Page 5 of Devil's Retribution

My fingernails were digging into the tabletop. I forced myself to relax my hands.

“You must not love him very much if you’re standing around letting the perpetrators slip through your fingers,” Igor taunted, voice dripping with gleeful disdain.

“Actions are already being taken,” I snapped, though I managed to keep my face impassive. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

“Ah,” he replied, face going unreadable. I wondered how much he knew, and where he had gotten his information. It was possible he had bought it off Dimitri. No, Dimitri would have insisted on coming to me first before sharing anything. But where, then? And why did he have any interest?

There was a hook in that bait. I knew better than to go for it. Chances were, he would just torment me with bits and pieces, string me along with empty promises and give me nothing of actual value. You don’t give a saboteur an opening, my uncle used to say.

“Was there anything else?” I asked in the most bored tone I could muster.

“No,” he replied, his smirk looking more masklike by the second. I could see he’d hoped for more of a reaction, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing it. “Good evening, Viktor.”

“Good evening, Igor.” I watched him tap his way back to his table, doing my best to look disinterested and detached. Inside, however, the rage was rising again. Rage, and determination.

***

I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t even go home. Instead, I stayed in my office above the club, monitoring my texts and emails, and gathering the bits of information my people sent me. Figuring. Calculating.

Maybe two hours before dawn, I learned an important detail, Dr. Emma Martinez only worked part-time at Smithfield. She also had a private practice out of a small office in Santa Monica, where she also saw adults. And she was taking on new clients.

I saw my opening. A plan started to form in my mind. I would be dealing with all of this personally, it was the only way for me to make sure everything went as it should.

Tolya stifled a yawn as I came out of my office. He had stayed up too, first handling club business and then waiting on my instructions. I nodded to him and waved him over.

“Go home and get some rest, Tolya. I’ll contact you around noon. Have your men continue monitoring and gathering information. Tomorrow I’ll make contact with our target.”

He nodded, but let out a sigh. His eyes had an exhausted worry to them. “There’s no way to talk you out of this, is there?”

“No.” Not after that little chat with Igor. Just remembering it made my teeth grind. “So have everyone ready.”

“Yes sir,” he muttered as I turned on my heel and walked toward the elevator.

It was done. I was committed now. Nowhere to go but forward.

The bright chaos of the streets had given way to a wet, mazelike darkness. I drove with my music off, too cold inside to take pleasure in it, or in the view. Sparse traffic, exhausted hookers, and knots of last-call drunks emerging from bars slid past my windows as I headed for home. I had to get ready. I had an appointment to make.

Chapter 3

Emma

“Morning sweetie!” My head was pounding with the need for coffee, but somehow, I kept my voice cheery as Nick shuffled into view in his footie pajamas. He blinked up at me sleepily, coal-colored hair askew on his head, like it had been combed with an eggbeater. He gave me a muzzy little smile and came for a hug.

I hugged back. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm,” he managed a second before a giant yawn. “Uh-huh. I need the bafroom.”

“Go on, I’ll get breakfast started.” My shower could wait. So could dressing. Better to cook in something that wouldn’t be ruined by my getting egg or coffee on it anyway. I was clumsy in the morning.

The day had dawned clear, bright, and drippy after two days of rain. Weird, getting rain in LA in June. I couldn’t tell if it was climate change or just randomness, but it had taken the yellow out of the air, and the morning pain out of my sinuses. The smog break wouldn’t last even half a day, but I was glad for it anyway.

The smog was one of the few things I didn’t love about Los Angeles. Everyone I cared about lived here, every happy event in my life had happened here. I had even gotten my doctorate through UCLA. I wanted to travel eventually, once Nick was old enough. But this was home.

I got the coffee brewing, the griddle heating, the pancake batter mixed up and the fruit and yogurt into the bowls. Nick squeaked his way to the kitchen in his new blue and white sneakers, his shirt misbuttoned. I wiped my hands carefully before helping him fix it. “There we go. How hungry are you this morning?”

“Really hungry,” he said with his big-toothed grin. “I want a hundred pancakes!”

“A hundred, huh? I don’t think I have that much batter.”

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