The temptation to return to her in bed was almost overpowering. He opened the balcony door instead and stepped out onto the stone balcony. It was bright enough that he could see the sand clearly on the ground below. It was pristine, untouched as the tide came in . . . almost. He leaned farther over the balcony railing to get a better look. His blood chilled in his veins. A set of footprints led out of the water toward their beach house.
Leo Antonov leaned back in his chair, feet braced on the edge of his desk as he held a baseball in one hand. The screens of his computer displayed the progress of a deep analysis of Elena Allen’s blood, which had arrived by private courier an hour ago. All he had to do now was wait for the tests to finish.
Nicholas called out from behind him, “Toss it here!”
Leo tossed the baseball over his shoulder without looking, and he heard Nicholas chuckle. “How is the science coming?”
Leo dropped his legs from his desk and spun around. “The DNA analysis should be done soon. So, when did you get back?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Just now.”
Leo, Maxim, and Nicholas had lived in the small manor house outside St. Petersburg for the last ten years, ever since the old palace near the lake had been abandoned and the remnants of the White Army had been sent into hiding. Dimitri also lived with them when he was in town, but he was usually in Paris or Moscow for most of his missions. They used to joke that they were the four musketeers, like the heroes in Alexandre Dumas’s book.
Nicholas threw himself onto a couch and tossed the ball into the air. It was one of Leo’s favorite possessions. He had caught a foul ball at Wrigley Field when he went to a Chicago Cubs game one day while he was in the United States on assignment for a year.
“Where is Maxim?” Leo asked.
Again, Nicholas shrugged. “Out.”
Leo’s lips turned down. “Call him. We need him back here.”
“Why? He’ll only be all doom and gloom.” Nicholas put his feet up on the ottoman. This was Leo’s office, but for as long as they had lived here, his office had become a place for Maxim and Nicholas to relax. Leo usually didn’t mind, but tonight he was concerned.
“Nick, I’m serious—” The chime of his computer cut him off, and he turned back to his desk to analyze the results. There were dozens of matches filling the screen, but several were highlighted in red by the analyzing software.
Leo stared at the screen, his jaw dropping as he forgot to breathe.
“Leo?” Nicholas’s voice began to cut through the sudden ringing in Leo’s ears.
“Nick, call Dimitri now!” He could barely get the words out.
“You’re scaring me.” Nicholas was suddenly behind him, peering over his shoulder. “What is that?”
Leo pointed to one particular line on the screen in red.
“Twelve point five percent match,” Nicholas said. “Match to whom?”
“Nick, call Dimitri. This is an emergency.”
Nicholas pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed Dimitri, put it on speaker. It went to voice mail.
“Dimitri, call us back. Code 78,” Leo said, then nodded at Nicholas, who ended the call.
“Are you going to tell me who Elena Allen’s blood matches?” Nicholas asked.
Leo shook his head. “You won’t believe it. I’m afraid even to tell Dimitri over the phone.”
Nicholas dialed Maxim’s number and left the same message with the Code 78 for him.
“We have to get to Los Angeles now. Pack a bag.” Leo coded the DNA file analysis of Elena’s blood so deep only he would ever be able to decode it again.
“That serious? What about Maxim?”
Leo shut his computers down and removed the portable hard drive. “He can meet us at the airport.” He secured the drives in the dining room under a floorboard up against the wall. The entire room had metal plates throughout the floor to give off false readings if anyone swept the room with any detection devices. They couldn’t take any chances.
Dimitri was guarding a ticking time bomb. If they couldn’t get there in time, everything they had been raised to fight for would be in vain.
Elena woke when she stretched out and felt only the empty bed. Dimitri had gone . . . so soon after she had opened herself up to him. Her heart clenched, and she curled in on herself in deep pain. She lay there a long moment, trying to focus on breathing. That was when the lightest of sea breezes tickled her face.
She sat up and stared at the open balcony door. She pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed to go check the deck. It was empty. She shivered and closed the door, flicking the lock into place. Why had Dimitri left the door open?
Something crashed downstairs, and she jerked toward the door, intending to go see who it was. But she froze. A man stood in the doorway, a gun pointed at her. He was tall like Dimitri but older, in his forties, perhaps. He had an unremarkable face that would blend easily into a crowd and cold, dark eyes. She pressed herself against the glass of the closed balcony door.
“Who are you?” the man whispered in a Russian-accented voice. “What makes you so special?”
Another Russian. Another man
