Chapter 13
“What do you know about my granddaughter? Where is she?” His tone was harsh.
Only the small coffee table separated them.
Shana was on her feet and at the ready. Dane knew Toly saw her out of the corner of his eye—ever the aware, cagey operative that he was.
But Dane was aware of the two thugs in the hall and an untold number on standby. None of this helped with his confusion.
“Lara is your granddaughter? Then Paulette is your great-granddaughter?”
“What do you know about Paulette?” Anatoly growled, balling his fists.
“The baby is safe—” Dane meant to reassure him, but when Anatoly came at him wielding a previously hidden knife, he instantly realized that the old man assumed he’d kidnapped his granddaughter and her baby to leverage him for something.
Not bothering to ask Toly to stop, or to give fair warning, Shana pulled her gun and took a shot in the air over Anatoly’s head.
Dane didn’t startle as badly as the older man—it could have been his relative youth or it could have been he was used to Shana’s occasional impetuousness.
He took the opportunity to grab the knife away—without cutting himself—and to push the old man back down into his seat.
Unfortunately the shot, even from the puny .22, was loud enough to bring Toly’s bodyguards rushing in from the hall.
Shana turned to aim her pistol at them and Dane held Toly’s knifepoint straight to the man’s jugular.
He said, “Let’s calm down, everyone. I’m not a kidnapper.
I’m protecting Paulette.” He stared the man down.
Anatoly stared back for a beat and then must have decided that his old adversary-pal with the beachcomber’s soul couldn’t have suddenly turned into a baby kidnapper overnight. Or over ten years.
Anatoly nodded to his men and said, “Lower your weapons.”
Dane backed off and tossed the knife onto a chair a safe distance away from all the action and the warriors. Shana was the last to lower her weapon. Dane didn’t know whether to be proud or scared.
“What the hell is going on here, Dane Blaise?” Anatoly growled his question.
“I think we have a mutual problem, Toly. I think we can help each other.”
Dane told him about Paulette being left at a church—leaving out Father Donahue’s name—no need to impeach the priest or involve him further in this—and about the subsequent attempted kidnapping and shooting.
Toly’s reaction startled him. The old man looked surprised, then he showed a mysterious little smile—until Dane mentioned the kidnap attempt and shooting of a nun. Then the man’s red-faced rage showed and he made sense again.
“You know any reason why someone would want to kidnap Paulette? Does this have to do with the baby farm operation at the Garage Club—or is it more about an organizational coup?” He waited a beat, but the man seemed to be thinking it over.
“Toly? You have problems with insubordination in the ranks—in the family?”
“It would appear so.” He spoke with a tight, controlled voice and then took a breath and asked, “Is Father—the priest all right?”
Dane looked at the man. Of all the responses he expected, this was not top on the list. Toly had never been a religious man that he knew of.
There was something more to this story—something they were missing—but this wasn’t the time to discuss back-story details.
He said, “Yes, the priest is all right.”
Shana darted him a questioning look. She knew Toly was holding something back too, but they needed to find Lara and deal with Mr. Cool, Spartak Ivanov.
Shana spoke up and addressed Toly, “Is Lara’s last name Bennett?”
Toly paused, squinted at her and then said, “Yes. Her mother, my beloved daughter, married an American man and Lara was raised in the suburbs like an ordinary American. I want her to keep her American dream life.”
Shana understood. Dane understood. Whatever they did, whatever happened with the FBI, they needed to protect Lara and her daughter Paulette from being touched by the fallout.
They needed to remove the threat from Toly’s men.
And the trickier part, they needed to shield her—and Toly if possible—from the FBI.
Dane knew this and he hoped Shana bought into it too.
She more recently hailed from official law enforcement.
He’d been off the books long enough to see the big picture.
He wasn’t sure about Shana. Toly—who probably got this—wasn’t sure about Shana. Dane needed to watch out for Shana. He didn’t want Toly leveraging her.
“We have to assume that Spartak has Lara—for leverage,” Dane said. To make sure the old man harbored no small illusions about whether his rotten grandson would go this far in betraying his family.
“I understand. The betrayal is complete.”
“But we’ll check Lara’s apartment first—talk to people in the area to see what we can find out. You have your men go to Spartak’s place.”
