Mendez strode into Yuri’s gym, walked over to the punching bag, and laid into it. His anger was molten hot. He hated her. He pictured her face on the bag—

No.

No, he couldn’t really do that. He hated what she’d done to them twenty-one years ago, what she’d done to him this past week, but pretending she was the punching bag only soured his stomach.

Instead, he pretended it was Dmitri Leonov, Sergei Turov, and Mark DeWitt rolled into one. Much more satisfying. He threw punches until his knuckles were sore and sweat rolled down the inside of his shirt, soaking his chest and arms. He dragged the shirt up and off, mopping his brow as he did so. His dog tags seemed lonely without the locket there.

Fucking locket. Fucking bitch.

His entire body shook with adrenaline and rage. He hadn’t felt this much out of control since…

Since Valentina had disappeared twenty-one years ago.

Jesus.

He sank onto a bench and dropped his head low, elbows on knees and hands pressed to either side of his head as he dragged in air and tried to calm the speeding of his heart. He focused on the rubber mat beneath his feet, counted the interlocking edges. When he got to the end, he counted again.

He’d spent years—decades—perfecting his iron self-control. Being the man in charge meant he had to be coolheaded and calm in every circumstance. He’d done it too. He’d walked into meetings with generals who outranked him by miles, congressmen and women, and even the president of the United States, and kept his cool no matter how they tried to rattle him.

But now? Now he had no fucking cool. He was made of flame. His anger was a truck full of nitro driving into an inferno. It was a nuclear weapon emerging from the silo in a blaze of rocket fuel and deadly intentions.

She’d let him think she was dead. She’d been pregnant and he’d never known it. All those tales Kat had told him about her son and the way she’d felt when he’d died—Roman was his son too. And he’d never even seen a picture. Not as a baby, not as a boy, nothing.

His heart hurt. Physically hurt in a way it never had before. Like someone had ripped it from his chest and stomped on it.

The door opened and Yuri walked in. Mendez didn’t want to deal with Yuri right now, but what choice did he have?

“I’m sorry I thought you came to harm my business,” the Tiger said.

Mendez snorted. “Thanks. But how do you know I didn’t? Valentina—Kat—and I could just be good actors.”

Yuri snorted. “If so, you are in the wrong business, my friend. You have the face for Hollywood. Might as well go and pick up an Oscar while you’re at it.”

“What makes you think we’re not trying to fake you out?”

“Emotions. They are stinking up my house with their seriousness. They are all too real.”

Yes, they really were. “I’m not enjoying it either.”

“She lied to you and you were blindsided by it.”

“Understatement of the century, Yuri.”

“Yes, well, I came to tell you that I’m doing what I can to get you a window. I think I can have you out of here by tonight. Both of you,” he added.

Mendez’s laugh was rusty. He’d worn himself out physically, though mentally he still burned with rage. “You trying to tell me something?”

“I’m telling you that you aren’t dumping her off on me because you’re pissed at her. She came with you, she goes with you.”

“I think it’s obvious I can’t trust her.”

Yuri’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s not my problem, Viper.”

Mendez sighed. “Don’t worry, I need her for this mission, much as I wish it wasn’t true. She goes with me.”

* * *

Someone rapped hard on the door. Kat started awake, instinctively grabbing her weapon. Then she checked the time. One a.m. They were leaving tonight. She scrambled from the bed and went over to unlock the door.

Johnny was on the other side. He hadn’t stopped looking furious since this morning, so it was no surprise he still looked like he could choke her to death given the opportunity. His dark eyes bored into her.

“It’s go-time.”

He’d informed her earlier, with very little ceremony, that the Tiger was getting them out tonight.

“Let me get my bag.”

She was fully dressed, had been lying in bed with her tactical gear and boots on. She had her weapons bag nearby along with the other gear Yuri had provided them. He was a wealthy arms dealer, so the equipment was state of the art. Maybe they stood a chance of getting to Sergei after all.

Not that they’d discussed how they were doing this since Johnny wasn’t talking to her. But she’d studied the layout of Sergei’s house and his alarm system. She had ideas.

She shouldered her gear and followed Johnny down the hall and out into the control room where Yuri the Tiger waited. He hadn’t been the least bit apologetic about what had happened when he’d outed her. She was pissed at him, but she also understood where his paranoia came from. You didn’t live on the fringes of society as long as he had and not gain a healthy sense of paranoia about others and their motives.

