They weren’t fucked. Not yet. No craft came after them, but Mendez figured that was only because Turov hadn’t known what to expect. Or even if they really were with Yuri. Probably that missile had been a warning and nothing more. It had certainly been unguided or they wouldn’t be here to talk about it.

By the time they landed in the remote location Yuri had directed them to, Mendez was almost sorry to lose the helicopter. It was a fine piece of machinery. With a few refueling stops, they could be in Moscow much quicker than driving.

But it was Yuri’s equipment, not his, and besides, he had no idea where to refuel. They touched down long after the first light had split the sky. Not because it had taken hours, but because morning came so early this time of year. Yuri’s son waited for them at the edge of the helicopter pad.

He was tall, handsome, and much younger than Mendez expected. Mendez cut the engines to the helicopter and took off his helmet. Then he reached for the bags he’d tossed in the back and slipped to the tarmac.

Kat—Valentina?—fuck, he didn’t even know what to call her anymore—did the same. They strode across the pad and met Kazimir Budayev. He shook hands with them and then took them to a black Mercedes van. Inside, there was space for sleeping bags down the center—but the sides were lined with weapons and explosives. Mendez lifted an AK-47 from the rack and examined it.

“It meets with your approval?” Kazimir asked.

“It does. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “My father said you were to be given the best.” He tilted his head to the side. “You saved him in Afghanistan?”

“I took him to a field hospital. They’re the ones who saved him. But he’s too tough to die, so that helped.”

Kazimir grinned. “He will outlive us all.”

“Probably.”

Within minutes, they were in the van and on the road. The landscape was stark and empty. The atmosphere in the van was also stark. Kat—Valentina?—sat with a foot propped on the dash and her head turned, staring out the window at the sun shining off the ice.

He still hadn’t quite processed the anger yet. Every time he thought he could shove it down deep and concentrate on the mission, it reared up like a dragon breathing flame.

Fuck, why did he have to think of dragons?

Maybe because he’d explored the dragon on her thigh with his fingers and tongue only a few hours ago and it was still prominent in his brain. Unfortunately, thinking of the dragon made him think of other things. Her soft skin. Her sighs and moans. The way she tasted when he swirled his tongue into her wet heat. The way she felt wrapped around him, his body pounding into hers until they’d both come apart in a blaze of molten fire.

He slammed his hand against the wheel and she turned her head, blinking. Something in his expression must have told her what he was thinking because her color flared.

“What the fuck do I call you now?” he snarled. He had to get control again. Because being pissed wasn’t doing him any good. Operators needed a clear head and a bottomless well of cool. His cool was contaminated with raw fury.

“What do you want to call me?”

“Don’t fucking ask,” he ground out.

“Then call me Kat. That’s who I think of myself as. Valentina was young and naïve in spite of all her training. She didn’t know how cruel the world could really be. Kat’s a stone-cold bitch who knows down to the depths of her soul that even when you think the worst has happened, it’s only a warm-up for the main event.”

For a split second he was tempted to feel sympathy for her. But then he thought of how they’d stood in front of a grave two days ago and he’d had no idea it was his son lying beneath the earth.

A voice in his head asked him just what the fuck he’d expected her to do—either three years ago when she said she first knew where to find him or a few days ago when she’d walked into the Court of Two Sisters. What would he have done if she’d said she was Valentina? He wouldn’t have listened to a damned thing she’d been there to say, that’s for sure.

And maybe he wouldn’t be here now, because he hadn’t decided on this course of action until Dmitri Leonov arrived so quickly and shot at them. That had been the determining factor for him. Leonov worked for Turov, and Turov was connected to DeWitt. The Russian angle was too important to ignore. And now that they were here?

It was fucking critical to world security.

“What was Roman like?” he found himself saying before he’d realized his mind had circled back to the cemetery.

He could feel her gaze on him. She sighed. “He was funny and sweet. Black hair, like yours. He was going to be tall, I think. He was growing like a weed. He had a heart of gold—”

She stopped speaking and he turned to look at her. Her head was bowed and her fists were white where she’d clenched them in her lap. Then she punched her leg again and again before turning her head away to look out the window.

Her shoulders heaved as she shook with silent tears.

Goddammit.

“Kat,” he choked out, surprised at how tight his own throat had gotten.

She didn’t turn around, but she reached a hand behind her to wave him off. He grasped it without thinking. And then he held on tight while she shook. He kept his other hand on the wheel, his gaze focused and burning as he drove. Eventually her shaking ceased. She eased her hand from his and turned slowly. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks tear-streaked.

She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

He swallowed against the knot perched in his throat. He was still pissed at her—but he was pretty pissed at himself too. Whatever the reasons, whatever he felt about it, she was a mother who’d lost a child, and she hadn’t gotten over it. He knew what that was like from watching his mother after his sister’s death.

What had he said to Kat on the train? That maybe if she told the father about Roman, he could help her bear it?

Then stop being a prick.

“Don’t apologize,” he said roughly.

“I have pictures. Not with me though. I’ll make sure you get them.”

“That would be great.” He had no one to share them with, but he wanted to see them anyway. His mother didn’t know him anymore and she wouldn’t understand. And, fuck, even if she were competent, would he tell an old lady she had a dead grandson?

No, he definitely wouldn’t. It would be too hard for her to bear.

Guilt pricked him. He’d been pissed that Kat hadn’t told him, but maybe it wasn’t such a clear-cut answer after all.

Kat sniffed again. “Like I said, Roman had a heart of gold. He loved animals. He wanted to be a vet, though he was only twelve so maybe that would have changed. He loved splashing in puddles after a storm, he loved snowboarding, and he had a laugh that made me happy. The best times of my life were when I got to spend them with him.”

Hot emotion threatened to punch through the veneer of his cool. It shocked him how close he hovered to a breakdown of his own. Over a child he’d never known.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? You have a right to know.”

“For being a dick. You loved him. Whatever else is between us, I don’t doubt that.”

“He was my world. Everything I did was for Roman. For his safety. But I’m not sure I succeeded in the end.”

Her head was bowed again. Alarm prickled along the back of his neck. “It’s not your fault there was an accident.”

“Maybe it is.” She sucked in a breath. “There was no brake fluid in the lines. The police investigator said the loss of fluid was caused by the wreck. But I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t the other way around—someone cut the lines and the accident was deliberate.”

Horror filled him. “Why would it be deliberate? He was the leverage. Without him, you could run.”

Her eyes glittered. “I think Sergei ordered it. Because I refused to kill someone he wanted killed. She was only a girl—not even one of Sergei’s working girls. But her sister was, and she came to beg for him to let her sister go. Sergei said he would think about it—and then he told me to kill her. I refused.”

Mendez’s heart froze solid. “You think Sergei had Roman killed for that?”

“Yes. He wanted to show me that he owned me. He had Roman killed, thinking I would have nothing left. He didn’t expect me to run.” She pulled in a breath. “It’s why Dmitri didn’t kill me in New Orleans. Sergei isn’t finished with me yet. He wants to cause me pain before I die—and he wants me to know he’s the one who caused it.”

Mendez’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. “If he killed Roman, I’ll fucking ruin him.”

“Not if I do it first,” she said softly.