Page 81 of Her Silver Fox Mountain Men

I give Tori a cocky grin. “You look absolutely terrible in that wig.”

“And that ball cap makes you look like an overgrown tween,” she shoots back with a smirk.

“Best of luck to you two. Keep the assholes busy,” I chuckle dryly.

“I’m in the back. I’m ready,” Oliver’s voice comes through my earpiece.

James frowns as he looks in the rearview mirror. “They’re there waiting,” he mutters. “I can’t confirm if Igor is with them, though. The windows are heavily tinted.”

“They took the bait; they think we’ve got Elise,” I try to reassure him. “We’ll get them.”

“Good luck,” he says.

I step out of the car and head into the gas mart. I give Charlie a slight wave, then move toward the service door at the back. Oliver comes through it, dressed exactly like me.

“All good?” he asks.

“Yeah, just grab some snacks or whatever and take my place,” I say to him.

“Keep the comms line open while you’re with the sheriff. We want to hear everything,” he replies, briefly glancing out at our car. “How’s Tori holding up?”

“That woman could survive an apocalypse if push came to shove. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful we served with her and that she continues to work with us.”

“Hard-core lady, that one,” Oliver quips with a cool smirk as we exchange car keys. “Alright. Stay strong, Roman.”

“You, too.”

I’m out the back door and behind the wheel of Oliver’s dark green Jeep within seconds. I give him a couple of minutes, watching from the back corner of the gas mart. I’ve got a clear view of the road, and I watch as Oliver drives off, instantly followed by Igor’s men. Once I see that they’re all still very much attached to him, gobbling on that Tori bait like there’s no tomorrow, I drive back into town.

The parking lot of the sheriff’s station is half-empty. I drive around the building a couple of times to make sure I wasn’tfollowed, then pull up behind the sheriff’s service car. I look around before stepping out of the Jeep and making my way inside, an uneasy feeling nagging at me. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something isn’t right. An old instinct resurrected.

“Sheriff Van Pelt,” I say as I walk across the bullpen. “We need to talk.”

The door to his office is open but he’s not alone.

Three men are with him, two of whom I immediately recognize. My hand automatically goes for the gun in my waist holster.

“No need for that,” Van Pelt says, quick to stand up from behind his massive desk.

The office feels too small and crowded all of a sudden. “What are you doing here?” I ask the men, my tone clipped.

“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” the elderly man says. “I take it from your reaction that you know who I am?”

Lev Konstantinov, tall and grey-haired, with pale blue eyes and ivory skin and faint scars dashing across the left side of his Balkan features, stands near the desk, dressed in an elegant dark grey suit. Diamond-studded cufflinks twinkle under the fluorescent lights.

“I know who you are, I just don’t understand what you’re doing here,” I coldly reply, then look at the men he’s with. “Andrei Konstantinov. You look just like your dad. It’s not hard to pick up on the familial connection.”

“And you look nothing like your service photo,” Andrei replies with a wry smile.

Unlike his father, Andrei is partial to casual slacks and a polo shirt, his platinum hair and sharp jaw reminding me more of his older brother, Igor, than their father. I’m guessing they got the jawline from their mother—Kara Konstantinova’s face sports a similar contour.

“I’ve gotten older,” I say. “No less deadly, though. I assume you’ve read my record. You Bratva boys like to do your homework I’m told.”

“We do need to know whom we’re dealing with,” Andrei replies.

Lev gives him a hard look. “Behave. We’re not here to start a fight.”

“Michael.” I address the third man, the youngest of the group. “Elise’s brother. What the hell are you doing here with these two?”

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