rumble of male voices filtered through the door—voices colored with Russian flair and cut with a hard Brooklyn edge. Accents he’d hoped never to hear again.
Rage hardened in his gut. He gripped the shovel, knuckles white. He pressed his ear tighter to the door.
“What does Mr. Stanislov want done with her?” a voice he didn’t recognize asked.
Laura. He was talking about Laura. She must still be alive. Relief sucked the strength from Alec’s legs. He leaned on the door and strained to hear more.
“Ivan told me, bring back Nika.” Sergei’s voice boomed through the kitchen.
Alec’s gut tightened. So dear old Dad hadn’t made the trip. He’d sent his thugs to collect Alec. He was getting lazy in his old age.
“You going to take care of her, then? I know you like doing the women.”
Sergei grunted. “I got to find out what Ivan wants us to do. I think he’ll want the baby.”
“You’re not touching my son.” Laura’s voice chimed through the kitchen strong and clear.
Alec’s heart clutched. Tears welled in his eyes. She sounded unhurt, unbowed.
And gloriously alive.
“Son? Ivan will like that. A grandson. Maybe the child will make up for the father.”
“Grandson? What are you talking about? You have the wrong house. My name is Laura Martin, and I don’t know anyone named Ivan.”
“Ah, I see.” Sergei’s voice took on an amused lilt.
Guilt drilled deep into Alec’s chest. He should have told Laura the truth about who he really was from the beginning. He should have known he couldn’t keep his past at bay forever.
He couldn’t think about that right now. There would be time for regrets. Time for the truth to come out. Now he had to focus. Laura’s and the baby’s lives depended on it. The men inside would be armed with guns, and here he stood with nothing but a shovel. He had to even the odds, give himself a fighting chance.
He fingered his cell phone with his free hand. If he could distract at least one of the men, make sure he was out of the kitchen, away from Laura, maybe he could surprise the other before the thug could draw his gun.
Alec unclipped his phone from his belt and entered his home phone number from the speed dial directory.
Inside the kitchen he could hear the phone ring.
He pushed his ear to the door.
“I should get that.” Laura’s voice. “It’s probably Sally from the restaurant. If I don’t answer, she’ll send someone over. Probably the police.”
“She will not be sending anyone,” Sergei growled.
“You don’t know her. She worries about me like she’s my mother.”
“She’s dead. Slit her throat myself.”
Laura gasped.
Alec gripped on the shovel with sweat-slick hands, the image of Sally’s battered and lifeless body sharp in his mind’s eye.
Sergei’s guttural laugh filtered through the door. “Don’t worry. As soon as the baby comes, you’ll be joining her. Unless I get impatient and cut him out of your belly.”
Alec gritted his teeth. It was all he could do to stay where he was. To wait. The bastard wasn’t going to touch his wife, or their baby. He’d see to it.
The phone continued to ring. Finally the answering machine picked up. Moving silently away from the door, Alec ducked down behind Laura’s van, set down the shovel, and cupped his mouth with one hand. When the answering machine’s beep sounded, he talked into the phone in a low voice. “Look out the front window, you bastards. You might as well give up now.” Alec snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his pocket. He picked up the shovel and made for the door.
A single set of footsteps moved across the kitchen floor and thundered toward the front of the house.
Now was his chance. Shoving the door open, he burst into the kitchen swinging.
The shovel connected with Sergei’s head before he could turn around. The sound of the blow echoed through the room. The force shuddered up Alec’s arms.
Sergei bellowed like a mad bull. He staggered forward but didn’t go down. Instead, he spun and reached for the gun in his waistband. He yanked it out and leveled it on Alec before he could land another blow.
Sergei fired. The shot went wide, the bullet ripping into the cabinetry beside Alec.
Alec swung the shovel again, this time connecting with Sergei’s arm.
The brute cursed in Russian. The gun rattled to the floor.
Movement flashed in the corner of Alec’s eye. Laura. But he didn’t have time to turn his head before Sergei launched himself.
Alec swung, catching Sergei in the face with the shovel’s sharp edge.
Blood slashed across his cheek and nose. He staggered back and fell against the cabinets.
Footsteps thundered from the front of the house.
Alec landed the shovel against Sergei’s head again. He spun just in time to see the second man round the corner into the kitchen. The barrel of his gun stared Alec directly in the face.
A shot exploded in Alec’s ears.
Chapter Three
Laura Martin lowered her bound hands and the Russian-made Makarov 9mm she’d managed to pick up from the floor. The weapon’s report still echoed through the kitchen. Its recoil vibrated through her arms. The sharp odor of spent gunpowder seared her senses.
She’d shot a man. Maybe killed him. Yet she felt nothing.
She should move. See if he was still alive. Administer first aid. Something. Yet even though she was staring at his prone form, watching the dark stain seep through his sweatshirt and wick through the fabric like tie-dye, she couldn’t quite believe what she’d done. None of it felt real.
Ripping her gaze from the crumpled form, she focused on her husband’s pale face. “Alec?”
His gray eyes met hers. The shovel fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. In two strides he crossed the distance between them and gathered her in his arms. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
She pressed her body against his warmth—warmth she’d thought she’d never feel again. “I’m fine.” A bald-faced lie. She was trembling so hard she could hardly stand.
He moved back from her, running his gaze over her face and down to her bound hands. “The baby?” He smoothed a palm over her nightgown and the curve of her bulging abdomen.
“He’s fine.” She could feel
