her this time.
Roman didn’t like the odds. Three armed men against one. A locked room with no chance of bringing in backup and top that off with a terrified woman, for whom he was now responsible. If he were a betting man, he’d place his money on Oleg Zavalov winning. Thank goodness Roman had never wagered in his life.
“One last time before I get medieval on your girlfriend,” Oleg said. “Who do you work for?”
A fiery sense of self-loathing filled Roman. This whole situation was his fault. He should’ve marched Madelyn up the stairs as soon as she walked into Oleg’s office, to hell with her stubbornness. Instead he had what? Flirted? It was an amateur move, but at the same time, a little of the world’s ugliness had melted away during their exchange.
To top it all off, he was about to lose five months of work. And more than that, Oleg would know that he was being investigated and have time to dispose of any evidence. Roman opened his mouth, ready to confess all. He couldn’t find the words.
What he could find was a lie. “I don’t know what you have, Oleg. But it’s not mine.”
“It’s an ELD, a bug, a listening device.”
“How am I supposed to know about those things?” Roman asked, a little regretful that he couldn’t claim his latest creation. “I’m just the bartender.”
“I don’t think you do. I think she does.”
“But I don’t,” Madelyn said.
“If it wasn’t you, why’d you run?”
Roman answered for her. “Because I’m standing at the top of the stairs and when I turn around, there’s Serge and Anton with their guns. I told her to run. It’s what you do when someone threatens to shoot.”
Oleg’s mouth hung open for a minute, then like it was controlled by a puppeteer’s string, it snapped shut.
Fighting the urge to smile, Roman took in a deep breath. A pain shot through his side from a kick or punch he didn’t recall receiving. Madelyn looked at him. She was beautiful in a delicate way. She wore a navy blazer and white T-shirt that fitted her pert breasts and trim waist perfectly. Her dark hair was cut short and her brown eyes were large. Her skin was creamy and smooth. To him, she looked perfect, almost magical, and he wished like hell that magic was real and she could simply disappear. Small gold hoops dangled from each ear and a gold chain hung around her neck. Funny how small details became important when you were standing next to the thin line that separated life from death.
Oleg tossed the ELD in the air and caught it. “There’s one thing I do know, is that one of you two planted this bug. So, I’ll ask again—how’d this get in my office?”
“I don’t know,” Roman said.
“What about you?” Oleg turned to Madelyn. “How’d this get in my office?”
Madelyn quietly wept and shook her head.
“Nothing to say?” Oleg leaned his hip onto the corner of his desk. “Maybe you need the right motivation to talk. Make her sorry, Serge.”
Serge cracked his knuckles, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He brought back his arm and slammed his fist into Madelyn’s face. She toppled from the chair. A bright red mark bloomed to life on her cheek.
To hell with the work or the loss of the investigation. Roman wouldn’t let Oleg hurt Madelyn any more. Although if they made it out of this alive, Roman would take great pleasure in bringing Oleg Zavalov to justice. It wasn’t professional anymore. It was personal.
“Okay. Okay.” Roman held his palms up and stepped between Serge and Madelyn. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Everything?”
Roman swallowed. His side burned. “Yes.”
A phone rang and Serge pulled a cell from his pocket. “Da.”
While with Delta Force, Roman had studied over a dozen languages. He was fluent in Farsi, German, Spanish, French and Russian. Even if he hadn’t, the single Russian word was easy to translate. Yes.
“Oleg.” Serge held out the phone. “Vy khotite, chtoby prinyat eto.” Oleg, you want to take this.
“Ne seychas,” Oleg said. Not now.
“Seychas,” Serge insisted. “Eto moy dyadya Nikolay.”
Serge’s uncle Nikolai was on the phone? Nikolai Mateev?
Oleg sat taller and reached for the phone. He met Roman’s gaze and his eyes narrowed. Had Oleg guessed that Roman understood the short conversation? Roman looked away.
“Lock these two in the beer cooler,” said Oleg, “but stand guard. We’ll deal with them later.”
Serge pulled Madelyn to her feet. Anton withdrew his gun and motioned to the door. “Go,” he said.
Serge worked both locks on the outside of the beer cooler’s thick, white door. Madelyn was shoved in first. She stumbled over the doorjamb and fell to the metal floor with a hollow thump. Roman calmly stepped inside and turned to face Serge—the man he now knew for sure to be Nikolai Mateev’s great-nephew. “I’m going to get out of here and then, I’m going to kill you for hitting Madelyn.”
“Is that a wager, you stupid American?” he asked in halting English.
“I never make bets. It’s a pledge.”
Serge snorted. “Your promises bore me.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Roman and Madelyn in complete darkness.
* * *
Madelyn skidded across the cold metal floor and crashed into the wall. Every part of her body ached, throbbed or pained her. She didn’t care. She fumbled with the purse’s clasp and pulled out her phone. She hit the home button and the screen glowed.
“That won’t work in here,” Roman said. His voice came out of nowhere. “If it did, one of Oleg’s men would’ve taken your phone before they threw us in.”
She ignored him and dialed 9-1-1. The phone icon tumbled across the screen.
“We’re underground. The walls are cinder block, which makes the signal weak at best. Then you throw in these.” He wrapped his knuckles on the door. The metal walls echoed. “There’s no way for a signal to get through.”
She didn’t listen, staring instead at the cartwheeling phone icon.
“Madelyn, it’s not going to work.”
Roman knelt next to her, light from the phone illuminated his face. His lip was split and, for a moment, she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. Was that to be her final joy in life? A kiss from a stranger?
“How can you be so calm, while
