Her Rocky Mountain Hero (Rocky Mountain Justice Book 1) Read online

  Cody held tight to the dashboard. His jaw was slackened and his tanned face had gone pale. “Where’d you learn how to drive like that?” he asked. She couldn’t decide if it was awe or terror that fueled his breathlessness.

  “Manhattan,” said Viktoria with a shrug.

  Cody leaned back in the seat and exhaled. “I should have killed him,” he said.

  Viktoria began to shiver and it wasn’t just from the cold wind that blew at her from all sides.

  “I don’t like that he’s still out there,” Cody said. “He’s not the man in charge, but he’ll tell his boss you’re still alive. He’s probably using the phone in your cabin right now.”

  “He could be, but he’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When those men broke in, I tried to get to the phone. One man took it from me and smashed it against the wall.”

  * * *

  Dimitri sidestepped down the hill and stood in the middle of the driveway, the taillights of the speeding SUV just two demonic eyes of red. He heard the screech of tires on pavement and the roar of the engine. Both faded until there was nothing. No lights. No sounds. Just the frosty scent of incoming snow on the air.

  He recognized the smell—knew it well. The weather in Russia was much harsher than any in the United States, and he’d been in more blizzards than he cared to recall. If he was right—and he was—then one hell of a storm was about to hit Telluride.

  His smart use of time was essential.

  He returned to the cabin and, as he’d feared, his comrade was dead on the floor. Shot by the other man who never should have been there. Dimitri kicked the door closed and flipped on the light. There were bullet holes in the wall and casings on the floor. He knew there’d be several more of both outside. Concealing those would take time, never mind dealing with the corpse and all the blood.

  He turned to the stove. It used gas as the heating element. Perfect. On the table sat a plate of iced cookies. Picking one off the plate, he took a bite and chewed it slowly. The Christmas tree in the corner was covered with a cheap set of lights, also useful. In a drawer he found a set of matches. In the bathroom cabinet stood a large bottle of rubbing alcohol alongside a bag of cotton balls.

  Using a knife from the kitchen, he cut through the wires of the Christmas tree lights and plugged them back in. The live end sparked and hissed. He then returned to the stove and turned on all the gas, leaving the burners unlit. After pocketing half a dozen cookies, he went to the door and opened it. He placed the cotton balls in a pile and soaked them with the alcohol, then made a trail to the lights. Once across the threshold, he lit the match and tossed it into the puddle of alcohol on the floor. He closed the door and began to walk down the driveway.

  As he ate another cookie, he regretted not taking time to say some words over his fallen comrade. They’d served together in Ukraine during the summer a few years ago, and the man deserved more than to be incinerated in a lonely little cabin. Well, that could hardly be helped now.

  Dimitri needed to get in touch with the others and let them know what had happened. He had neither car nor phone. By now, the boss would be wondering why there’d been no contact.

  A whoosh erupted behind Dimitri and heat warmed his back. His best chance at survival lay before him and he didn’t bother to turn around. As his pace quickened to a run, he decided that fire was the best way to erase any sins.

  * * *

  “Try again,” Peter Belkin barked at his driver. His second team had yet to make contact, even though they should have left the Mateev cabin twenty minutes ago.

  The man lifted his walkie-talkie. “Beta, this is Alpha. Do you read?”

  The faint crackle of static could barely be heard over the wailing child, who sat next to Belkin.

  Gregory Mateev had been inconsolable since leaving the cabin, not that Belkin had expected anything less. Even though the boy was being taken for his own good, he was too young and too upset to understand.

  “The mountains could be causing interference,” said the driver, raising his voice to be heard over Gregory. “We still don’t have mobile phone service, but should be okay when we reach the house.”

  Gregory quieted. Belkin turned to the kid, trying to smile. Fist cocked back, Gregory threw a punch that caught Belkin under the chin. The attorney’s teeth cracked together and his jaw throbbed.

