“Why? What did he do?” I managed through gritted teeth as I drew in quick, shallow breaths.
“My dear nephew and my lovely daughter started to get some really bad ideas. They started talking about finding evidence to use against me, so I’d leave you and my nephew alone.” He shook his head sadly. “Such miserable, ungrateful children.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, obviously I know this because I keep both my nephew’s and my daughter’s cell phones bugged at all times. I can read all their texts and hear all their conversations. Catherine’s phone was quite busy tonight, the two of them hatching plans. Some of them were quite amusing, actually. I appreciated the idea of tying up one of my employees and trying to blackmail information out of him. That showed some initiative, I thought.” Despite his smile, he eyed me with icy detachment.
I blurted, “Would they have found evidence in the Packard that you killed Vince Pasteretti?” I was stalling for time. I didn’t know why. No one was coming. No one would find me.
He shrugged, taking the bait. “All the obvious evidence has been cleaned up, but you know how thorough that forensic shit is. Even now, years later, one stray hair, one drop of blood could send me to jail. Worse than that, the Dombruso family thinks they caught the guy responsible, they offed someone years ago that I set up to take the fall. But if the police suddenly find evidence that I was Pasteretti’s killer? The Dombrusos are going to realize their mistake and come after me. That’s something to be avoided at all costs.”
“So why didn’t you just get rid of the car?”
“Look at her. Could you get rid of something that beautiful? Keeping her is a risk, but some risks are worth it.”
I flailed around, still trying to stall. “The car’s been hidden successfully for twelve years. Dmitri would never have found it. So what’s kidnapping me supposed to accomplish?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sokolov asked, pulling a gun from his shoulder holster and pressing it against my forehead, hard. “Killing you will teach my nephew a lesson. One he will never, ever forget. The arrogant little cocksucker thought he could double-cross me. Me! And after everything I did for him! He repays my generosity by sneaking around behind my back, trying to find evidence to use against me. My bitch daughter will learn a lesson, too. They’ll both learn that you do not fuck with Gregor Sokolov. They will learn – ”
The rest of that sentence was cut off as the big rolling door to the warehouse was knocked off its track and came crashing to the ground in a deafening clatter. A huge Land Rover drove up on top of the bent and twisted door, and Dmitri jumped out from behind the wheel, Uzi in hand. “Holy shit,” I murmured as his uncle staggered back a few steps in alarm.
He pointed the Uzi at his uncle, and the three other men jumping out of his vehicle trained a couple guns apiece on Sokolov’s stunned men. “Guns on the ground. Kick them away from you,” Dmitri demanded, his voice ringing with authority. Sokolov’s men quickly complied. A second and then a third big SUV rolled up on either side of the Land Rover, and half a dozen more men piled out, also pointing guns at Sokolov and his men.
His uncle hesitated, gun still raised, and Dmitri growled, “Drop your fucking gun now, Gregor, or you’re a fucking dead man.” The two men had a standoff for a few long, tense moments. But then his uncle reluctantly lowered his weapon.
Dmitri strode across the big metal door and leapt off it gracefully. He took his uncle’s gun from him, then flipped his Uzi around and drove the stock into his uncle’s face. Sokolov dropped like a bag of rocks with a muffled yell, cupping his broken nose as blood flowed between his fingers. Dmitri stepped back from him, assessing him coolly.
“Search him, and then tie that motherfucker up.” Dmitri sounded perfectly calm. He took a deep breath and turned to me as several of his men converged on Sokolov. His eyes went wide as he got a good look at me, and he said, “Oh shit, Jamie.” Now he sounded rattled.
He crossed the warehouse to me quickly as he asked, “Baby, are you ok?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “And that was the coolest Rambo shit I’ve ever seen.”
Dmitri set his gun down and produced a switchblade from his suit pocket. He cut the rope around my neck, then raised my chin up and turned my face gingerly, assessing the wound on my forehead as I asked, “How the hell did you find me?”
“Cell phone,” he murmured as he started sawing through the rope binding my torso.
“But they took my cell phone. They threw it in the bushes in front of your house,” I told him.