Chapter 3 #2
Vander met his gaze, and didn’t look away.
Cam knew his boss was trying to convey a message. He looked back at the screens and took another sip of his own coffee.
On-screen, Hex let loose with a stream of impressive curses. She hunched her shoulders even more and kept working.
Shit, Cam wanted to get out there and search for Saskia.
It damn near killed him not to have any clue where she was.
“Any news?” a deep voice asked from the doorway.
Cam turned. His brother stood there.
“Not yet,” Cam said.
Hunt was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater. Beside him, blonde, beautiful Savannah’s face was ravaged with worry.
“I can’t believe this,” Savannah said shakily.
Savannah and Saskia were best friends. They’d been separated while Savannah had been on the run from a stalker, but they were still tight and had reconnected after Hunt had dealt with the asshole who’d terrorized Savannah for years.
Hunt strode in and gripped Cam’s shoulder, studying him carefully.
“She just called me,” Cam told them. “She’s alive, but someone caught her and ended the call.”
Savannah gasped, and Hunt pulled his woman into his arms.
“We’ll find her,” Hunt promised.
Cam gave a tight nod. But he couldn’t find her until they had a damn location.
“I knew there was something going on with you two,” Savannah said.
Cam blew out a breath. “There’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”
Savannah arched a brow.
“We talk. That’s it. That’s…all I have to offer.”
There was the sound of a slamming door and on the screen, Hex jumped, and Wolf straightened in his chair.
A dark-haired man strode in, dragging a struggling, sniveling man with pale hair behind him.
The dark-haired man threw the blond into a chair, then thrust his hands on his hips.
Cam stared. The guy was stupidly handsome and clearly Italian. He reminded Cam a little of Vander, but his hair was a little longer with a hint of a curl. He had dark eyes, carved cheekbones, and dark scruff on his strong jaw.
He wore a white shirt, suit pants, and a long, three-quarter-length, navy-blue coat.
The blond man was still spluttering. He was disheveled and panicked. He wore a slick suit and had lots of flash.
“Chad Palmer.” The dark-haired man had a faint touch of an Italian accent. He had to be Hades.
“Nice work, Hades.” Wolf rose. “We have some questions for you, Mr. Palmer.”
“This psycho—” Palmer waved a hand at Hades “—dragged me out of a club. I left a bottle of Macallan behind, barely touched.”
“And several lines of blow,” Hades added.
Palmer glanced at them, then swallowed. “Who the fuck are you? You can’t just snatch someone against their will.”
Cam set his mug down on the desk with a hard crack. All the gazes in the room and on the screen flicked to him.
“Isn’t that what you do to beautiful, young women?” Cam knew his voice held a deadly edge.
Palmer’s eyes widened. “No. No, I—”
“The dance performance in Central Park today,” Wolf said. “Who’d you arrange it for?”
Palmer swallowed.
“Don’t test my patience, Palmer,” Wolf drawled.
“Lukom, Inc.”
“Who is Lukom?” Wolf pressed.
“I don’t know. I just do my job and get paid—”
Cam’s fists curled. “ Answer him.”
Palmer jerked.
“Be thankful he isn’t here,” Wolf said. “You took his woman, and he knows lots of ways to hurt you.”
Palmer shifted on the chair and lifted a shaky hand to his mouth. His gaze flicked sideways. “I really don’t know—”
Hades moved. His first punch hit Palmer’s jaw, snapping the man’s head back. The second one landed in Palmer’s gut, doubling him over.
“Name. Now,” Hades barked.
“Mikhailov.” Palmer threw up an arm.
Cam’s gut tightened, then he heard both Hunt and Brynn curse.
“Yaroslav Mikhailov?” Hunt demanded.
Palmer nodded.
“Mikhailov has businesses here in San Francisco,” Hunt said.
“He’s Mafia?” Wolf asked.
“No, a wealthy Russian with contacts in the Russian government. His businesses are not always legal, but we’ve never been able to pin anything on him. He likes to throw expensive parties, and he has properties and yachts littered across the world.”
Brynn crossed her arms. “And he has a thing for beautiful women. Models, actresses, dancers.”
“He was obsessed with one of the dancers,” Palmer said. “He wanted her. Sasha something. Sasha Hawke. No, Saskia Hawke. He wanted her to dance for him.”
Cam ground his teeth together. “She’s not a fucking toy. He picked the wrong woman to snatch.”
“She had no boyfriend or family,” Palmer squeaked.
“You’re wrong, you sick fuck,” Wolf growled. “So, you do the research on the women before you arrange for them to disappear, do you?”
Palmer froze.
“Oh, if you think I’ll hurt you,” Wolf’s voice lowered to a rough growl. “It’s nothing compared to what my boss will do to you. Saskia’s brother.”
“Or me,” Cam added quietly.
Palmer’s terrified gaze flicked up to meet Cam’s on the screen.
“I’ve been very well-trained by Uncle Sam on how to kill scumbags.”
“I…Mikhailov took her! Not me.”
“Where?” Cam barked.
Palmer swiped a hand across his mouth. “He has a vineyard. A big estate in Napa.”
Cam stiffened. Napa? That was barely a few hours away.
“I got a trace on the cell phone call,” Hex said. “Napa Valley. An estate owned by the Yusal Corporation.”
“That’s one of Mikhailov’s companies,” Palmer said.
Cam turned to Vander. “We go in and get her.”
“You know we can’t just storm the place, Cam. He’ll have armed guards. We need intel and time to prep.”
A muscle ticked in Cam’s jaw. “She might not have time.”
“We’ll get prepped as soon as we can. You’re no good to her dead.” Vander gave one sharp nod. “We’ll get her back.”
They fucking would , Cam promised silently. Whatever it took .