Page 100 of Wyatt

York stuck out his hand. “I’m York, by the way.”

“Gerri Marshall.” She took his hand. “Thank you for helping get my daughter out of Russia.”

Oh, that. His mouth lifted in a smile. “Yeah, well, she was doing just fine on her own.”

“Hardly,” RJ said. “So Coco is okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She seems to be on the mend. The past month she’s been staying with the sister of David Curtiss—we met him in Moscow, remember? Sarai is an American doctor and she and her husband live in Khabarovsk...”

Gerri was pressing her hand to her heart. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure. But I know where she will be.” He stopped there, not sure exactly how much he should say.

“Why would Gustov text us to meet him—and then kill my boss?” RJ said. “I’ve been texting her for the better part of six weeks, and she never once texted me back. Has she been dead all this time?”

“She hasn’t been dead for that long, given the smell and the color of the blood.”

“She was killed to send me a message,” RJ said.

“Or used to frame you for murder.”

“Which means Gustov is here, in Seattle.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. If he’s working with the Bratva, he could have simply had one of their associates kill her.”

“The Bratva,” Gerri said. “The Russian mob is behind this?”

“Members wear a star tattoo on their bodies,” York said. “The guy who attacked us on the train wore a star tattoo, so yes, we think they’re involved somehow.”

“Do you think Sophia figured it out? Maybe the rogue CIA group that framed me is also behind this.”

“I don’t know what to think. Just that…” Okay, fine. York gave in to the urge to draw her close, tucking her body in next to his. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt. I got the text as I was walking off the plane, and all I could think was that I was going to show up—”

“And find my dead body. Like you did Tasha’s.”

He closed his eyes. Yes. That.

She held him back, lowering her voice, soft in his ear. “This isn’t your fault, York. Just so you know that.”

“He’s making it personal.” His voice betrayed more emotion than he’d like. “He knows I…I care about you. He wants to hurt me.”

“Why would he want to hurt you?” Gerri was looking at him, frowning.

And see, this was why he shouldn’t be here, holding her daughter, allowing himself into their lives.

Because he got people he loved killed.

“The assassin who is after us also killed his girlfriend, Ma,” said RJ, pulling away from him but still meeting his eyes. “And he kissed me and sent the picture to York—”

“He kissed you?” her mother said.

She made a face.

York wanted to hit something, the memory of the picture turning his gut. “I’ve been hunting him for the past three years.”

“And now you think he’s in America,” said Gerri.

“I don’t know. But I do know he’s still playing the game. I need to get you both somewhere safe.”

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