Viktor Vasiliev looked just like his daughter, Chance’s mother, Katherine Vasiliev. He was older obviously, with a head of hair that had gone completely white. He had a matching, close-cropped beard. But the eyes, sharp and clear and blue, were all Katherine McCoy, nee Vasiliev.

He had the same sharp features as his daughter, with a long, almost severely straight nose. Viktor was definitely where Chance’s mother had inherited the looks that had her modeling in her younger years.

Unlike the goons that now stood on either side of Chance, Viktor wore a lightweight panama shirt and khaki pants with loafers, as befitted the weather. It was almost as hot and humid up in New York as it was down in Houston, though Katya was severely chilly inside.

“You look like your father.”

“You look like my mother.”

Viktor chuckled. “Sit, sit,” he urged, waving Chance toward the seat across from him at the table. He was peeling an orange and eyed Chance speculatively.

Neither of them had met the other, but Chance had no doubt that Viktor had been keeping tabs on the daughter that had left him almost forty years ago. Katherine had mostly been tight-lipped on the topic of her father or any part of her life before she’d married Jackson McCoy. Thus, the man sitting across from him was a mystery to Chance.

“You want money, no?” Victor said, focusing on his orange. He had a trace of Russian accent in his voice, less than Chance would have thought.

Chance was surprised, but didn’t let it show. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been. Of course Viktor Vasiliev would know what was going.

“Yes, I’ve come to ask for money.”

Viktor rolled his eyes up to Chance. “A million is a lot, no?”

“You’ll get it back.”

Viktor chuckled. “Bold. So much like your father. Did not turn out so well for him, no?”

Chance felt his jaw tighten. Viktor was watching him closely, waiting to see what buttons he had pushed. Chance gave him nothing.

“How is my daughter?” The question was asked simply enough, Viktor nonchalantly returning his attention to his orange slices.

“Upset about her son having been shot,” he replied tersely.

Viktor brought a slice up to his mouth and chewed, considering Chance as he did. “You think I have that kind of money?”

Chance just gave him a look that said he wasn’t stupid.

Viktor chuckled again. “And what do you think would happen should I give you this money. You want me to start a war with Peter Antonov?”

“Are you scared of him?”

“Don’t be smart,” Viktor said quick as a whip. “Agreements were made. Katya,” there was the slightest hitch in his voice as he said his daughter’s nickname, “left. She knows the rules.”

“I’m not my mother.”

“You are a McCoy.”

“I’m just as much a Vasiliev. So is Chip.”

“Now that it is convenient for you to be.” Like his daughter, Viktor’s accent became more pronounced when he was heated. “You come here and want money. You want me to start more trouble, this time worse than before.”

“There is no trouble, it’s just a game.”

“Don’t be stupid. Or has it not occurred to you that Peter and Leo both want you dead?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Chance said dryly.

Viktor stared at him, placing another orange slice in his mouth as he contemplated Chance’s response. “And you are still going to play?”

Chance thought about it for a moment before responding. He supposed his grandfather had a right to know the whole story, especially if he was going to be forking over a cool million.

“I have a plan.”

Viktor finished eating his orange, not taking his eyes off his grandson. “So tell me.”

Chance told him.

When he finished, Viktor laughed. “And you think this plan will work?”

“Better than being a sitting duck.”

Viktor laughed even harder. “And you think this will not make you one?”

“Only until the problem solves itself.”

“You’re counting on a lot of things to happen. The first being me giving you the money.”

“I’ve had help from someone who’s a bit of an expert at variables.”

“The girl?”

Chance gave him a quick, hard glance, which made Viktor laugh again. “I know more about you than you think.”

Viktor sighed. “It is a shame that she had to be involved. It is a shame that you and…Chip—” he said the name in a way that hinted of disapproval. He obviously didn’t approve of his father’s sense of humor “—had to be involved. But I cannot be involved. I am an old man. I want to live my life, what little there is of it, in peace. A war is no good for anyone. Keep it in Houston, I say.”

Chance felt that tiny sliver of hope inside him die. “So that is a no?” he asked, just for confirmation.

“That is a no.”

Chance nodded, exhaling as his mind raced with where to go from here.

“From me.”

His eyes darted back up to Viktor’s.

“You are a McCoy, but you have Vasiliev blood in you, and Vasiliev blood has been spilt. That deserves attention.”

Chance waited, not daring to take a breath.

“There is someone who will give you the money. It means another… variable, as you say?” Viktor gave him a smile that was almost pitying. “I hope your little statistics professor can make this one work.”