In the Blood (Metahuman Files Book 4) Read online

  “I’m not like the people we’ve helped you corner over the last year or so,” Jamie said once the waitstaff had disappeared.

  “I can see that,” Stanislav ground out.

  Alexei tried not to tense at that phrase, half-wondering if Stanislav had already foreseen the end of this conversation and was somehow steering it to a conclusion that would benefit the Pavluhkins and not the MDF.

  Jamie didn’t take his eyes off Stanislav. “That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in pursuing a different sort of business partnership with you. I can’t speak for my father, but there are several competing companies I know he wouldn’t mind seeing fall by the wayside, if you get my meaning.”

  The younger Pavluhkin looked across the table at his father, but Yakov said nothing, content to chew his way through a few bites of food. Alexei turned his attention to the elder and quietly sipped at his soup. He wondered why Yakov wasn’t taking a more active role in this argument, unless this was a test for his son to see how well he could close a deal.

  “We are listening,” Stanislav finally said.

  Jamie leaned back in his chair, his attention split between the two men. “I can push Root Source, Inc. as a better security option to the companies you’re interested in…working with, shall we say. In exchange, you’ll introduce us to some of your contemporaries in other countries. I want Ekaterina’s company to grow. I have a vested interest in it, after all.”

  By contemporaries, Alexei knew Jamie meant other criminal organizations. Identifying the ringleaders outside the Pavluhkins’ immediate sphere of influence was a long process. Direct access to the inner circles of the people involved in this global criminal alliance would cut everyone’s workload in half.

  “Quid pro quo,” Katie added. “We help you, and you help us.”

  “The bargain doesn’t favor us,” Stanislav snapped.

  “My family is worth more to you untarnished. If you feel that we,” Jamie gestured at those gathered around the table with him, “are no longer of any use to you, then by all means, try a smear campaign against my family. I guarantee it won’t end how you predict it will.”

  Stanislav narrowed his eyes, mouth pressed into a hard line. “You think so?”

  Jamie shrugged, picking up his wine glass. He hadn’t touched his soup, which was a shame. Alexei thought it was really good soup. “You don’t have enough money or connections to ruin my family.”

  Alexei’s perusal of the food was abruptly halted when Yakov cut in, drawing Alexei’s attention.

  “Nothing to say about this, Alexei? Or you always willing to march lockstep with Jamie?” Yakov asked.

  Alexei shrugged. “Would follow Jamie anywhere. You want best? He is best. Be stupid to ignore that.”

  A quiet settled over the table, lasting long enough that the servers returned to take away the soup and serve them with artfully plated bites of wagyu tenderloin. Alexei eyed his plate mournfully, wishing it was an entire steak, not three mouthfuls.

  “Loyalty is measure I take seriously,” Yakov said after the servers left. “Most people not worth my time. Not worth effort. You, Jamie, we make exception.”

  Stanislav’s expression was stony, but he didn’t argue his father’s tacit agreement to Jamie’s counteroffer. What food he’d eaten settled uneasily in Alexei’s stomach. They couldn’t know if this was the exact conclusion the Pavluhkins wanted, but Alexei didn’t like the corner they were being backed into, Jamie especially. This dinner could be too easily branded as collusion if the Pavluhkins decided to cut their losses and toss them to the sharp teeth of the mediacrats, and beyond them, the Department of Justice. Jamie’s father’s political career would be in tatters if that happened.

  “I’m glad to hear it. We want to make this business relationship work, Yakov,” Jamie said.

  “Will work only if we like what you provide. We want initial contacts in one week, or deal is off.”

  “I’ll need more than a week. My father—”

  “One week,” Yakov interrupted, a hint of irritation filtering through his tone. “Is enough time to get what we want. You own company, da? Be easy to do. New contracts for us, introductions for you.”

  “I don’t think we need to impress upon you the…consequences that will result in you not following through,” Stanislav added through clenched teeth.

