Page 69 of Marked

“Why not cooperate with the FBI? You could’ve had a sweet deal.”

“Do you know what happens to a member of the Bratva who cooperates with law enforcement, Agent?” He twisted his torso to the side. “It’s not pretty and it’s not a quick death. I’m not going to put the image into your pretty little head, but let's just say, it makes drawing and quartering a person look humane.”

“Then why the ruse?”

Zakhar studied me a moment longer than necessary,then blew out a breath. “Machail wants you, I want Machail. Seemed like a no-brainer to me.”

“So what happens when we get wherever we’re going? You said he wasn’t going to touch me, right?”

“He’ll never have the chance.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Dead men can’t touch anything.”

Noah

Whether they went to prison or we buried them six feet under, the Bratva’s reign of terror was coming to a swift end. We’d failed Lanie once, but I’d be damned if it would happen again. Duncan left as soon as we received the first text. He’d be able to use the different angles from the photo to find the den of the snipers who had Keaton and the girls in their scopes. Shortly after, Lanie’s wire went silent and I knew something was wrong. We tried and failed to reach Nelson, who was monitoring the rear of the restaurant. Waverly ordered us to stay put while she entered the restaurant alone. She found the table empty and our tech guy laying on the ground outside with a nasty bump on the back of his head.

Not long after, we received the all clear from Duncan. The gunmen were long gone. He’d wait at the hospital with Keaton until we had more information. Then we hauled ass back to the office where Nelson, despite his raging headache, and Koen scoured traffic cams in search of any vehicle leaving from the rear of the restaurant while Waverly phoned for reinforcements; the local, state, and federal kind. She was already in a heap of shit for disobeying direct orders, so a little more insubordination was nothing in comparison.

Me? I was instructed to keep my shit tight or face a five-by-nine cell. As tempting as it was to see which one of them would try to lock me up, I didn’t want to be sidelined for the duration of the rescue. Even though it felt like my heart had been torn from my chest, I was determined to be useful. The best way I could figure to do that was to find out where Vlaschenko was taking her. While I wasn’t a hacker supreme like Nelson, I knew my way around a computer well enough to search property listings by owner.

“Got ’em!” Nelson shouted. “A black Escalade tore out of the rear parking lot fifteen minutes after Lanie went inside. No other vehicles went up or down that street. It has to be them.”

Shayne Black, a detective and friend from the Huntington PD, leaned over his shoulder. “Can you get me the plate number? We’ll be able to track them faster with the license plate reader.”

The automated license plate recognition system was a tool law enforcement used which utilized cameras to capture license plate numbers, then stored them in a central server. Once Shayne keyed in the information, we were able to see every movement the SUV made. We couldn’t wait for any more backup to arrive. We were out of time. Lanie was out of time. The instant Nelson spouted off the location of the vehicle, the three of us, plus Shayne, hopped in Waverly’s FBI issued SUV on an intercept course.

“I haven’t had a hit in the last two minutes,” Nelson’s voice sounded over the vehicle’s sound system.” They must’ve turned off on a side road.”

“Which road, Nelson?” Waverly barked.

“Give me a minute.”

“You have thirty seconds. We’re almost to the last known location.”

Something clicked in my brain about our current heading.

“Nelson, check my laptop. I’m pretty sure Zasha Popov is the listed owner of a property near here.”

“There’s no need to look,” Shayne interjected. “The Huntington PD assisted the DEA with a raid on that property about six months ago. I was there. It’s literally five acres of forest.”

Shit.

“Has anyone had eyes on it since?”

Koen had a good point. It wasn’t like the Russians were upstanding citizens. They wouldn’t give a damn about things like submitting a building permit to the city before they started excavating the land. They’d just do it.

“Do you remember how to get there, Shayne?” I asked.

“Take a left at the old paper mill,” she replied. “Deer Road.”

They built a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Not just one…three. The Bratva was storing a big part of their operation in these buildings. There was no telling what we’d find. Guns, drugs, hell, there could be human beings inside. This was bigger than the kidnapping of a federal officer and way more than the four of us––well, five, since Duncan was two minutes out––anticipated.

As I strapped on my bulletproof vest and watched everyone else do the same, a comment Nelson made the other day kept playing on repeat in my head. He’d said Vlaschenko had a zero tolerance policy when it came to hurting women. So why not go along with what the FBI was offering rather than going rogue? Something wasn’t addingup. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter if we were outgunned, we were getting my girl out of there one way or another.

A moment of static, then Koen’s low voice came through the comms unit in my ear. He’d split off from the rest of us to find higher ground in order to use the night-vision scope on his rifle.

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