Page 66 of Extreme Danger

“No. Just that you need to get some rest. And lighten up,” Davy said calmly. “Nobody blames you for Novak.”

“You did,” Nick pointed out. “You hated my guts for years.”

“So? What if I did? I got the fuck over it.” Davy strode into the room. The chair creaked under his weight as he sat down. “And so should you. No harm done. Chill. It’s getting old, already.”

The men fell silent. Nick felt like a hysterical idiot for bringing it up at all. Thinking about it made him want to fall into a crack in the ground. Talking about it, particularly with a McCloud, was worse.

But Con and his lady had gotten through that adventure. They were alive, happy, even reproducing. That event had been superseded by brand new nightmares: Sergei, with his entrails piled on his chest. Sveti, in an unmarked grave. Or huddling in some dark place worse than death.

Hell, it was a wealth of guilt, betrayals, mistakes, fuckups. An embarrassment of fuel for his nightmares.

“This isn’t going to work, unless we can find somebody else who speaks Ukrainian,” Seth fretted.

“How about me?” asked a soft, feminine voice.

All three men’s heads whipped around. It was Raine, Seth’s wife, who had accompanied him to the SafeGuard headquarters today. She was a slender, ethereal woman with silvery gray eyes and a cloud of blond hair that hung to her ass. The woman was mouthwatering, but any intelligent guy who took one look at Seth Mackey looming possessively over his wife quickly averted his eyes from her. And didn’t look back.

“You speak Ukrainian?” Nick said, amazed.

Her slender shoulders lifted. “Pretty much. My father and uncle emigrated from there in the sixties. I spoke it with them until I was twelve. They came from Kyiv, and the language I remember will be years out of date. But I speak Russian, too. I’ll understand quite a bit. I could spell you at night, at least, when there’s not likely to be a lot of action.”

“No way, babe. You’ve got better things to do with your nights than sit around watching that nasty bitch selling her wares. And you need your sleep,” Seth said testily, patting her belly. “Especially now.”

She laid her hand on his shoulders with a tender smile that was so private, Nick looked away, embarrassed. “Just until you find someone else you can trust who speaks Ukrainian, OK?” she wheedled. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to lose any sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, right,” Seth grunted. “Like I could sleep, alone, if you were here, manning video monitors, tiring yourself out.” He shot Nick an unfriendly look. “I think it’s a shitty idea.”

“I think it’s great,” Raine said brightly. “I think it works.”

Nick rubbed his burning eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply, in Ukrainian. “That would be a great help.”

“It’s nothing,” she replied in the same language. “My pleasure.”

Seth gave her a mock-evil squint. “Don’t talk to other guys in a language I don’t know,” he growled.

Nick grabbed his phone, did a search, and started to scroll.

“What are you looking for in there?” Seth demanded.

“A Seattle realtor,” he said.

Davy scowled. “What for?”

“Gotta sell my condo.” He stared down, daunted by the sheer number of possibilities. Pages of realtors, for fuck’s sake. How could he tell who to call? “I have to pay for this crazy shit somehow.”

“No, you’re not contacting a fucking realtor,” Davy snapped, twitching the phone out of Nick’s hand. “Stop being an asshole before I lose my patience.”

CHAPTER15

Click. Beep.“Becca, this is Marla. I’ve tried your cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail, and you haven’t answered any of my voicemail messages, at least not so far. I know you’re not up at the island, because Jerome went there today to check on the place when he heard that the house next door burned to the ground. Were you aware that he found the place wide open? Front door swinging, alarm deactivated, lights on? There was a raccoon in the kitchen going through the cupboards! The place was a disaster. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how unhappy Jerome is about this, and how badly this reflects on me. I’m baffled, Becca. It’s not like you at all. And since you’re not at the island, why aren’t you back at work? We have that banquet tomorrow night, and two weddings this weekend! We are swamped, and I mean swamped. Give me a call, if you value your job. And do let me know at least that you’re all right.”

Click. Beeeeeeeeep.

Becca stared at the landline phone and the ancient answering machine from her position sprawled on the couch. They both sat on the end table, well within arm’s reach. But for the fact that her arm was too heavy to lift.

Her arm thudded back down onto the couch cushions. The phone was just too heavy to hold up to her ear.

Value her job? Huh. Did she? It was far too weighty a question for her brain to contemplate.

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