“My perimeter remains unbroken,” he said. “But they are on the outside of it, watching for you.”

“So we’ll bust through and drive like hell,” Johnny said. “No other option.”

Yuri’s face split in a grin. “Ah, but there is another option. Come.”

They got into the elevator with him and took the trip topside. They walked back up through the basement of the crappy house filled with hoarder junk and stopped on the porch. It was cold and the moon glistened on the snow. It was getting late for snow in this part of Siberia, but it was still lingering. Kat pulled her parka tighter against the wind and trudged along behind the men as they headed for the giant old warehouse that sat a few yards behind the house.

Yuri took something from his pocket and the doors began to grind open. Kat shook her head. Figured he had a remote. He didn’t turn on the lights inside but instead took a flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. It was military grade because the beam cut through the darkness like it didn’t exist. He shone it toward the center of the warehouse—and that’s when she realized it wasn’t a warehouse but a hangar.

There were planes lined up on either side of the hangar, but it was toward the middle that he walked. A black helicopter sat on the pad. It was a wicked-looking piece of Russian military equipment, similar to an American Black Hawk but not quite as large.

“You still fly?” he asked Johnny.

Kat blinked. Fly? Since when did he fly? He hadn’t flown when they’d been together in Moscow.

Johnny strode toward the craft and put a hand against the metal. “It’s been a while, but yeah, I can fly her.”

“Good.” Yuri came over and pulled a map from his pocket. “You will need to go here.” He stabbed at the map. “It’s three hundred miles. The range on this baby is three hundred and fifty nautical miles, so no side trips. My son is waiting. Deliver the helicopter to him and he will have a van for you. You’ll still have a long way to go to Moscow, but you will have left Turov’s army behind for now.”

Kat looked up at the roof overhead. “How are we getting out of here?”

The helicopter had wheels, but the path to the exit wasn’t clear. It could take hours to jockey the aircraft around.

Yuri pointed his remote at the roof—and two panels began to slide open. “Straight up and out.” He smirked.

Kat walked around the helicopter while Johnny and Yuri discussed the flight path and the details.

“Get strapped in,” Johnny ordered her with a pointed look. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him and clambered into the sleek helicopter, tossing her gear into the back. There was a helmet on the seat. She examined it. There was comm equipment inside, so she put it on and lifted the visor.

Johnny got inside and turned to her as he fitted his helmet and tightened it. “You got any experience with these?”

Her heart skipped. “What? No! Don’t you?”

His mouth twisted. “Relax, I can fly. Just wondered what kind of copilot you’d make.”

“Not a good one, I imagine.”

“No kidding.” He started the rotors and they began to turn. The helicopter vibrated beneath them as the engines spooled up. Yuri had moved out of the path of the rotors. She noticed that the other craft in the hangar were tied down, which was probably a good thing considering how much air this thing was moving.

“You think we’ll make it?” she shouted.

Johnny frowned at her and touched the helmet. His voice came through like a caress to her ears. “Talk into the mic.”

She fumbled around until she thought she had the helmet powered up—or however it worked. “Copy,” she said. “You receiving?”

“Loud and clear.”

He flicked some switches and checked gauges. And then he wrapped his hand around the stick—and the craft lifted off the tarmac. They ascended slowly through the roof. He hovered for a moment. The Siberian landscape was sleek and shiny with snow and ice. In the distance, Novosibirsk blazed with light.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” she answered.

They shot forward, banking to the left before straightening and flying into the darkness with only the moon to guide them. There was a flash of something on the ice far below.

Johnny swore and banked hard enough that she felt the g-forces tugging her toward the door. She couldn’t move as he spun—or it felt like he spun—the helicopter hard, spiraling up and up. Outside her window, something flashed bright.

“RPG,” he said grimly in her ear. “They were waiting for an aircraft.”

She couldn’t speak. He straightened the helicopter and then flew in a swerving motion across the sky. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest and her pulse skipped and flew.

“They tried to shoot us down,” she finally managed.

“Yes. But they missed. We should be out of range now.”

“What if they have a helicopter—or a fighter jet? What if they come after us?”

He glanced at her. His visor was down, so all she could see was the sexy tilt of his lips as one corner curved upward. “Then I guess we’re fucked.”