Page 34 of The Angel and the Agent

She didn’t answer his buzz when he arrived at her building. No one else would let him in, so he broke in, annoyed at the thirty second delay. He sprinted up the stairs to her apartment. When he saw the puppy wandering aimlessly around the hallway, he knew something was wrong. She would never, ever put Maggie and Ridge’s puppy in danger, not even for the best prank in the world.

He pulled out his gun and quickly swept her apartment. Signs of a struggle were apparent. He picked up the dog and pounded on her neighbor’s door.

“What?” Larry the fake cop ripped open the door, frowning.

“Amelia’s gone. Did you hear anything about thirty minutes ago?”

“Uh,” Larry said, scratching his head, blinking in confusion. It was clear Ethan had just woken him. “I heard stuff, I thought it was a different neighbor, the noisy one who screams.”

“She screamed?” Ethan pressed.

Larry nodded, his face paling.

“What else, what did you hear, anything at all?”

“Just screaming, bumping, and men speaking words I couldn’t understand. It was some other language, something rough.”

“Russian,” Ethan said, and Larry nodded.

“Probably.”

“Here.” Ethan shoved the puppy into Larry’s unwilling arms. “Watch the dog until either Amelia comes back or her sister, Maggie, comes to get him. His name is Smokey, food’s in Amelia’s apartment. Lock it up for me.”

“Ethan, what is going on?” Larry asked, shoving his head out of his doorway to call to Ethan’s retreating backside.

“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out,” Ethan said. Panic threatened to creep in, but he pushed it away. His first thought was that she had been taken because of him. Someone somewhere had connected him to her. It was every agent’s worst fear, that the job would endanger the people closest to him. But he hadn’t worked with the Russians since he was a newbie SEAL. Most of his work since he joined the agency had been in Africa and the Middle East. There were plenty of Russians in Africa, but none connected to him. So he discounted himself from the equation and went to the next logical source.

Piedmont Bonvoy answered the door wearing a fluffy bathrobe, as if he were a ninety-year-old man and Ethan was some type of scout selling magazines door to door.

“Why are you pounding on my door?” Piedmont demanded.

“Do you work with the Russians?” Ethan blurted.

“What? Who are you?”

“Do you work with the Russians?” Ethan repeated, taking a step forward as Piedmont took one back.

“I’m going to call the police,” Piedmont said. His hand reached into his robe. Ethan grabbed him by the fluffy lapels and slammed him against the door.

“Just answer the question. Do you work with the Russians?”

“No, I have no Russian clients,” Piedmont said, pushing Ethan’s hands off him. “What’s this about?”

“They took her, they took Amelia,” Ethan said. He doubled over and struggled to get a deep breath. If the Russians weren’t connected to Piedmont, he might never figure out who took her or where. To his surprise, Piedmont stumbled backwards and did the same thing, his chest meeting his knees, gasping as the air seemed to leave his lungs and his legs failed him.

Ethan straightened. “What do you know, Bonvoy?”

“They sent me a letter, threatening to take her,” Piedmont said.

“Who?”

“The Russians,” he exclaimed.

“You said they weren’t your clients.”

“They’re not. You think I have thugs and gangsters for clients? They’re on the other side, in an all-out war with my clients. They threatened to take Amelia unless I made the case disappear.”

Ethan stared at him, speechless. “You put her in danger, and you never said anything?”

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