Page 23 of So Smitten

Faith frowned at him. “I thought you said be calm.”

“Shh,” he said, “listen.”

She fell silent. Turk stood in between them, ears up, tail switching slowly back and forth.

He was the first to pinpoint the danger. He barked and sprinted toward the back of the house. Faith and Michael followed him, guns drawn, hearts pounding.

It was moments like these that made Michael think more and more fondly of retirement.

They heard a scream and rounded the corner to see Turk’s teeth buried in the forearm of a young man of medium height and build with close-cropped blonde hair and a tattoo of what Michael guessed was the Bulgarian flag on one shoulder. The hand attached to the forearm Turk was wrestling held a handgun.

Faith and Michael leveled their own weapons at the man. “Stand down, Iliev!” Faith shouted.

Iliev looked at her in shock and shouted something in Bulgarian.

“Drop your weapon,” Faith warned, “Or I’ll tell Turk to bite it off of you.

Iliev glared and tried to point his gun at them, but Turk yanked him to the ground. Iliev lifted his fist to strike Turk, but Michael reached him first, kicking Iliev’s gun out of the way and pointing his own weapon at Iliev’s nose.

Iliev glared at him, although that might have been a grimace since Turk’s teeth were still buried in his arm.

“I think you know what I’m about to ask you,” Michael said, “and I think you know the right answer to that question.”

Iliev sighed and relaxed. “All right. You got me.”

The agents kept their weapons trained on him as Turk released him and backed off. Blood seeped from Iliev’s arm. He looked coolly at the wound and asked. “You mind if we go inside so I can clean this up? I’d rather not have to send you fine agents a hospital bill.”

“No can do,” Michael replied. “We have a first aid kit in the car, and I’m told that Atlanta PD has a fine nursing facility at every one of their precincts.”

“And why, may I ask, am I being arrested?” he asked, sneering.

“For assault on an officer with a deadly weapon,” Michael replied.

“Your dog attacked me first!”

“I doubt that,” Faith said, “but feel free to lodge a formal complaint as long as you’re all right with the FBI looking over every square inch of every place you’ve been for the past ten years to see if we can find a connection with you and the Bulgarian Mafia. I’m sure your employers would appreciate that.”

“If you’re here to talk about them,” Iliev replied, “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“As a matter of fact,” Michael replied, “we’re here to talk about you.”

Iliev looked between the agents, who continued to cover him with their weapons. Turk growled low in his throat, and Iliev decided he didn't want to risk another fight. "All right," he said, "Be careful with my right hand, please.” He curled his lip in contempt. “It’s bleeding.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bogdan Iliev looked at the two agents with the easy contempt that all professional criminals showed law enforcement. Only Turk seemed to command his respect, which didn't surprise Faith, considering how effortlessly Turk managed to take him down. He glanced at the dog nervously before remembering himself and turning a haughty glance back up to the agents.

“Okay, Iliev,” Faith said, “Tell us why you’re here.”

“That’s your job, madam agent,” Iliev said with a contemptuous smile.

Faith shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’re here because you’re a person of interest in the murders of Harvey Harris and Vincent Mariano.”

Iliev blinked in surprise.

“Not expecting that, were you?” Michael asked.

Iliev, showing surprising candor, replied, "No. Honestly, I thought you were here about the drugs. That's why people always talk to me. They assume that just because I have tattoos and carry a pistol, I must be a drug runner."

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