  “Fine. One week.” Jamie raised his wine glass and tilted it in Yakov’s direction. “To new partnerships.”

  Everyone at the table raised their glasses and repeated the toast. Alexei had to practically force the words out before he knocked back the latest pour of the wine.

  I’m pretty sure that was a ten-thousand-Euro bottle of wine they opened for this course and you didn’t even enjoy it, Kyle said through the mental link.

  What’s to enjoy? Alexei said, his thoughts in Russian translating clearly for everyone through Katie’s telepathy. He compromised. Russians never compromise on a deal. They want a win-lose situation, preferably with them on the winning side.

  I know, Jamie said, speaking up for the first time. But I expected something like this would happen.

  Your father isn’t going to be pleased, Katie told him.

  Jamie’s mental sigh was weary and pained. I’ll deal with my father.

  Alexei didn’t envy him that task at all.

  The rest of dinner never quite stopped being a tense affair, but business was shelved for the easier conversation of European politics, both groups silently agreeing to not speak of their own national messes. But the deal was sealed, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

  Katie paid for the meal using the Root Source, Inc. account. Alexei knew the MDF considered this a mission and they weren’t technically paying for it with their own money, but the total still made Alexei wince a little.

  “We will talk soon,” Yakov said as everyone worked their way through the goodbyes in the privacy of the walled-off room.

  “One week,” Jamie promised.

  “Da. One week.”

  The Pavluhkins left first while the rest of them got situated. No one spoke now that the electronic jammers were all turned off. Trevor and Madison didn’t move from their posts until the four of them stepped out of the private dining room. The pair escorted them through the restaurant and the hotel lobby, where Giselle waited.

  “I do hope you enjoyed your evening with us,” she said as several hotel workers materialized with their coats and umbrellas.

  “Dinner was excellent. I’ll be sure to let my father know of your hospitality,” Jamie said.

  Giselle smiled winningly at him, but was too much of a professional to flirt. She waved them out the door into the wet downpour. Alexei spied their SUVs idling at the curb, hotel valet workers ready to open the doors and see them into the vehicles. He helped Katie inside before climbing in after her and shutting the door.

  Annabelle glanced over her shoulder at them. “Ready?”

  “Let’s get back to the hotel,” Katie said.

  Ten minutes later found everyone ensconced in the Impériale suite on the second floor of the Ritz. The multiple rooms and salons were filled with period pieces of furniture and classic artwork surrounded by a sumptuous design that still made Alexei afraid to take a seat anywhere. Too expensive for his taste, even if Jamie seemed right at home.

  “That could have gone better,” Katie said once she set the electronic jammer for the large suite and kicked off her high heels.

  “So what happened?” Donovan asked as he took a seat on a couch that didn’t look comfortable to Alexei.

  Jamie grimaced as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the antique credenza. “Saunders & Associates is no longer a viable avenue to the Pavluhkins.”

  “So how are we getting to them?” Madison asked.

  “Through my family,” was Jamie’s quiet reply.

  The protest from the rest of the team who hadn’t been present for the dinner wasn’t surprising. Alexei stepped closer to Kyle, slinging an a
rm around his brother’s shoulders and giving him a sideways hug. Kyle leaned into him, silently accepting the familial support. Alexei knew the next phase of the mission was going to be hard on his little brother, and he wished he could change that, but changing the future wasn’t ever going to be easy.

  Surviving it was going to be worse.

  4

  Not Gonna Walk This Road Alone

  Agent Sean Delaney had just logged into his work terminal for the first time in a month when the door to his office slid open, and Elena Flores poked her head inside. She gave him a faintly apologetic grimace.

  “Oh, good. You’re finally back,” she said.

  Sean checked the chrono glowing in the corner of the holoscreen that snapped into existence between them in the air. “I just got out of debrief.”

