Page 151 of Lethal Legacy

Mickey nods. “On it.”

Lucia frowns. “Ofelia, you can’t get Mickey to do your project work for you.”

“She’s not, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a computer bit that will make it look better, that’s all. Bye.”

His sisters wave as we leave, and Lucia throws me a shy smile. Even after two months, and with the kids more than aware of where Lucia spends her nights, she’s still wary about open displays of affection in front of them. Normally I thoroughly enjoy exploiting that discomfort, but I’m still fighting to keep my cock under control, and that sundress is way too tempting to be safe.

“So,” I say as the elevator drops to the basement level, “what’s this project you’re working on for your sister?”

“It’s just a boring family tree thing. Don’t worry.” The look he casts me is almost amused. “You and Lucia aren’t in it, since you’re my adopted uncle and Lucia is... well, not officially family.”

I should feel relieved by both of those things. Oddly, however, they thoroughly piss me off. Which makes no real sense.

“I’m just going to spend some time up in the lab before I go down to work with Pavel, though,” Mickey goes on. “The software program I need is up in the research facility.”

“Yep.” I shift my mental focus to Mercura issues. Given the current murky waters surrounding both my and Lucia’s backgrounds, I’d rather not dwell on family any more than necessary.

“So we’re set for launch next month.” Pavel pushes his chair back, rubbing his face and yawning. He’s been working ridiculous hours the past few weeks. All the tech kids have.

“Does that mean it’s time for invitations to go out?” I tap my fingers on the table, looking around at the exhausted faces.

There’s a collection of nods, but Pavel, I note, looks slightly uneasy. Which means there’s a problem. I narrow my eyes at him, and he shakes his head, a movement so infinitesimal that it’s obvious he doesn’t want the others noticing. “You need to do it in person,” he stresses, “as discussed. You let one of these links go digital, and we’re exposed. This is the high danger end. Every minute between the moment you have those conversations, until we go live, is a chance for us to be undermined. We’ve done our end to keep Mercura locked down. This part is up to you.”

“I’m well aware of that, Pavel.” I glare at him. Having respect for the techies is one thing. Being told how to manage fucking business is quite another. “Trust me. The people using this system aren’t going to be any more interested in exposing it than I am.”

“Fair enough.” His expression doesn’t change, but there are a few knowing smirks around the table. I don’t mind that. Sometimes I think the tech kids are more excited than I am at fucking over the corporate banking systems. And given that they’ve all got a financial stake in ensuring it goes off without a hitch, their confidence is pretty much assured. It’s unlikely any of them are ever going to find a pot of gold like Mercura, and they know it. These kids are going to be set up for life after the launch.

I might use bullets when necessary, but I’ve always believed that, in most cases, honey works a lot better than a bee sting. I nod at the table, and they file out.

“What the fuck, Pavel,” I growl as soon as they’re gone. “You think I need to be told how to run security?”

“You do if someone is a step ahead of us.” The way he glances around to make sure we’re alone sets my teeth on edge, but there’s only the buzzing of the long banks of machines. “We might have a problem. More than one, actually.” He turns the laptop screen around so I can see it. Unease crawls down my spine. Alexei Petrovsky’s one-eyed face stares back at me. He’s standing on the deck of a yacht, beside another face that’s vaguely familiar, but which I can’t immediately place.

“After I turned up the stuff about the Petrovskys,” Pavel says, “I put a hidden search in place that locates anything that appears online about them. This cropped up about an hour ago. For once, this isn’t our friend Ryder’s handiwork.” He nods at the photo. “This is a Miami-based online gossip site that enjoys tracking the rich and semifamous. Apparently our friend Alexei has been spending time on a superyacht that recently docked in Miami.” His eyes swivel to mine. “I’ll give you one guess which yacht.”

A glance at the screen only confirms my worst suspicions. “What the fuck is Alexei Petrovsky doing on theGuapa?”

It can’t be fucking coincidence, I know that much.

“Here’s the thing that’s really interesting.” Pavel opens another window, this one the records from a Spanish port authority. “Remember that trojan we managed to lock out a couple of months ago?”

“Given that it almost cost me several billion dollars,” I say sarcastically, “I think it’s safe to say that I remember, Pavel.”

“Yeah. Well.” He reddens and clears his throat uncomfortably. “My point is that according to these records, theGuapawas in the Malaga marina at the time.”

My head snaps around. “What the fuck? How did we miss that?”

“Well, first because you’d already sold it six months ago, to that Swedish software developer.” He nods at the man standing next to Alexei on the screen. “Lars Andersson.”

“Who wanted it because of the tech capabilities I’d set up on board,” I say slowly, my brain starting to put it together.

“Exactly. He had it sailed to Italy, where it changed hands again—this time to a shell company based in the Caymans.”

“Bratva money.”

“We should assume so, given Alexei Petrovsky’s presence on it. Petrovsky, or Orlov, money, which is untraceable, of course.” He clicks back to the Port Authorities record. “According to this record, at exactly the time that trojan got into our system, theGuapawas being refueled in Malaga. And given the equipment on board, not only could a clever operator have uploaded that virus, they could also have moved that yacht around enough to make it almost impossible to trace.”

“Fuck.” This is far, far worse than anything I’d previously imagined. “So you think this Lars Andersson knows something about Mercura? And that he’s working with Alexei Petrovsky?”

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