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Madelyn held her breath and stepped into the hall. Roman carefully clicked the door shut behind them. Holding Roman’s hand, she quietly moved down the corridor. The door at the end was locked, but an electronic keypad clung to the wall. She waited while Roman entered a set of four numbers, certain that the pounding of her heart would give them away.
Two things happened in the same instant. A light atop the gray, metal box changed from red to green. One of the thugs came out of an adjacent room.
“Chuto, chert voz mi, ty delayesh?”
Madelyn had no idea what he’d said, but then again, she didn’t need to. The gun in his hand spoke volumes.
* * *
Glaring at Roman, Serge switched to English. “What the hell are you doing?”
One person. One gun. Roman’s odds were getting better and better. He stepped in front of Madelyn, shielding her with his body. The need to protect her was more of an instinct than a thought and he held his hands up, as if he intended to surrender.
Wordlessly, Serge jerked the gun toward the cooler.
Roman nodded, hands still lifted, and moved from the door. His focus sharpened to a razor’s edge. He kept his gaze connected with the thug’s, yet his concentration was on Serge’s hand, his arm, his gun.
Back to the wall, Roman inched toward the cooler—and Serge. Five feet away. Four feet. Three feet. Strike. Roman grabbed the gun’s barrel and wrenched it to the side. He twisted the firearm toward Serge’s thumb and at the same time, chopped down on the thug’s wrist. Roman righted the firearm, placing Serge into his sights.
Not sure of his next best play, Roman paused. In Russian, he said, “Opustoshit vashi karmany.” Empty your pockets.
Nikolai’s nephew gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Ty govorish’ po-russki?” You speak Russian?
“Da, chert voz’ mi, teperi’ opushoshit’ vashi karmany.” Damn right, now empty your pockets.
“Da, da, da,” said Serge. He withdrew his cell phone, wallet and a package of cigarettes from his blazer. He tossed them on the floor. From the pocket of his slim trousers, he pulled out the set of keys and threw those into the pile, as well.
“Walk,” Roman said, his voice little more than a whisper. “And if you make a sound I’ll blow your brains all over this hallway.”
Serge sauntered toward the cooler. He reached for the handle and then he swung out. Roman dodged back, but not far enough and the blow hit the gun’s barrel, knocking it from Roman’s grasp. The gun skittered down the hall, stopping next to where Madelyn huddled by the door. Roman wanted to tell her to run, but he could hear Oleg’s voice behind his closed office door, which meant that Oleg would be able to hear into the hallway, as well.
Serge bolted forward. Roman held out his arm, catching the other man midchest with a clothesline and knocking him back. Roman pounced before Serge had a chance to rise. He drove his fist down again and again. Roman’s arms ached, a stitch in his side burned and throbbed. His sweat-damp shirt clung to his torso like a second, gritty skin.
Nikolai’s nephew held up his arms to block the blows. His hands and wrists took more punishment than his face. Serge brought up his legs, hooking them over Roman’s shoulders. Shifting his weight, the thug knocked Roman onto his back. Then Serge crawled to stand and Roman grabbed him by the foot. He came down hard and Roman pressed down on his back. As Serge began to scream, Roman clamped his hand on the other man’s mouth and nose. His arms swung out wildly with ineffectual punches. His hits slowed and then stopped altogether.
The body went limp. There was no breath. Roman felt for a pulse that he knew he’d never find.
“Damn it,” he cursed.
In the silent hallway, he heard Madelyn’s stifled sobs and Oleg’s voice from behind the door. “Konechon, Otets, ya ozhidal uvidet’ vas poslezavtra.” Of course, Father, I will see you here tomorrow.
Otets. Father. Sire. It was a code name often used with Nikolai Mateev. Was the head of the Russian Mafia coming to Boulder? It was the information that Roman had been waiting five months to gather. He needed to contact the team from Rocky Mountain Justice right away, but first he had to hide Serge’s body.
He grabbed all of Serge’s personal effects and dropped everything, except for the keys to The Prow, on the dead man’s chest. Roman opened the cooler door and then dragged the body inside. He locked both locks and returned to Madelyn.
“Is he...?” She hiccupped as tears ran down her face. “Is he dead?”
Neither of them had time to mourn. “It was him or us,” he said as he entered the back door’s code. The lock disengaged with a click and Roman pushed the door open. He peered outside and saw nothing more than a set of metal stairs ascending to the alley and the backside of a Dumpster.
He opened the door further and reached for Madelyn’s hand. They’d done it. They’d escaped. But then from behind came an all-too-familiar voice. “Black!”
