Page 100 of Fierce Pursuit

I wasted no more time. Unzipping the duffel bag, I dumped its contents onto the table.

Stacks of cash spilled out, crisp bills fluttering in uneven piles. At first glance, it looked like a fortune. But something was off.

Why this much cash? And why in such small denominations?

This wasn’t just money.

There was something else here.

Something I wasn’t seeing.

First, the obvious.

I checked the bag itself, running my hands along every seam, feeling for hidden compartments. Nothing sewn into the lining. Nothing tucked into that stupid zipper pocket always hidden on the inside.

Nothing.

Completely empty.

“I told you,” Marina said, stepping into the room.

I glanced up and nearly lost my train of thought.

She wore jeans that hugged her ass in a way that made my mouth water, and a red sweater cut just low enough that I’d kill any man who stared too long.

“There’s nothing there,” she insisted.

“Maybe.” I forced my attention back to the task at hand, ignoring the heat pooling low in my gut.

Thumbing through the crisp blue-green stacks of thousand-ruble notes, I studied them carefully.

They looked real. They smelled real.

Still, I was meticulous, searching through each bundle, making sure nothing was hidden between the bills—no microchips, no thin slips of paper with encrypted messages.

There was an old KGB trick: bring in stacks of money just under the amount that required declaration at customs. The agents would glance at it, ask how much you were carrying. When you told them it was below the threshold, they’d wave you through. They didn’t care.

Back then, slipping something between the bills would’ve been easy. Even writing coded messages directly onto the notes.

It was old-school.

Outdated.

There were more secure, more practical ways to smuggle things into the U.S. these days.

But Solovyov’s obsession with such a small amount of money? That didn’t sit right.

I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that this was more than just cash.

“I told you,” Marina repeated, frustration creeping into her voice. “There’s nothing there. It’s just the money Veronika gave me. She told me to hold onto it.”

I stilled.

Veronika.

My fingers tightened around the stack of bills.

“Did you change the bag?” I asked, my voice quieter now, more dangerous.

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