Page 164 of Lethal Torture
Lowbridge slowly lifts the phone. “It’s me,” he mutters into it, staring at Mak. “You need to get in here right now. Your name is on the door as Makari Tereschenko’s plus one. Don’t argue, Rhys,” he says harshly, clearly cutting Stewart off. “Just get here. Now.”
“Good choice.” Smiling, Mak takes the phone once Lowbridge has finished the call and slides it into his pocket. He glances at his watch. “Your friend has exactly five minutes.”
“You never said that.” Lowbridge’s voice shakes.
“Didn’t I?” Mak smiles blandly. “Madam Home Secretary,” he says, turning away from Lowbridge, “may I call you Agatha?”
“No,” says Agatha frostily, though I can detect the mirth dancing behind her eyes. “You most certainly may not.”
“I’m going to.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, Mak caresses her bare shoulder with one hand and puts his mouth close enough to her ear to almost nuzzle her neck. “Do you have any idea how utterly delicious you look in that dress?”
The home secretary quivers slightly, and I swear to God, actually stops breathing.
Bloody Mak.Despite the deathly seriousness of what is happening in the theater, I’m actually shaking with laughter. I reach for my earpiece to share it with Zinaida, then take my hand away.
Not tonight.
Maybe never again.
A familiar, hollow bolt of loneliness flashes through me, there and then gone. In an instant, I remember the last time I felt that sensation: the night I was here with Roman, watching him and Mickey together. I remember what I thought back then:the easy affection between them is so obvious it’s almost bittersweet to watch.
And I recall all too well the thought that followed that one:they’re family.
At the time, the loneliness came from my own certainty that I’d never experience that feeling myself.
It’s only now, when it feels like I might never know that easy affection again, I can recognize that feeling is exactly how I feel with Zinaida.
She’s my family.
I stare at the screens, my entire internal landscape shifting in a way that feels both exhilarating and liberating.
Zinaida Melikov is my fucking family.
Which means there is nothing I won’t do—nothing—to protect her.
Even if that means protecting her from herself.
The arrival of Rhys Stewart drags me back to the present, although my heart is thudding like a runaway train and my every nerve is scattered hell west and crooked.
“We got his location,” Paddy says in my ear. “And you were right. Kozlov was with him, along with an entire fucking army. We’ll wait for your word to take them out.”
“This shouldn’t take long,” I say, watching Stewart make his way through the theater toward Mak’s booth. “But make sure that’s all of them. And make sure Kozlov is taken alive. You know where to bring him.”
“Oh, hell yes, I do.” Paddy sounds almost gleeful, and I smile to myself. There’s something eminently satisfying about delivering real justice.
And nobody deserves that justice more than the pieces of shit we’re dealing with tonight.
I turn my attention back to Rhys Stewart, whose face visibly tenses as he sees who is seated in the booth. But he’s a harder customer than Lowbridge, so he masks it better.
“Rhys,” Mak says pleasantly, his arm still protectively around Agatha. “How good of you to come.” He glances at his watch. “And just in time, too. Your five minutes were almost up.”
Stewart’s eyes narrow, his eyes sliding to Lowbridge.
“He didn’t tell me about the five minutes,” Simon says defensively.
To his credit, Stewart takes a seat with every appearance of calm. “What kind of games are you playing now, Tereschenko?”Despite his world-weary attitude, I can see the trepidation lurking at the back of his eyes.
“Quite a simple one,” Mak says airily. “I heard about the recent arms deal you made with a certain North African country. Very lucrative for you, I’m sure.” He grimaces. “Unfortunately, it’s not in our own country’s interests. I’m going to need you to cancel it.”
