Page 70 of Lethal Abduction

“Wait.” Roman’s tone is incredulous. “You’ve spoken to Mak? So you knew there was a security breachbeforeyou got on that plane?”

I feel the same sensation I did when I spoke to Mak, of old knots loosening. Suddenly, all I want is to be free of the ties.

“Yes, Roman.” My voice is clear and certain, and I feel better with every word. “I knew there was a security breach. And yes, I got on the plane anyway.”

His silence is deafening.

A horn blasts from the pickup lane, and Luke’s grinning face hangs out of the window of a large white SUV. “Oi,” he shouts across the traffic.

I wave at him.

“My ride is here.” I start walking toward the car, still speaking into the phone. “Tell Darya I’ll call with any updates.”

“Don’t do this, Dimitry.” I’ve known Roman long enough to recognize the warning in his voice. “And don’t make me say it.”

“What?” I stop, holding a hand up to Luke to indicate that I’m coming. “That you’repakhan? That you give an order, and I jump to it?”

“I’ve never treated you like that—”

“You just fucking did, Roman.” I cut him off calmly.

I’m not angry. I’m not even frustrated.

What I am isdone.

The wide sky above me is blue and clear, like a doorway opening. One I know it’s time to step through. “Working beneath you has never bothered me,” I say slowly, “or not enough to make a fuss about. But let’s be very clear about something. I never took an oath to you, Roman. Never crossed my palm with fucking blood, or whatever the Cosa Nostra boys do. I never even signed a goddamn contract.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean Australian air. “It’s always been my choice to stand beside you. Maybe, when this is done, it still will be. But I’m not asking your permission to search for Abby. I’mtellingyou that is what I’m going to do. What you do with that, withme, is entirely up to you. Are we clear?”

No response.

I start walking toward Luke’s car. “I said,are we clear?”

I’m pulling the car door open when he finally answers. “Fucking crystal.”

“Good.” I throw my bag in the back, climb in, and close the door. “Then I’ll call when I have an update.”

“The first thingwe need to do is get you some new clothes.” Luke eyes my chinos and shirt critically. “No offense, mate, but you stand out like dog’s balls dressed like that.”

I give his board shorts, loose T-shirt, and flip-flops a skeptical look. “If new clothes means looking like you, I’ll pass, thanks.”

He grins. “We’re headed north to cattle country, brother. That means jeans, boots, hat, and lots of dirt. I’ll take you shopping on the way out of the city. You can get your head down for a bit on the drive up to Leetham.”

“Thanks.” I settle back in the seat, grateful that Luke is the kind of man to whom I don’t need to explain urgency.

He might be of Australian origin, but he spent over a decade in the British SAS, the most deadly operational special services regiment in the world, acknowledged as such even by the Navy SEALs and Delta Force servicemen in the US Army. Luke has seen enough active war zones to last most men a lifetime. Instead of retiring, however, and talking about his exploits on some bro-heroes podcast, he went straight from the SAS into private contracting for Mak and just carried on being a warrior—only for a much bigger paycheck.

I’ve fought beside a lot of hard men, from Miami to Spain and back again. When Roman first becamepakhanof the Stevanovsky clan, we were in the middle of a war. It was nothing but bullets and bombs for years. But even the hardest men I met during that time have nothing on Luke Macarthur, not something I’d say for many men, and even less for those outside the bratva.

Except now you’re out of the bratva too, Dimitry.

Oddly, that doesn’t bother me. Not even after the hellishly long flight and the hard phone call with Roman.

All I can think about is finding Abby.

There just isn’t any room in my soul for anything else.

An hour later we’ve left the city behind and are on the highway heading northeast, away from the sparkling jewel-green sea and stark white sand of the coast and inland across flat scrubby plains. My newly acquired clothes are soaking in a tub in the back of the Land Cruiser, absorbing an ugly mixture of seawater and red dirt, which Luke assures me will give my new clothes the right character.

“Tell me again what the plan is,” I say as we drive. “You’ve got a contact up north who might know something, you said?”

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