Saul had no complaints. He liked his skin in one piece and keeping it that way was of paramount importance in the Skoczinsky scheme of things. “I’ll bring a wheelbarrow if I have to.” Popping a clump of steamed rice into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed. “Have you given thought to what the hell you’re going to do if we manage to pull him out of that place?”
Had I given it thought? I’d given it nothing but. I could go to the police. None of my past indiscretions were known, not even today’s. What a versatile word, indiscretion . . . and how amazing the amount of dark and ugly territory it could cover. Most of that territory was invisible to the cops, and that meant I could take Lukas to the nearest station and scream for help like any other law-abiding citizen. And within an hour I’d be yelling again as those beefy guys in khakis dragged us back to the compound. Not government, but the government ties we so strongly suspected could come into play to pinpoint us in a heartbeat. The police were out of the question; probably the FBI as well. Call me suspicious and paranoid. It was better than being called dead.
My best bet was to go underground. Konstantin wouldn’t be exactly thrilled to have me use the family network as a place to hide, but he would go along with it. It wouldn’t be for my sake so much as a gesture for Anatoly. For protecting his ally’s long-lost son, he could and would expect to be rewarded. Whether in measures of money or power, Gurov would come out far ahead of the game. I had never known him not to.
Taking this to my father now wasn’t an option I’d wasted any time entertaining. At best he’d think me crazy; at worst he’d interfere. Aside from that, the possibility of finding Anatoly could take more time than I had. But once I had Lukas and could prove he was my brother, then I could go to my father. Out of sight within the family, hopefully I would have the leeway to track him down. Whoever ruled that armed structure might have the authorities on a choke chain, but fucking around with my less-than-easygoing pop was on par with sticking your dick in a shark’s mouth and asking for a blow job. It just wasn’t a good idea.
“Don’t worry about it.” I turned and watched as Saul broke into the second carton. Red sauce thickly coated the tofu clump and I shifted my gaze to over his shoulder. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll crash at your place.”
The disquiet evidenced in the sharp knitting of his eyebrows dissipated as he realized I wasn’t serious. “Asshole,” he grumbled around a mouthful of sweet and sour.
“Better you don’t know anyway.”
“Better for you, yeah,” he countered cynically.
He was right. It was better for me. They shouldn’t be able to hunt down either of us if we did our jobs correctly. But if by some bizarre twist they did find one of us, specifically Saul, I didn’t want them to be able to get a scrap of information on my escape plan. With enough incentive anyone would talk. I knew the truth of that from personal experience seeing that today for an unforgettable time I had been the incentive.
Dumping the warm container on the coffee table with no care for the fine fake wood veneer, Saul appeared to have lost his appetite. “I put your money in my happy place. Funny. If anything, it made it less happy.”
I knew he was worried about getting out of this alive. He would be an idiot if he weren’t, and Saul was anything but an idiot. “Stay quick and smart, and you’ll live to buy leather pants again.”
“At least I’d look good in them. I can’t say the same for your flat Russian ass,” he sniped before finishing off half his beer in two long swallows. Saul’s much-vaunted fashion sense came from the disco era, but it didn’t seem to slow him down with waitresses who dreamed of one day making the big time: exotic nude masseuse. Who was I to say anything? If it worked, it worked. How it worked could remain a mystery. I was fine with that.
It went on that way for the majority of the night as we ran through the scenario again and again. Caustic quips and sarcastic swipes kept us from dwelling on what an incredible long shot this was . . . both for rescuing Lukas and maintaining a healthy pulse for ourselves. Near dawn, Saul dozed off, sprawled loose limbed and at ease across my sofa as if he owned it. I ended up at my computer desk, fiddling with the handle on the bottom drawer. After several minutes I gave in and pulled out the picture I’d received in the mail two weeks ago. Running a thumb lightly across the glass, I wiped away a nonexistent speck of dust.
“One more day, Lukasha,” I promised, the whisper a bare breath of sound. “One more day.”
Chapter 9