“It’s a plan.” Toly rose from his chair, straightened himself out, and nodded at his two assistants. The two men darted a look at Dane before leaving. He couldn’t be sure but he sensed some respect mixed in with their incredulousness.
Shana finally tucked her little pistol back into her little bag. She’d been holding it down and at the ready at her side until the two bodyguards left. What a partner.
Dane shook Toly’s hand.
“You’ll be waiting here?” Dane asked. Toly nodded.
“I have other security arriving soon.”
“The day shift.”
Toly laughed. “Such are the precautions of a wealthy American businessman—even in the suburbs.”
Dane went along with the charade. Bottom line—Anatoly had the home base covered if Spartak came his way. It was time to go.
He and Shana walked through the entry hall, out the front door and down the drive to the gate. It opened for them automatically. Dane gave a pat to one of the two dogs and said, “I’ll be back—remember me, Rufus.”
“How do you know his name is Rufus?” Shana asked. “You know these dogs?”
“No—just a guess.”
They strolled back to the car and Dane decided it was a good idea to revert back to their undercover pose as lovers-on-a-stroll. He reached out and hauled Shana into his side and nuzzled her neck, taking a deep breath of her essence. The scent was indescribable, yet unmistakable. And intoxicating.
“Father Donahue is in big trouble when Anatoly finds out he’s the father of Lara’s baby,” Shana said.
“I don’t know. Something’s not right there.
Anatoly was particularly concerned about the priest—and not because he’s a big churchgoer or even a member of that parish.
” Dane felt like he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.
They’d made progress and among them all would find Lara and Spartak and resolve the matter without ever talking to the FBI, but something was out of line.
He said, “Toly was concerned about the priest for some reason—some other important reason.”
Shana shrugged her shoulders under his grip. “Maybe he already knows the priest is Paulette’s father.”
Dane laughed. “I don’t think so. I didn’t see any disfiguring scars on good old Father D.”
“Maybe the scars are in places we can’t see.” Shana looked up at him with a devilish smile as they reached the car.
“You’re sick.” Dane opened her door for her and trapped her in that triangle—fast becoming his favorite move.
She let him lower his mouth and brush his lips across hers in a tantalizing wisp.
He felt the lush plump give of her lips and the light moisture as her mouth parted a sliver.
He was tempted, so tempted as he felt every nerve ending tighten.
The tension made him feel like his skin had shrunk and closed in around his body, squeezing the air out of him.
But he held back and lifted his head. She fluttered those intense green eyes at him and he backed off, pushing her inside the car and looking away.
Not even the deepest breath of sea air—which was nowhere around here—would be able to relieve the desperate tension he felt at this moment.
She said, “Let’s go, partner.”
That burst something in him—maybe his illusions. He walked around the car and got in the driver’s side and started the engine. It would be a quick ride. Lara lived less than two miles away near the Boston College campus.
*****
Dane was surprised when they pulled up in front of a large old wood-frame Victorian three-family. He’d expected a luxury penthouse condo. But then Toly had said she was a typical suburban American. Maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn’t a Russian princess type.
“Let’s be cautious. Sparty could be here,” Dane put a hand on Shana’s arm as she was about to bounce out of her car door. “This isn’t a panty raid.”
She gave him a look and said, “Sparty? Really?”
He smiled through his game face. “You gonna rat me out, girlie?”
“First chance I get. I’m gonna say, ‘Hey Ivany, you shoulda heard Dane here calling you ‘Sparty’ behind your back.’” She shook her head and added, “Of course I was going to be careful—you jerk.” Then she got out and closed the door quietly, holding her gun low with two hands, and came around the car.
He’d gotten out and they approached the front porch of the house from an angle where it would have been tough for anyone looking out their front windows to see them.
He looked up. Unless they were up in the cupola. Damn it.
They climbed up the steps. Dane took the center stairs and Shana approached from the left side.
There were three doors with accompanying doorbells and mailboxes.
The name Bennett was listed as number three, as Toly had told them.
Dane pressed the bell. They waited—this was the worst part—for someone to answer.
It was not an exact science trying to determine how much time to give a potentially innocent person to answer their door when there could also just as easily be a not-so-innocent person in there.
But odds were on this occasion that no one was in there at all.