Honor Avenged Read online

  They fell into line behind the team and Tank transformed from goofy dog to working K9, all business.

  The house was the shit. Which, given its owner, wasn’t a surprise. Ian had never seen anything like it. Jesus, who had a koi pond as their home’s main feature? The bridges connecting each section of the house created a bottleneck, and that was where they found the first body, sprawled out right by the front door, half hanging off the wood walkway. Male, dressed in black combat gear marked with the Volkov Group logo.

  Half the team broke left, the other half went right. All around him echoed calls of “clear,” as they methodically cleared each section of the house. The place had been ransacked. The couch had been chewed up by gunfire. Spots of blood dotted the shiny wood floor. A go bag lay nearby on its side, as if dropped, and its contents littered the floor.

  Didn’t look good for Marcus and Leah Giancarelli.

  Ian gave Tank free rein and followed the dog down the wide steps off the living room to a garden and massive pool. That was where they found the second body. Also male, elderly, a local. From the dossier they’d all received during the in-flight briefing, he recognized Bakti Darmawan, one of the villa’s live-in caretakers.

  “Someone check the live-in quarters,” Ian said through his comm.

  “On it,” Jean-Luc and Seth replied at the same time.

  He suspected they’d find this man’s wife dead as well. If she was still alive, she’d have alerted the authorities and, so far, it was radio silence from the locals. They had no idea anything had happened here.

  Volkov attacked the help first to silence them, then hit the main house. Brutal and professional.

  Ian knelt down and studied the body. Bakti was soaked, like he’d taken a header into the pool or koi pond. He had multiple holes in his chest and one in his leg. Looked like he’d been caught in the crossfire, and yet the old man had the strength to drag himself out of the pond and out here to the garden. He must have been delirious, disoriented, looking for either help or escape.

  He’d found neither.

  Ian started to straighten away from the body, but a flash of silver in Bakti’s curled hand caught his attention. He pried open the stubby, weathered fingers. Flash drive. A rare surge of sympathy had Ian shaking his head. Poor bastard. Had he given his life for this small hunk of electronics and metal?

  He picked up the drive just as Jesse dropped to his knees beside the body. “Pulse?”

  “Nah. He’s gone.”

  Jesse, being the cowboy saint he was, checked anyway. Seemed stupid to Ian. Anyone with two eyes and a working brain could tell the guy was worm food.

  “Any sign of Marcus and Leah?” he asked.

  Jesse very gently closed the dead man’s half-open eyes. “No. Volkov has them.”

  Ian straightened, keeping the flash drive tucked into his palm. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to share his discovery yet. On the one hand, it might be the key to finding Marcus and Leah. On the other, if it had come from Mercedes’s brother, there might be damning info on the thing that he wouldn’t want made public. Nobody on the team knew of his connection with Defion, and he wanted to keep it that way, especially after Danny’s murder.

  But with Volkov Group now in the mix, this whole clusterfuck might not have anything to do with Defion, despite the connection to Alexander Cabot. Unless Volkov and Defion were working together?

  Fuck.

  That would mean very bad things for HORNET and Tucker Quentin.

  As the rest of the team convened around the body, the flash drive felt like it was burning a hole in his hand. Tank sat and stared up at him with what looked a helluva lot like disapproval.

  He scowled down at the animal. “Don’t give me that look, pal.”

  Tank sniffed and his one erect ear twitched. Definitely disapproval, laced with disgust.

  Ian’s gut tightened with something that was maybe guilt. He didn’t know. It wasn’t a sensation he often experienced, but it wasn’t pleasant.

  Damn dog. Life had been so much easier when he hadn’t had a conscience.

  He stalked over to Harvard and slapped the flash drive into the kid’s hand. “Found this on the dead guy. Looks like it took a swim, so good luck getting anything off it.”

  Harvard studied the thing like it was a precious diamond, and a slow grin split his face. “Challenge accepted.”