  “That’s it,” said Belkin, “I’ve had enough of you.”

  “Well, I’ve had enough of you.” Gregory threw out a wild kick that struck Belkin in the arm.

  Belkin gripped his biceps. He would have a bruise by the morning. From his breast pocket, he removed a syringe already filled with a sedative. He drove the tip into the child’s upper arm and pressed down on the plunger. The child began to scream, but as soon as the mild tranquillizer entered Gregory Mateev’s bloodstream, he quieted. With a few drowsy blinks, his head lolled to the side and he slept.

  Acquiring Gregory Mateev and returning him to his grandfather was Belkin’s main objective, and now at least, the boy was safe—and quiet.

  The job should have been simple. Nikolai Mateev, the godfather of the Russian mafia, wanted his grandson to be raised in Russia. After the death of Nikolai’s son, Lucas, Belkin had been hired to convince the mother to give up her child. But Belkin had pushed too hard in New York City, spooking Gregory’s mother and forcing her into hiding with the boy for months. When Belkin had gotten word that she might be in western Colorado, he’d flown in to the area with his team to be there when she surfaced. Since then, there had been no contact. No use of a credit card. No bank withdrawals. No internet searches. It was as if she had simply disappeared and until this afternoon, Belkin feared that she actually had. Now he just wanted to complete his task and get paid.

  Gregory slumped over in his seat, snoring softly as the SUV rounded a bend and pulled through a circular drive. The driver parked in front of a two-story house built in the alpine A-frame style, complete with wooden scrollwork on the eaves and a balcony to make up the A’s crossbar. Light shone from an exterior sconce, illuminating the snow as it fell.

  “Try to contact Team Bravo again,” said Belkin, “and after you’ve spoken, put Gregory to bed in one of the upstairs rooms.” Belkin stepped into the night. Fat, downy snowflakes floated down, coating the road and settling on Belkin’s shoulders and well-trimmed dark hair.

  The extreme cold and falling snow reminded him of how fickle the weather could be in Russia. Taking the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the home screen. A blizzard warning scrolled across the bottom of the display. He opened the weather application, where a digitized radar reading of pink and white, signifying heavy snow and winds, filled the entire northern part of Colorado. Future radar predicted that the blizzard was expected to hit Telluride in the early morning and last for the next twenty-four hours.

  Belkin glanced at the local time—10:15. In four hours they would be airborne and on their way to Moscow. But could they leave earlier if necessary? No. The call regarding Viktoria Mateev’s whereabouts had come in only a few hours before and the private plane from New Jersey to transport Gregory back to Russia wouldn’t be in Colorado yet. Now, with the storm, it was better that they wait.

  Belkin added, “And tell them our departure is delayed by a day to day and a half.” He had enough sedatives to keep the kid quiet until they arrived in Moscow, even with the postponement.

  The driver’s words drifted out of the SUV’s open door. “Bravo, this is Alpha, do you read?”

  Belkin paused. Waited.

  “Bravo,” said the driver again. “This is Alpha. Do you read?”

  Belkin still thought that his plan to capture the child and kill the mother was flawless. Bribery and threats had been very effective in gaining the support of the smaller law enforcement agencies in the area. It was through one of tho
se “strategic partners” he’d learned today that a private security firm hired by New York State authorities—under the impression that they were seeking a runaway abusive mother—had found Viktoria and Gregory hiding in a cabin less than an hour’s drive from Belkin’s rented house.

  Cooperation. It was a beautiful thing.

  Belkin had waited impatiently until dark before executing his plan. Team Alpha had grabbed the boy, and by now Team Bravo should have killed the mother.

  Cold wind cut through his cashmere coat as he waited for a response. More than the money, or even Peter Belkin’s reputation, was on the line. Nikolai Mateev did not take disappointment well and if Belkin didn’t deliver Gregory to his grandfather by Christmas, then Belkin wouldn’t live to see the New Year.

