s guys.
Instantly, Cody was on his feet, slinging the pack over his back as he ran toward the cabin. He dodged trees and jumped over fallen logs. Frigid air burned Cody’s nose and lungs, as his cold, stiff muscles protested from the sudden exertion. His pulse thrummed and sweat covered his skin.
With less than one hundred yards to go, Cody watched as the lock on the cabin’s front door was picked and two men rushed inside. The third man ran to the back of the property. Mere seconds later, one man exited the cabin and made his way to one of the idling SUVs. When he opened its back door, the interior light clicked on. Cody could make out someone seated in the rear who reached for a bundle the other man had carried from the cabin.
Not a bundle. The kid.
Mateev, Gregory. Cody saw the case’s paperwork in his mind’s eye. Age 4.
During Cody’s time with the DEA he’d borne witness to heinous acts committed by lawless people. But still, he believed everyone deserved justice and protection by the law. At the same time, most of the victims he’d encountered were involved in the illegal drug trade, as well. In short, there was no denying that if you played with fire, you’d eventually get burned. As far as Cody was concerned, it was easy to assume that Viktoria Mateev was complicit in bringing these men to her door. Even so, he was morally obligated to help—regardless of his own investment in her capture.
But the kid? He was too young to be tangled up in any criminal enterprise and Cody pushed his legs faster, refusing to let someone so innocent become collateral damage.
The man in the back seat pulled the door shut while the other one slid into the driver’s seat. The car’s tires kicked up snow and gravel as they searched for purchase. Once the tread gripped, the SUV sped backward down the drive. It turned on the street and disappeared, blending in to the black road in the black night.
Never one to believe in coincidences, Cody knew it wasn’t an accident that Viktoria Mateev’s son was kidnapped on the same day he’d verified her whereabouts. He hated to think that somehow Sheriff Benjamin was involved. Because that meant something even worse—Cody had inadvertently led these men right to her door.
* * *
The man came from the darkness just as the heavy feeling of sleep pulled Viktoria under. Yet, as his hand encircled her throat, she knew this was no nightmare and he was no apparition. He was blood and bone. When his fingers dug into her flesh, she cried out in pain but her voice wouldn’t come. Her throat burned. Her eyes watered.
The man pushed her down into the mattress as his grip tightened. With both hands, she pulled his wrist with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed and his hold broke free. Viktoria drew in a single gasping breath. She tried to rush from the bed, but the blankets tethered her and she fell to the floor.
Her pulse raced, echoing inside her skull. Her breath was shallow and she gasped. “Gregory,” she screamed.
There was no answer.
She scrambled forward, reaching for her son’s bed.
It was empty.
Her assailant, dressed in all black, face obscured, gripped her arm and yanked her to her feet. Pulling backward, Viktoria kicked out at the same instant, aiming for the man’s knee. Her socked foot connected, snapping cartilage and ligaments as the kneecap slid. For once, she was thankful for the self-defense classes she’d taken as a high school student. The man swore and fell over, releasing his grip on her as he went down. Viktoria stumbled back and turned, racing to the wooden stairs that connected the loft to the single room that made up the ground floor.
Suddenly her hair was grabbed from behind and her head snapped back. Viktoria clawed at the hand that held her, and finding the thumb she pulled back until she felt a pop. The man let go and Viktoria pitched forward, tumbling down the stairs. The floor rushed up and the air rushed just as quickly from Viktoria’s lungs in a single gust. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. The inside of her lip throbbed.
Still, she managed to pick herself up from the floor and run to the phone. Lifting the handset, she dialed 9.
The shadow of another man, a faceless silhouette against the darkness of the night, filled the space at the open front door.
She stifled a scream and fumbled for the next number—1.
That man ripped the phone from Viktoria’s grip. He slammed the handset onto the counter, leaving only plastic-and-metal rubble. He then jerked the base from the counter, pulling out the cord and chunks of plaster with it.
Viktoria dove for the door, but the man blocked her exit. Just as she drew back her fist to strike him, the attacker from upstairs came up from behind and grabbed her wrist. He wrenched her arm down and around, pinning it behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulder, forcing her to double over. No matter how desperate she was, she knew she couldn’t fight them both. Terror gripped her throat as she tried to think of a way to escape and found none.
“Gregory?” she said hoarsely. Her son was all that mattered to her.
“He’s safe,” said the man, who still held her wrist. “Go to the car,” he said to the other man. “This will take only a minute.”
“What have you done with my son!”
The man twisted her arm and forced Viktoria to drop to her knees. He spoke with a slight Russian accent. “You should have taken the offer. You were foolish to fight the vory v zakone.”
The offer. One million dollars to relinquish custody of Gregory.
“All of this is so my dead husband’s father can take Gregory back to Russia? You can’t steal my son.”