Oleg stood in the corridor. “Anton,” he screamed. “Serge! After them.”
Anton rushed out of the office.
“Get the car,” Oleg said. “Chase them down.”
Roman didn’t wait to see if Anton followed the orders. He pushed Madelyn into the night and pulled the door shut. Gripping Madelyn’s hand again, he sprinted up the stairs. His feet hit the pavement as a large raindrop fell on his forehead and the back door to The Prow burst open.
He held tight to Madelyn and willed his legs to move faster. The stitch in his side had returned, turning every breath into a fiery torture. He fixed his gaze on the intersecting street and ran faster still. Rain fell, wetting his skin and blurring his vision.
“My car’s two blocks up and one over,” Madelyn said, her voice breathless with exertion.
He liked that she was thinking. All they needed to do was outrun Oleg and Anton for three blocks. Or better yet, lose them. Roman pushed on. The end of the alley grew larger with each step. He ran through the intersection. On the other side, he kept close to the buildings and let the shadows hide his movements.
Still running, he began to scan the alleyway. The recessed doorway ahead was deep enough to surround them in complete darkness. Rudimentary, sure. But simple plans were often the best.
He ducked in and drew Madelyn in behind him. Together, they huddled in a corner. Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Her heartbeat resonated within his flesh. Maybe it was all those months of undercover work, but he was getting a little too used to holding her.
In the darkened alleyway, her skin took on a luminescent quality. Her lips turned a deep shade of burgundy, like a sultry and smoky wine. Her nose was small and straight and the hollow on her neck looked as if it had been meant to be kissed—by him. Next to her, Roman felt too large and at the same time, protective. It was because he blamed himself for getting her involved with Oleg.
Oleg. His footfalls echoed off the buildings while he ran past. The sound died away as he continued to run.
“Is he gone?” Madelyn whispered.
Roman held one finger to his lips. He peered down the alley, Oleg’s retreating silhouette was nothing more than mist in the increasing rain.
“He’s gone,” Roman said. “Let’s get out of here. It won’t take long for him to figure out that we’ve given him the slip.”
Together, they ran to Madelyn’s car. The pace was slower, but still Roman ached. One block up and one block over, but to Roman it felt like miles.
“What is that thing? It looks like a toy.”
“That,” said Madelyn, “is my car.”
“That thing?” The powder blue auto came up to his chest. He’d never fit inside, or at least he’d never be comfortable. “Does it have a motor?”
Madelyn opened the driver’s side door. “If you want a ride, get in.”
For Roman, many things had gone wrong over the last few hours. But having to fold himself into some kind of origami figure just to ride in this car might actually be the worst part.
* * *
Putting the gearshift into Drive, Madelyn pulled on to the deserted street. The road was dark, the streetlights all broken. Buildings, soaked and dripping, were covered with graffiti. Rain pelted the windshield.
“The nearest police precinct is on Canyon Boulevard. Go north seven blocks and then turn left,” Roman said.
“The police,” she breathed. Thank God. Soon this nightmare would be over. She thought of Jackson, the man who’d captured her and insisted he was a cop, but that couldn’t have been true.
She accelerated, the world outside her window becoming a blur.
“Wow,” Roman said. “The gerbil in your engine can run fast.”
“I’ll have you know that this car has a TwinPower turbo engine,” she said. She wasn’t really in a joking mood, but the teasing helped to release some of the tension she held in her shoulders.
“Me, I’m an American muscle car kind of guy. Give me a Ford Mustang or a Chevy Camaro any day. So, I don’t even know what a TwinPower turbo engine means.”
“It means that I feed the gerbil in my engine really well,” she said.
He laughed and winced, gripping his side. “This is your turn,” he said.
Madelyn eased around the corner and a tall building of glass and brick came into view. It sat behind a wide lawn. A sign, illuminated by a spotlight on the ground, read Boulder Police Department. Madelyn felt warm and exhausted, as if she’d been wrapped up in a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, on a snowy winter’s night. She slowed as she neared the curb. The double doors of the police station opened and two men stepped out. Madelyn’s heart ceased to beat. A pair of blue jeans and sweatshirt had been traded for a police uniform, but the face was the same.
“Jackson’s here,” she said. “I’d hoped he was lying about being a cop.”
Heads ducked in the rain, the men strode down the walkway.
“Just drive away,” said Roman. “We’ll think of something else. Maybe we can keep watch and come back after he’s gone.”