  Chapter 4

  “Bravo. This is Alpha. Do you read?”

  The disembodied, static-filled voice resonated inside the SUV’s quiet interior.

  Cody looked at Viktoria. Her eyes were wide, her gaze trained on a walkie-talkie they hadn’t even noticed, nestled between the SUV’s front seats.

  “That’s got to be the guys who took your son,” Cody said, while reaching for the walkie-talkie.

  She folded her hands together and pressed the sides of her thumbs into her lips. “So, what do we do now?”

  Just because they’d escaped together didn’t mean they were on the same side. No matter what, she was a Mateev. The name alone brought back painful memories that lodged in his chest—a leaden ball full of spikes. All the same, Cody was determined to get the kid back, which meant he had to work with the mother. Besides, he reasoned, once they’d rescued her son, Cody could still finish the job—turn the kid over to CPS and question Viktoria before she was taken away by the police.

  “Bravo.” The single word rang out like a shot. Viktoria started.

  “What do they want?” she asked.

  It was a good question with a horrific answer. “My guess is that they’re checking to make sure that you’re dead.”

  A gust of cold wind blew through the shattered window. Viktoria folded her arms across her chest and looked away. Cody turned the SUV’s thermostat to ninety degrees, its upper limit. The hot air hit him and he started to sweat. Small price to pay if it would make her more comfortable.

  What was it with his reactions to this woman?

  “We can’t ignore them,” she said and turned to him. “This could be our chance to try to negotiate my son’s release.”

  Cody understood her desperation and admired her bravery. “It won’t work. First, there’s nothing we have that they want,” he said. Then he hesitated. “Unless there is. Do you have any idea why this happened?”

  Her gaze never left his. “They want my son,” she said, “and for me to be...neutralized.”

  Cody wasn’t sure if Viktoria was purposely not revealing the real story behind the kidnapping, but at this point he needed to view this situation tactically. What he needed was a plan and intel.

  “Let’s start with what you know,” Cody said.

  “I know my son is safe,” Viktoria said. “The man in the cabin, the one who held me at gunpoint...” Her voice trailed off and Cody gave her a moment to reconcile with the nightmare she’d survived. “He told me that Gregory belonged to his grandfather Nikolai.”

  Like a piece from a puzzle, the latest bit of information clicked into place. Once again it came down to Nikolai Mateev—the head of the Moscow-based Mateev crime family.

  Now Cody knew Viktoria’s relationship with the Mateevs. Yet in getting that one answer, it brought up hundreds of questions. He swallowed them all, practically choking on his desire to ask about the drug trafficking ring.

  “These men are desperate and if we try to negotiate, they’ll know they failed.” He paused. His next words would be hard, no, devastating, for a mother to hear.

  “And?” she insisted.

  “Failure to have killed you might force these men to abandon their plans to take your son from the country.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “That’s good. They’ll release Gregory.”

  “Unless they don’t.” Cody couldn’t bring himself to verbalize Gregory’s possible fate.

  Viktoria understood, though. Like she’d been sucker punched in the gut, Viktoria sucked in a deep breath and sat back hard in her seat. In a way, Cody supposed she had been hit, and he’d been the one to deliver the blow.

  “Bravo?” A voice, barely audible, rose from the static. “Update?”

  “What if you answered them,” she proposed, “and pretended to be one of them. They can’t see who’s speaking and the connection is full of static on our end. It has to be the same on theirs.”

  Cody sat taller. It was a crazy idea. “That can go wrong in a million different ways. If they figure out that I’m lying, Gregory’s the one who could suffer the most.”

  “Please!” she said. Her fingers rested on the back of Cody’s hand. Those old internal scars, the ones he’d developed and nurtured into his own personal armor long ago, began to ache. “This could be my only hope of finding my son. I’d do it myself, but obviously even with the bad connection I’m not a man.”

  Viktoria was right about that—she was all woman.