  He’d arrived on base Friday morning from a joint undercover mission in France that had seen him partnered with two metahuman operatives out of the European Alliance Metahuman Security Group. They’d been tasked with tracking down information on French terrorist groups and their ties to the Presnenskaya Bratva with limited success. Sean had slipped into a different cover than the one that was compromised in June. Riley Miller, CFO of Root Source, Inc., was a burned alias and had been for months.

  He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, the length longer now after weeks without a cut. He’d kept up the dye job for security reasons and was looking forward to going back to his original brown coloring. Sean’s cover as an American member of a separatist militia group looking to expand into the power vacuum left by the Sons of Adam after Valerie Hayes died in June had been a nice selling point in France. Nationalists with nativist tendencies always made comfortable bedfellows.

  Elena beckoned at him with one hand. “I have something you need to see.”

  Sean eyed his email queue and the number of red-flagged messages he needed to respond to with a sinking stomach. “Can it wait?”

  “It’s about Cillian Halloran.”

  Sean went still, gaze snapping away from his work to Elena. “What about him?”

  “Alpha Team had a mission in Mexico a few days ago. We finally managed to crack the encryption on the solid-state drives they returned with. Analysts are still going through what data is salvageable, but there are a few records that stood out.”

  Cillian Halloran used to be a member of the Reborn Irish Republican Army before an internal schism caused him to break away and attempt a partnership with the Presnenskaya Bratva. He’d been the mastermind behind the Victoria and Albert Museum terrorist attack in London back in January.

  Sean’s burned alias went way back with Cillian. He’d learned in June that CIA Deputy Director Carter Bennett had most likely enabled Declan’s private military company and Valerie’s biotech lab, Vitae Neurotherapeutics, to sell Splice on the black market. Cillian had been a buyer with the Reborn IRA, later using his skills as a chemist to plant Splice bombs in Belfast in a bid to murder Sean. He’d survived, obviously, but the CIA deputy director was now under investigation by the MDF, and a secret fight between two federal agencies wasn’t going to end well.

  Sean closed down his terminal and locked it before standing up. “Show me.”

  Elena led him through a couple of hallways on Level 15 to get to the main workspace that housed over two dozen computer terminals and just as many analysts hard at work. In the front of the room was an open area with a long work station that everyone sent critical data to for the supervisor on duty to assess.

  Sean nodded absently at the analysts and agents around him as he and Elena weaved through the terminals to get to the front. Arrayed before him on the holoscreen was a looped CCTV video as well as holopics capturing stills from the action. Two holopics had been blown up, a facial recognition program having positively identified several of the men in the footage. The man driving the van wore a leather jacket, sunglasses, and baseball cap, but the program had managed to identify him as Cillian Halloran. Standing guard on the sidewalk was a mixed group of people, but the only one Sean cared about was Declan Wolcott.

  “Where was this taken?” Sean asked.

  “Mexico City,” Elena replied.

  Sean watched the short video clip of Cillian backing up a large delivery truck into an alleyway guarded by Mexican cartel members and Declan’s mercenary group of ex-Special Forces soldiers loyal to him over their country. The CCTV camera angle was from across the street, probably hidden by authorities if the security measures were still active. Any overt security cameras were always destroyed by the cartels and the people who put them up usually tracked down and murdered.

  “When?”

  “April of this year.”

  Sean had memorized the timeline the director had shared with Alpha Team back in June that depicted all the cities Vitae Neurotherapeutics’ representatives had been present in right before a Splice chemical bomb attack occurred.

  “April 21 was the last time a Splice attack happened in Mexico City,” Sean said slowly.

  “This delivery happened a few days before.”

  “Of course it did.” Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. “Show me what else you’ve found so we can cross-reference it with our files.”

  Work came first, and with debrief out of the way, Sean let the latest problem to arise suck him under. His emails, calls to his family to let them know he was back, and getting updates on Alpha Team fell by the wayside. Sean didn’t know how much time had passed before an achingly familiar voice broke through his focus.

  “No call, no message, no welcome-back kiss? Am deprived,” Alexei drawled from his left. “What you do to hair?”