  Ian turned away from the group, ignoring the soft, approving chuff from Tank. He hoped like hell he hadn’t blown his world apart by handing over that drive.

  “Damn,” Lanie said. “If Volkov is after that drive, and it’s here with the dead guy—”

  “Then Marcus and Leah are livin’ on borrowed time,” Jesse finished. He closed his med kit and stood. “We need to find them.”

  “Hey, guys,” Sami chimed in over the comm link. “You got incoming. One vehicle. Dark color, SUV, local plates.”

  Everyone snapped to attention. Ian pulled his rifle off his back and ordered Tank to readiness with a hand signal. The dog took position at his side, hackles raised. He didn’t growl, though. He was too well trained to give their position away like that.

  The villa’s infrastructure worked to their advantage—just as it had allowed Marcus to take out one of his attackers, the bottleneck at the front door would funnel any bad guys right into the business ends of six rifles.

  “It’s the big boss,” Sami said after an intense few seconds. “It’s Tuc. Stand down.”

  Ha. She acted like they wouldn’t need to defend themselves from this incoming storm. Tuc was bound to be pissed and looking to knock heads.

  Ian gave the hand signal for Tank to relax just as Tucker Quentin thundered through the door like the Armani-clad god he thought he was.

  Tuc froze on the steps to the garden as his gaze landed on his hired help. His jaw visibly tightened. “What the fuck happened here?”

  His temper didn’t ruffle Lanie. “We’re still trying to figure that out.”

  “So much for your safe house,” Ian muttered. “Again.”

  The look Tuc sent him was sharp enough to open veins. “This isn’t a safe house. It’s my house. My home. That man—” He motioned to the dead guy. “Has been employed by my family since I was in diapers. This is fucking personal. Do we know who did this?”

  “We have an idea—” Lanie began, but Tuc cut her off.

  “I want more than a fucking idea!”

  “Volkov,” Ian said, since nobody else seemed to want to say it.

  Tuc’s shoulders tightened and he swung around, his blue eyes snapping fire. “Not Evgeni Volkov. We had a hands-off understanding. He doesn’t touch my business, and I don’t touch his.”

  “Then the dead guy by the door didn’t get that memo. He’s wearing Volkov’s swag.” Ian nodded toward the black-clad body. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  Tuc marched up the steps and through the living room. He stared down at the dead merc for a long time, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tailored suit pants. His face gave nothing away. He’d locked down on his rage and the cool, unruffled businessman had returned. Tuc claimed he wasn’t a good actor, which was why his career as a teen heartthrob had lasted only one very short summer in the late 90s. But from where Ian was standing, the man deserved an Oscar. He was brewing with anger and hatred on the inside—Ian knew what that looked like; he lived with it every day—but had gone ice cold on the outside.

  Tuc finally turned to face the team. “Whatever it takes, find Marcus and Mrs. Giancarelli. You can use this as home base.”

  Lanie nodded. “We’re on it.”

  His gaze shifted to Ian. “Reinhardt.” Then to Jean-Luc. “Cavalier. You’re both with me. I’ll send men to fill in until they get back,” he told Lanie. “Keep me updated.”

  “Oh, goodie,” Jean-Luc said under his breath as they followed Tuc ou
t of the villa. “A road trip.”

  Ian ignored him. The Cajun was annoying on good days, and today was not a good day. “Quentin. Where are we going?”

  Tuc yanked open the driver’s side of his SUV. “To have a chat with Volkov.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Capri, Italy

  Evgeni Volkov did not look his age. His hair was still jet black, his face free of wrinkles. Guess that was one perk of owning the half of the world that Tuc Quentin didn’t already own. You could buy the best plastic surgeons and physical trainers.

  Ian stayed two steps behind Tuc and kept Tank on a short leash. Jean-Luc flanked Tuc’s other side and for once the Cajun was taking this seriously. His dopey, ever-present grin was gone, and Ian caught a glimpse of the killer lurking behind his eyes.

