Junayd’s frustration grew. “Are there any other elevators leading down to the lobby?” he bit out.
Franklin shook his head. “No... but there’s a dumbwaiter used by the staff. It comes out in the laundry room.”
Junayd cursed. “Take me to it,” he ordered.
Franklin opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Junayd followed the nervous man through a service door. Lights automatically came on when they entered the cramped room. Franklin waved a hand to the far wall.
Junayd threaded his way around carts, his eyes locked on the open dumbwaiter. A folded note was on the wooden floor of the small space. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the single word.
Goodbye.
Five
Bronislav’s Mansion
Moscow, Russia
Pain was something Andrius Bronislav understood. He enjoyed giving it more than receiving it, but the pain radiating through his body now was clearing his mind. That was something he appreciated, even relished.
“Your coffee, sir,” his manservant announced.
“On the table,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Yes, sir.”
The tray was placed on the end table next to his favorite chair and the man quietly exited the sitting room. Andrius stiffly walked to his plush chair by the window and sank down.
His injuries were just scars and lingering aches now. There had been enough time and effort since his escape from Colin Coldhouse’s compound in Lithuania to bring himself this far, but after an intense workout, he always felt more pain.
He wasn’t angry. He was beyond anger and a simple need for vengeance. No, he wanted something far, far deeper. He wanted blood—lots of it, and he wanted to watch it drain slowly, drawing out the pain as long as possible.
The royal family of Jawahir was going to lose everything. They would feel exactly what they had done to him. And Dallas, she was going to die. These were the only things that kept him focused.
The snowfall outside caught his eye. He let his gaze linger on the view. This mansion was the last untouched holding of his once great empire. The money he had been able to transfer was locked in a vault deep within the belly of it. Andrius could no longer trust anything digital. Banks—even those once thought to be untouchable—were no longer safe. He had discovered that the hard way when over a billion dollars in assets disappeared in less than a minute.
His hand shook slightly as he poured hot tea into the fine china cup. He replaced the teapot, and lifted the cup with one hand while he pulled a manila folder onto his lap. Opening the folder, he studied the images within.
The Saif-Ad-Dinshad a hacker in their pocket, one they relied on over and over. Eliminating that hacker was the first thing he needed to do. Neglecting to do so was a miscalculation Andrius had made from the very beginning, a fatal flaw that continued to haunt him.
The next priority was butchering the royal family. The most vulnerable member was Dr. Junayd Saif-Ad-Din. Unlike the rest of his family, he stayed outside the sphere of his government for long stretches of time—and he was currently in New York. How convenient.
Andrius retrieved his phone, typed in an encrypted message, and sent it. Relaxing back in his seat, he sipped his tea and stared out at the snow. In less than a minute, his phone vibrated and he answered it.
“I have two jobs for you,” he murmured.
* * *
Three days later, Midnight sat under the Brooklyn Bridge waiting for the sun to set. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and the temperature was dropping, but she didn’t notice it. Her mind was not on the transition from day to night or the job Junebug had sent her. She was reliving her kiss with Junayd.
She hoped he would return to Jawahir soon. If he wasn't in the city, she might be able to forget about him. Though she had resisted the urge to return to his apartment, shehadspent the last two nights following him around the city.
I’mactuallya frigging stalker now,she thought with distaste.
But this was business, not personal. Bronislav had made contact with someone. They suspected it was Colin Coldhouse. Junebug couldn’t be sure because there was no way to decipher the encrypted message and the following phone call had been too brief to track.
“They know I'm watching—well, they knowsomeoneis watching,” Junebug had said, biting her lower lip. “I’ve got a bad feeling, Mid. I recognize some of this source code. They are using some really good people.”
“Be careful. If you're not sure, pull out, cover your tracks, and go dark.”