  Sean’s head snapped up and he blinked owlishly at where Alexei stood on the other side of the work table. The holoscreens weren’t layered thick enough to hide Alexei’s tired, teasing smile. He wasn’t in uniform, but the suit he wore was tailored to his body, and Sean had always appreciated how Alexei looked in a suit. For a second or two, Sean looked his fill, forgetting the task at hand in favor of standing in close proximity with the man who’d kept him company in his dreams for a long, lonely month.

  Nothing beat reality.

  “Hi,” Sean said, staring at him. “When did you get back?”

  “When you get back?” Alexei retorted as he approached, waving hello at Elena.

  “This morning.”

  “Is almost 1600, Senya.”

  Sean’s gaze tracked back to the chrono on the nearest holoscreen. He winced. “I missed my appointment with Gracie.”

  “Da. Is why she send me. Time for checkup.”

  Sean touched the nearest holoscreen and flicked it to where Elena was working. He took a few more seconds to type out some commands—saving files, forwarding others—and would’ve gotten lost back in his work if Alexei didn’t curl a warm hand around Sean’s elbow and tug him away.

  “Now, Senya,” Alexei said with a deep chuckle.

  “Make sure the director gets my latest report,” Sean called over his shoulder.

  “Will do,” Elena said, not looking up.

  Alexei led Sean out of the room, guiding him to the closest elevator. Now that he wasn’t blinded by work, Sean could focus on the fact that Alexei was here, by his side, after a month of being separated due to his mission. Sean desperately wanted to kiss the other man, but they needed to act like professionals, despite their relationship.

  “Dye hair for mission?” Alexei asked on the ride down to the ground floor.

  Sean shrugged. “I’ll dye it back tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  Alexei’s immediate relief at his answer didn’t surprise Sean. He knew Alexei preferred who he really was over the identities he’d inhabited over the years. Sean was grateful he had found someone who preferred the truth over a veneer of lies.

  Since he’d been medically cleared at the EAMSG headquarters in Paris and his records forwarded on to the MDF, Sean’s time under Gracie’s care was relatively brief. A touch from her hand so she co
uld get a read on his health through her healing power confirmed that he didn’t require a stint in Medical.

  “I’ll sign off on a regulatory three days off for you, but I’m not sure how long that will last,” Gracie said as she tapped an update into her tablet.

  “Anything I need to know?” Sean asked.

  “Alexei can fill you in.”

  Sean looked over at where Alexei was scrolling through his personal tablet. He didn’t look up at the mention of his name when he said, “Is in report. Jamie send to you.”

  Sean thought back to his long queue of unread emails and grimaced. “When can I go?”

  “You’re cleared,” Gracie said, patting his shoulder. “Take the rest of the day off.”

  She walked out of the exam room, moving on to her next patient. The door automatically closed behind her. Sean slid off the biobed, ignoring the way its sensors went blank as he left its scan field. Alexei looked up from his tablet and tucked it away in his pocket. Sean let his gaze slowly travel up and down Alexei’s body, taking him in. He really did like how Alexei looked in a suit.

  “Keep looking like that, we not make it home,” Alexei warned as he approached. “Get room on-base. Never hear end of it from Kilyusha.”

  “You could just not tell your brother,” Sean replied.

  Alexei chuckled as he touched Sean’s chin with his fingers, tilting his head back. “He sneaky. Would find out.”

  Sean’s reply was lost in the tempting feel of Alexei’s mouth on his. He parted his lips, drawing Alexei in deep as they tasted each other for the first time in weeks. Sean groaned as Alexei grabbed him by the ass and hauled him close, keeping him there as they kissed.

  Sean broke the kiss with a gasp, tucking his face against the curve of Alexei’s neck and shoulder as he hugged the other man tightly. He breathed in the last lingering traces of the cologne Alexei had put on earlier in the day and sighed softly. “Missed you.”