He hurried toward the garage, grabbing his jacket on the way, then slipped through the door. Kat looked at Evie. “I hope he’s right but I’m not going to hold my breath.”
Evie smiled. “I know what you mean. I guess if Matt’s involved, I’ll hear about it soon enough. Christina and Remy were taking the kids this afternoon, so I don’t have to worry about them if he’s called in too.”
“It might be you and me eating all this food,” Kat said with a sigh.
“We can call friends if so. I’m sure the HOT ladies would love to join us. Provided you felt up to it, of course.”
Kat had never really had friends she could count on. She’d spent so many years alone, doing what she had to do to survive and keep her child alive. And then, after his death, she’d been on the run, in hiding, doing everything she could not to fall under her old handler’s power again. Friends were not a part of that equation.
But now? She loved the idea that she had women she could count on to be there for her if she needed them. She was still getting used to it, but it was an amazing thing.
“I’d love to call some friends if the men don’t show.”
18
Mendez made the trip to Black Defense International’s headquarters, a nondescript building on a nondescript street. He’d been there before, but it’d been a while. Now he drove to what could potentially be a meeting with his grown son.
Jesus.
How would he explain it to Kat if this kid was really Roman? What if he was Roman but didn’t want anything to do with his parents? Then what? Mendez’s gut twisted into a cold knot. He hadn’t considered that before, but it was entirely possible. Of course it was.
You’ll deal with it when you have to.
He drove into the parking garage and left the truck, then took the elevator to the fourth floor. It wasn’t Ian’s Top-Secret floor, but he’d been there before too. The doors opened and Ian stood there waiting. Mendez wasn’t even surprised. Of course Ian knew he’d arrived. He had cameras and motion sensors everywhere.
“Thanks for getting here so fast, John.”
“Evie Girard is hanging out with Kat, so I was able to leave. But I can’t be gone too long.”
“I know.” Ian cocked his head. “You ready for this?”
“I think so. What can you tell me?”
When Ian had called earlier to tell him they had Kazimir Rybakov in custody, he hadn’t said much beyond that. He hadn’t needed to. They both knew what the next step was and that was Mendez meeting the man and persuading him to take a DNA test. And if he couldn’t be persuaded, he was still taking the test. Better if he did it of his own accord though.
“Not much. He won’t talk. I’ve asked him if he’s Roman Rostov. I’ve asked if Valentina Rostov is his mother. Nothing. He says he’s Kazimir and that’s that.”
“Okay. How was he grabbed?”
“Returning to the apartment in Novosibirsk. He fought but my operatives overpowered him before anyone got hurt.”
“Yet you didn’t tell me you had him until now.”
Ian shrugged. “You had other things going on. I called when you could do something other than wait.”
“Fair enough.” He’d have done the same thing if he’d been running the op.
They were walking down a corridor and Ian stopped in front of a door. “He’s cuffed because it’s standard procedure for an enemy combatant, which we don’t know that he isn’t yet. You ready for this?”
Mendez steeled his resolve. He’d gone this far, gotten the kid brought here. He couldn’t stop now. “Yes.”
“I’m going in with you just so you know. Non-negotiable.”
Mendez gritted his teeth. It was yet another thing he’d have done too, so he couldn’t argue the point. “Fine.”
Ian pushed the door open and entered. Mendez stepped into the room behind him. Kazimir Rybakov sat at a table, his hands cuffed in front to him. Any operator worth their salt could still kill someone while cuffed like that, but Rybakov had to know he wouldn’t get far if he did. He didn’t move and Mendez let his gaze slide over a face that was at once familiar and foreign.
Kazimir looked up, his gaze sliding from Ian to Mendez. That was the moment he blinked. Blinked again. He sat up straighter, frowning.
“Hello, Kazimir. I’m John Mendez.”
“I…” He shook his head. “What is this? What are you trying to do to me?” He said that last to Ian.
“He isn’t doing anything, Kazimir,” Mendez said. “I brought you here. It’s me who made this happen. Why did you visit the Yelchins’ grave?”
His nostrils whitened. Mendez thought the kid was fighting some strong emotion, but he wasn’t sure. Could all be part of the act and yet—yet this boy looked almost identical to how he had at that age.
“Who?” Kazimir asked off-handedly. “I don’t know these people.”
Mendez switched into Russian for the rest of the conversation. He didn’t intend to beat around the bush. He was ripping the bandage off from the start. “Peter and Ludmilla Yelchin were raising a boy named Roman Rostov, who is supposedly buried in that grave under the name Roman Yelchin. Roman was my son. I didn’t know him because I’d been told his mother died before I knew she was pregnant. But she didn’t die. Her name was Valentina, and she meant everything to me.”
Kazimir’s eyes were wild, as if he were having trouble processing this news. “If she meant everything to you, why did you leave her?”
“I didn’t leave her. She died. That’s what they told me.” Mendez went over and took the seat opposite. He let his gaze slide over a face he knew. And the hair. Jesus, the kid had salt in his dark hair. He was twenty-one and he had a sprinkling of gray. A family trait. “I know you don’t trust us. Why should