  Well, that was interesting.

  Ian had never considered Jean-Luc as anything more than an annoyance, a bug that he wanted to swat but couldn’t. Normal people frowned on killing someone just because they annoyed you, and Ian did his best to project an air of normality.

  Did the Cajun put on an act like him? Was he just as damaged inside?

  Tuc stopped in front of Volkov’s table. Beyond the terrace, the Mediterranean sparkled a happy blue in the midday Italian sun.

  “Quentin,” Volkov said, his Russian-accented voice deceptively genial. “I didn’t know you were in Capri this weekend. We could have made an appointment for dinner.”

  Ian wondered if anyone else heard the hatred seething underneath those words. Volkov was playacting, too, putting on an air of civility when he wanted nothing more than to see Tuc’s downfall.

  Nothing about Tuc’s smile looked forced. Those acting chops at work again. “Hello, Evgeni. I actually came here specifically to see you.”

  “What an…unexpected surprise.”

  “Is it really? You had to know I wouldn’t let things go business as usual after what you did in Indonesia.”

  Volkov arched a manicured brow. “I haven’t been to Indonesia in years. Please, sit.” He waved a hand at the seat across the table. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He started to signal the waiter, who stood off to the side of the terrace, but Tuc held up a hand in a halt gesture.

  The waiter didn’t seem to know what to do. He glanced back and forth between the two men, then wisely decided to step back.

  “I’ll pass,” Tuc said coldly. “We had a deal. It worked well for both of us. Why risk that?”

  Color flooded up Volkov’s neck and filled his cheeks an unhealthy red. “I haven’t risked anything. I haven’t done anything.”

  “Then explain to me why I’m dealing with two dead employees at my house, another one missing, and a kidnapped civilian woman.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Each word was measured and precisely cut off.

  Ian actually believed the guy. He was in the dark.

  Apparently Tuc did, too, because after studying Volkov for a long moment, he lowered himself into the previously offered chair, but he didn’t relax. Tucker Quentin didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  “Your men were involved, Evgeni. That missing employee I mentioned? He got in a lucky shot before they took him.” Tuc reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat. Volkov’s men tensed. Ian loosened his hold on Tank’s leash and gave the ready hand signal while Jean-Luc reached toward the weapon holstered under his left arm.

  Volkov held up a hand, silently telling his men to stand down. “None of my operatives are currently in Indonesia.”

  Tuc slowly pulled out the patch he’d ripped off the dead merc’s clothing and tossed it onto the table. An effective gesture, since blood still stained the thing. “That doesn’t belong to you?”

  Volkov picked up the patch and studied it. Then he waved over one of the black-clad bodyguards standing at attention along the edge of the terrace and they had a soft, heated conversation in Russian. He handed the patch over and the man strode away.

  Ian slid a quick glance toward Jean-Luc. Now he got why the mouthy Cajun was along for this trip. Jean-Luc spoke Russian fluently but didn’t show even a flicker of that knowledge now. He stood stoically, looking like he was all brawn and no brain.

  Smart.

  Didn’t explain why Tuc snagged Ian for this job, though. Maybe because he looked on the outside like the monster he was on the inside, and Tuc was not here to get answers. He was here to deliver a message.

  Volkov returned his attention to Tuc. “I will investigate this. You have my word.”

  Tuc rose to his feet, braced his hands on either side of the table, and leaned in. “Fuck with me, Volkov. I dare you. See what happens.”

  The older man’s eye twitched, but after an obvious internal battle, he forced a smile. Though it was much more brittle than it had been before. “I have no intention of changing our arrangement.”

  “Then find my missing people.” Tuc straightened and tugged his jacket into place. “You have an hour. If I don’t hear from you, consider our arrangement terminated.”

  “I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive.” Now Volkov’s smile turned mean. “You don’t want to start a war with me, little boy. You’ll lose.”

  Tuc bared his teeth. “Try me.”