  “Bravo. Copy.”

  Cody didn’t like playing games with people’s lives, and especially the lives of children. But Viktoria was the mother and it was her call. Without another moment’s thought, he depressed the talk button. “This is Bravo,” he said. “Copy.” He hoped they continued to use English. His ability to speak Russian was nonexistent.

  “Where the hell have you been?” the voice barked.

  This was something else Cody feared. Before he had to think of a reason for their delay, the voice rang out again.

  “Status update.”

  Cody’s gaze met Viktoria’s. He refused to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did. Yet, that’s exactly what the man on the walkie-talkie needed to believe. Cody flicked his eyes to the windshield. He watched the snow dance in the beams of the headlights.

  He depressed the talk button. “Neutralized.”

  “Come again?”

  Like he’d just sprinted the last three hundred yards of a marathon, Cody’s pulse hammered and his chest constricted. If these guys knew each other well, they could very easily recognize voices, even with the bad connection.

  Cody silently cursed. He was committed now. “Neutralized,” he said again. This time he was slower. Louder.

  A second passed. Then another. It seemed like hours.

  “Copy that,” the kidnapper said. “Extraction is delayed twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Plane can’t land due to the incoming blizzard. Return to your safe house and wait for my call. Belkin’s orders.”

  Cody’s head dropped back against the headrest and he let out a long sigh. He had to keep the smile from his voice. “Copy,” he said.

  He tossed the walkie-talkie onto the console between the seats and scrubbed his face with both hands. He turned to Viktoria. “We might not know everything, but at least we know that your son is in the area and likely to remain here for the next day to day and a half. That’s good. Most important,” he added, “is that we have a name.”

  He turned to look at Viktoria. Even in the SUV’s darkened interior he could see that she’d gone pale. She licked her lips and exhaled. “I know who Belkin is.”

  * * *

  Gregory’s face flashed in Viktoria’s mind. She pictured what he must have gone through tonight. Gregory’s dark eyes, so much like her own, would have sought her out, wild with terror. Then, her throat closed at the memory of the very real hand that had squeezed her neck.

  She had failed her son. Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

  “Can you drive
?” Cody asked Viktoria. “We need to get off the road.”

  Viktoria’s head snapped over. She had almost forgotten about Cody, her handsome savior.

  “Drive?” It took effort to say the word, as if her tongue were heavy. A sheer cliff rose upward on one side and the road fell sharply away on the other. Snowflakes, fat and thick, fell from the sky and dusted the roadway. They blew in through the shattered window. Balls of safety glass coated the car’s interior and twinkled with reflected light from the dashboard.

  “Let’s get out of the middle of the road,” he said. “We aren’t safe here. If you can’t drive, I can.”

  Drive? Yes, she could drive. Shifting the SUV into Reverse, Viktoria eased away from the guardrail. The simple task unleashed a burst of adrenaline within her. “We should go to the sheriff,” she said, thankful that she finally made a decision.

  Although that plan wasn’t perfect, either. Was she still wanted by the authorities in New York State? If she was, then the local sheriff would be interested in her case. At the same time, legalities from home didn’t matter, not where Gregory was concerned. Without question, she had to stop Peter Belkin from delivering her son to her father-in-law. She could deal with the legal consequences later.

  Up ahead was a turnaround. Viktoria drove the short distance and pulled in. With a little maneuvering, she turned the SUV so it faced the road. “Which way to the sheriff’s office?” she asked.

  “Wait just a minute, will you?” Cody said. “I don’t want to go to the sheriff.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Cody hit the ignition button and the engine fell silent.

  “Before we go anywhere,” he said, “tell me everything you know about Nikolai Mateev.”

  She hadn’t expected Cody to ask about her father-in-law. “I’ve only met him once. He traveled to New York from Russia for Lucas’s—my husband’s—funeral. My husband and his father had a falling out years ago, before Lucas and I met.”