Madelyn stomped on the accelerator and her car shot down the street. She headed up the block. The back of the car filled with light as another car approached fast from the rear.
Roman said, “Looks like we have company.”
She stepped on the accelerator, urging her small car to go faster. The other auto, a bigger sedan, gained more ground.
Turning in his seat, Roman said, “It’s Anton.”
Before she could ask how he knew, they were hit from behind. Madelyn’s car lurched forward, skidding sideways on the wet pavement.
* * *
Roman watched Madelyn as she drove. Shoulders hunched forward, she gripped the steering wheel and stared wide-eyed at the road. The speedometer climbed. If only Jackson hadn’t been at the police station, this whole episode would be over. But, now they were on the run again.
“We have to lose Anton,” said Roman.
“Not a helpful suggestion,” said Madelyn, “especially since I don’t know this neighborhood.”
He did. “There’s an alleyway half a block up and on the left. Turn at the last minute and hopefully Anton will pass us by.”
She nodded, her jaw tight.
Roman counted. “One. Two. Turn.”
Madelyn whipped the steering wheel. The car hit the curb, sending them airborne. They landed and she aimed for the small alley. As he hoped, the other car didn’t make the turn. “Turn right at the end of this alley and then take the next left.” He gave her another half a dozen directions that led them down side streets and into another alley.
“Pull up behind this Dumpster and kill the lights.”
Without comment, Madelyn followed Roman’s instructions and they sat silently in the darkened car. Rain pelted the windows and filled the tiny space with constant noise. Madelyn’s breath came in short and ragged gasps. Even in the dim light, Roman could see her pulse thrumming at the base of her throat. Up until now, she’d been brave and levelheaded. But everyone had a limit for what they could endure. Had Madelyn reached hers?
“Look at me,” he said.
Her head snapped to him, her eyes were wide.
“I need you to breathe.”
“Breathe? I’m freaking out, here. There’s no place for me to go. Nobody I can trust.”
Roman knew that she hadn’t meant to injure him with her words, but the fact that he hadn’t earned her trust made his cheeks sting.
Yet, why did he care? What was it with his reaction to this woman?
“You can trust me,” Roman said.
“Can I? I don’t even know you.”
Roman didn’t dignify her comment with one of his own. Instead, he said the only thing that might help her gain control. “You’re a doctor, right? Every day you face all sorts of distressing scenarios, but I bet you don’t freak out—” he made air quotes “—with your patients.”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m trained to handle a variety of medical emergencies.”
“Well, I’m trained to handle this kind of emergency. So, whether you think that you can trust me or not, you can.”
Madelyn exhaled fully. “Okay. What do we do next?”
“Anton’s not going to give up. There’s too much at stake,” he said.
“Then we are going to die,” Madelyn said. The resolve of her statement was a blade to the heart, the first tiny cut of a thousand.
Roman brought up a map of Boulder in his mind. “We’ll only get one shot to shake Anton off our tail, but first, we have to find him and get him to chase us.”
Madelyn took in a shaking breath. “I think I like staying hidden better.”
He wanted to say something to give her courage or at least comfort, like a pep talk, but after months of living a lie, he’d forgotten how to be inspiring. “Can I drive?” he asked instead.
She hesitated. “I guess.”
Roman glanced out the side window. The building next to them was so near that he couldn’t open the passenger door.
Her gaze followed his. Roman turned to look at Madelyn. She gave a little shrug. “Sorry,” she said. “I can move the car.”
“Don’t bother,” said Roman. “We’ll just trade places.”
She moved to hover above him, his hands on her waist. Sure, they were being chased by a murderous gangster but the fact that her nice butt was right above his lap didn’t escape Roman. And it wasn’t simply her body that he appreciated, either. As far as working with a civilian—Madelyn Thompkins wasn’t half bad.
He moved across the cramped console and into the ridiculously small seat. Every muscle in his abdomen ached. He found the lever that controlled distance from the steering wheel and eased back, the pain in his middle lessening. With the headlights still off, Roman maneuvered out of the alley. He pulled onto a deserted street. Ahead, he saw the black sedan driving slowly in the opposite direction.
“Buckle your seat belt.” Roman dropped his foot on the gas. The little car shot forward with more force than he would have imagined. TwinPower turbo, indeed. He closed in on Anton. Bumper swiping bumper, he rocketed past in a deadly game of tag.
Anton followed, as Roman knew he would. Left. Right. Left and left again. Left again and another right. He headed south, toward the interstate entrance ramp nearest the warehouses on the outskirts of town.