  With that, he pushed up from the table and strode out the door. Jean-Luc followed. Ian waited a moment, staring Volkov down until the old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Then he also turned and guided Tank out.

  Nobody said anything during the short ride back to the airport. Once aboard one of the many jets owned by Quentin Enterprises, Tuc went straight to the bar at the back and poured himself a large glass of bourbon. He downed it in one breath and closed his eyes as if savoring it. When he set the glass down, his hand shook just a bit.

  Huh. So Tucker Quentin wasn’t as invincible as he seemed.

  The mask of unruffled businessman was back in place when he turned around. “What did Volkov tell his man to do?”

  Jean-Luc flopped into one of the cushy leather seats. “He said he wanted to know what the fuck Dmitry was up to and why he wasn’t aware of an operation in Indonesia.”

  “Who’s Dmitry?” Ian asked, since Tuc didn’t seem confused by the name drop.

  “Volkov’s son,” Tuc said. “A little shit stain with more balls than brains and a nasty coke habit. If Dmitry is off the books, Volkov will deal with him for us.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Ian unhooked Tank’s leash and settled onto one of the couches along the plane’s wall. Tank walked in several circles before deciding the comfiest spot to curl up was on Ian’s boot. “’Cause from where I was standing, he wants a war with you.”

  “Yeah, it’s coming,” Tuc admitted. “Our peace was always tenuous, at best. I’m his biggest competition and, before he dies, he’d like to see nothing more than the fall of my empire. But he’s not ready yet. He has other plans, and Dmitry is fucking with them.”

  “And I thought Defion was a problem,” Jean-Luc muttered.

  Tuc yanked at his tie, loosening it. “Defion is a fly. A pest we’ll eventually squash. Harrison Stead doesn’t have the resources to take us on and win.”

  “But Volkov does,” Ian said. “What is Volkov Group, exactly?”

  “They’re a PMC, like Defion. Like us.”

  Another private military contractor. Except that didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already figured out. “Yeah, and?”

  Tuc pushed out a breath in obvious annoyance. He wasn’t used to being questioned, but too bad. Ian didn’t like walking around with a target on his back when he didn’t know the players or the game.

  “And,” Tuc continued, “Evgeni Volkov is good friends with Russia’s president. There have been rumors that his mercenaries do the Kremlin’s dirty work.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Jean-Luc said, heavy on the sarcasm,
and then added what could only be a curse word in Russian. “What if Defion and Volkov team up? The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

  Ian nodded. It was exactly something Harrison Stead would do. Harrison might not have the resources of Volkov or Quentin, but he was damn good at getting what he wanted. And he wanted to be standing in Tuc’s polished loafers, sleeping in Tuc’s mansions, swimming in Tuc’s money. If Volkov and Defion teamed up, there was no telling what hell they’d rain down, and by the look on his face, Tuc knew it.

  “If that happens, we’re fucked.”

  “Great.” Jean-Luc shoved out of his seat and walked over to the bar. He didn’t bother with a glass. “I finally find something that makes my life worth living, and now you’re telling me our world’s about to end.” He downed a shot straight from the bottle, then swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is my wife safe? What about Gabe and Quinn and their families?”

  Tuc released a heavy sigh and consulted his watch. “I’ll let you know in about forty-five minutes.”

  …

  Central African Republic

  Dmitry Volkov.

  After a full day of travel, Mercedes was finally face-to-face with the man who was holding her brother prisoner. She was sure of it.

  Maybe Xander was even here in this abandoned village turned military training camp. She absolutely planned to look.

  That was, if she lived through the next few minutes.

  Dmitry looked like a wannabe gangster rather than the head of a huge PMC. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck and had spiked his dark hair with so much gel, it looked bulletproof.

  Did nobody tell him the 90s ended twenty years ago?

  The smile Dmitry aimed in her direction made her want to take a bath. He was slimy, no doubt about it. And judging by the way he kept sniffling, he liked his nose candy a little too much.