CHAPTER 62
Special K
Declan is still talking. “We used our proprietary facial recognition software and matched it to law enforcement databases. Thirty-two years old. Born in butt-fuck nowhere Siberia just after the fall of the Soviet Union.”
He brings up a series of what’s obviously surveillance footage of Niko with a bunch of goons in Las Vegas.
“Raised in a gulag, yada-yada-yada, brought into the Russian mob when he should have been learning his multiplication tables. Basically adopted by the head of a crime syndicate, yada-yada, and then got moved to the States to establish the syndicate’s presence in Nevada.
All the standard stuff—murder, human trafficking, gaming, and drugs, of course. ”
I feel my lips part and my blood boil. I throw Declan a murderous glare. “And you just left her with that piece of garbage?”
“K,” Cal says. “Declan was smart, quick on his feet.”
Another photo appears on the screen.
“And here we have a bunch of dead mobsters,” Evander says, as if I can’t see the grisly crime scene photo for myself, now displayed on our huge monitor. Most have been shot, but a lot have had their throats slit. The floor of this small restaurant is literally flooded with blood.
“The feds think this was some kind of turf war ambush thing,” Evander says. “Quite a few of these dead bastards were on the FBI’s most-wanted list. Now they’re on a slab in the Clark County morgue.”
How the fuck did Frankie get messed up in this?
“And this Niko guy?” I ask Evander. “Is he under the radar?”
“Not our radar,” Finn says.
“But he’s got Frankie,” Cal adds, signaling to Declan to keep going.
I see more photos of Frankie walking away down a Vegas street with this man.
Her dress is skintight. His hand is on the small of her back.
I can tell by her rigid shoulders and straight neck that she’s terrified of him, walking on eggshells, aware that he could squash her if he decided it might amuse him.
My heart drops to my feet.
Next are more pictures of dead mobsters. After that, I see images from every angle of smashed bistro tables, tipped chairs, broken glass, bloody floors, and blood-splattered walls, and nearly all of it decorated with little fluorescent-yellow evidence markers.
“We think this is why Frankie ended up here,” Cal says. “She must have witnessed this. See the date stamp? This wholesale slaughter happened two days before you found her on Washoe Ridge.”
It’s starting to make sense. Why she was hiding and on the run. Why she didn’t think she could tell me what she was afraid of. Why she refused to share any details that might put the family in harm’s way.
A huge lump of dread lodges in my throat. Oh, Frankie. She’s carried this burden by herself. A total nightmare scenario she didn’t think she could share with anyone, including me. And if this is why she ran from Las Vegas, then I only have one question that needs an answer, and right now.
Why the fuck did she run right back to him?
“He’s a sociopath,” Declan says. “Or a psychopath. I get those two mixed up all the time.”
“He’s a real bad guy,” Finn agrees.
“And Frankie’s with him,” I hiss. “And you didn’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Because…” Cal holds up his palm to stop me before I lunge again. “Declan was being smart, as I’ve already said.”
“Leaving her with this angel of death was smart?”
“Special K, lean back,” Cal says. “Listen to what we’re telling you.
Even if Declan managed to get Frankie safely away from this guy on the Vegas Strip, it wouldn’t be over.
It’s never over with men like Nikolai Koslov.
We think that’s why she ran back to him after the Sweetbriar fistfight—because if she’d stayed, we’d all be in his crosshairs. ”
I’ve heard enough.
I jump up again, kicking the chair so hard that it smashes against the far wall. Then I spin around, hands in my hair. “So that’s it? You expect me to just leave her with a mass murderer because he’s too dangerous to deal with? Because you pussies are afraid of him?”
“Not at all,” Finn says, shaking his head.
“I’ll find her if it kills me!” I head for the door.
“Not alone, you won’t,” Finn says.
I drop my hand from the doorknob, listening as Finn continues.
“We’re all gonna find her and we’re all gonna take down Niko Koslov and his entire operation while we’re at it. It’s the only way Frankie will ever have a chance to live without fear, the only way she’ll ever win her freedom.”
I spin around to face them, and only then do I realize that dark spots dance in my vision. That I’m panting. That my chest heaves with every breath and that one hand still grips at my hair. My brothers stare at me, waiting for me to pull myself together.
“She didn’t abandon me because I was in jail,” I manage.
“She did not,” Cal says.
“I have to go get her,” I say.
“We have to go get her,” Finn repeats.
“We’ll destroy that fucker,” I say.
“That’s the plan,” Evander says.
“Mission MacLaine!” Declan smiles. “The gang’s getting back together! We’re going to do some SEAL shit on their asses. Wait—that didn’t sound as cool as I thought it would.”
“We’re going to play to our strengths,” Cal explains. “Command, control, communication, and intelligence. We’ve been working on it for the past few hours, but still need to nail down the specifics.”
“And we’re dicking around wasting time,” I complain. “I need to find her. I’ll worry about the Russian mob after I locate her. First things first.”
“Find her?” Declan pushes a button.
On the monitor appears a GPS map of the Lake Tahoe region, with a pulsating red dot in the middle of the screen.
“What am I looking at?” I ask Declan.
“Oh. Did I forget to mention that I put a dermatracker on Frankie?”
I stare at him. “A what?”
“Dermatracker. One hundred percent transparent. One hundred times thinner than a Band-Aid. Stays on the skin for up to five days and, in ideal conditions, it can provide real-time biometric readouts for respiration, body temperature, heartbeat, and blood-oxygen levels. It’s the new geosynchronous advanced target tracking system Finn and I have been Beta testing.
Don’t tell Summer I did that—she’ll kick my ass. ”
“You put a tracker on Frankie’s body?” My question comes out an octave higher than I’ve ever heard my own voice. I’m horrified that my fucking idiot brother would invade her privacy to such an extent.
And I love him for it.
Declan nods. “Pressed it into her upper arm before we parted ways. We know exactly where she is, K. But we have to find her before the signal degrades.”
“What would cause that?” I ask.
Declan shrugs. “No idea, really. We’ve only tested it out in the open, in clear weather conditions, where there’s an unobstructed line of sight to the satellite.”
I watch the pulsing red light, comforted that at the moment, Frankie’s still alive, somewhere in the Glenbrook neighborhood on the eastern shore of Lake Tahoe. But I swear the light is getting fainter and the pulse is slowing.
Am I imagining it?
I point to the screen, my heart now lodged in my throat. “What’s going on with Frankie’s tracker? It’s fading.”
“Huh. Weird,” Declan says. “Finn? Any thoughts?”
“Sorry, I got no idea. But you’re right, Special K. Something’s definitely happening.”
And it can’t be good.
“It’s time,” I say.
“Nuthin’ like a little direct action to get the blood going,” Finn says.
“This here situation calls for some unconventional warfare,” Declan says.
“I think we’re looking at some special reconnaissance with a side of hostage extraction,” Evander says.
“Sea, land, or air?” I ask.
Cal smiles before he says, “Don’t mind if I do.”