Someone shot the lock open.
Footsteps headed in their direction. Catriona could hear the intruders muttering and knew it was too late to run.
Two men rounded a stack of boxes, leading with semi-automatic rifles, screaming for hands to be raised. Walking at a measured pace behind them came the Slavic-faced man whose head had poked through the red beads at the Chinese restaurant.
Volkov.
Seems their reprieve from the Russian’s hounding had been temporary.
“Her and him,” he said, pointing to Catriona and Broch.
The two warehouse workers, one standing and one still cowering in front of his lunch, stared with wild eyes as two of the armed men ushered Catriona and Broch toward a wall of boxes marked Modacious.
When they were nearly to the wall, Broch spun, his hand whipping out like a cobra strike. He grabbed the nose of the gunman’s rifle and yanked it to the right side of his own body, jerking the man holding it toward him. Broch struck him square in the face as he stumbled forward. The man’s momentum abruptly changed directions and he floundered back, his nose erupting with blood.
Broch had the weapon, but he couldn’t turn it before one of Volkov’s henchmen, a close-cropped blond man with a box-like build, lunged forward to grab Catriona’s arm.
“Nope.” He raised his handgun to Catriona’s head.
Broch looked down at the gun he’d seized, and Catriona knew he didn’t know how to use it. Not well enough to risk her life in the attempt.
“Drop it,” said the blond.
Broch released the rifle. A third man stepped forward to strike Broch in the stomach with the butt of his own rifle, pushing the Highlander towards the wall of boxes beside Catriona. Broch stepped back, his eyes blazing with rage.
“What about these two?” asked a fourth henchman, his pistol trained on the warehouse workers.
Volkov stepped toward the man Catriona had taken for the manager.
“Is there anyone else here?”
Both men shook their heads.
Volkov turned to his soldier. “Take the bodies. Come back and take care of the cameras.”
At the sound of the word bodies, the manager began to talk fast, the hands he held in the air, shaking.
“You don’t have to kill us. We won’t talk. We don’t know anything. We don’t know you.”
Volkov smiled with only the right side of his mouth. “My name is Volkov.” He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, almost coquettishly. “Whoops. Now you know who I am. That is unfortunate. Now I’m afraid I don’t have any choice.”
The goon whose nose Broch had bloodied jerked the man from his lunch table seat and pushed both towards the door at gunpoint. He glanced back at Broch several times, making it clear he’d rather be walking the Highlander to his death.
The manager called over his shoulder as he headed towards the door. “I don’t even remember, man. I don’t remember your name!”
Soon after they stepped outside, Catriona heard two quick pops.
Volkov strolled to where Catriona and Broch stood.
“I suppose I owe you a thank you.”
“How’s that?” asked Catriona. Her voice couldn’t summon the punch she desired. She felt sick for the men who’d been walked to their death and sick that she and Broch would more than likely be next.
Volkov continued. “You gave me an idea. I’ve been waiting for the right time to cut out the middle man, and that time is now.”
“We don’t have anything to do with this—”
“I know. You’re doing this for poor Mo.”
Catriona heard a yelp and looked past Volkov to see Mo stumble into view, the man behind her urging her on with a pistol. He led her to stand beside them.
Mo looked at Catriona, her cheeks running with tears and mascara.
“What have you done?” Mo seemed both too furious and too scared to effect her French accent. With rising dread, Catriona realized she should have checked in with Mo after their ordeal in the Chinese restaurant. She’d assumed Volkov and Alain worked together and that Mo was safe.
Stupid.
But she wasn’t going to take the blame for this.
Catriona put her hand on her chest. “What have I done?”
Mo whirled to face Volkov. “What do you want? You’re the one stealing my clothes?”
“Me? No. I sell them. Eastern Europe mostly. Many round women there.” Volkov laughed and his men joined in, chuckling like a small private audience for his new standup routine.
Mo’s lip trembled. Catriona couldn’t tell if it was fury or fear.
Volkov sniffed. “Now all I need is the network of the man who does steal them.”
Mo scowled. “What network?”
“It isn’t only your clothes that he steals and I am not his only seller.”
“And you think I know who this man is?”
Volkov laughed again, the curl of his lip revealing a gold-capped canine tooth. “Oh, you know him.”
Mo shook her head. “If I knew him don’t you think I would have had him arrested?”
Volkov took a step closer to Mo. “Who was the first person you called after asking these two to find the stealer of your clothes?”
Mo whispered the name Catriona already knew.
“Alain?”
Catriona had had her suspicions, but hadn’t wanted to believe it. Now, Alain letting Tyler go and asking her to leave without helping Mo made perfect sense. When she sounded doubtful about leaving, he’d sent Volkov to scare her into leaving, but Volkov changed his mind. He decided to cut Alain out of the equation completely, before Alain messed everything up on his own in some desperate attempt to win back Mo.
Alain played a good little gangster. It looked like he might have shown his weakness to the wrong man.
Mo wiped at her eyes. “I don’t understand. What about Alain?”
Catriona sighed. “He’s selling your leftovers, Mo. He’s using this creature to peddle them in
