Page 72 of Sin Wager
"Stable block C. She's got two men with her, but they're trying to blend in with the crowd." Rolan's eyes flick between us. "If we move now, we can corner her before she realizes we're on to her operation."
"Give me two minutes to change clothes." Misha heads toward a small closet where he keeps spare shirts. "Position men at the exits. I don't want her slipping away when she sees us coming."
"Already done." Rolan nods toward me. "What about her?"
"She stays here." Misha pulls a dry shirt over his head. "Gregor and Thom will watch the office."
"Like hell I'm staying here." I step forward, ignoring the warning look Misha shoots me. "Sonya knows me. She trusts me. If I'm there, she won't suspect a trap until it's too late."
"We already discussed this," Misha says through gritted teeth.
"No, you made a unilateral decision after I got you to admit your feelings. That's not the same as a discussion." I turn to Rolan. "Tell him I'm right. Tell him that having me there gives you the advantage."
Rolan looks between us with the expression of a man who wants to be anywhere else. "She has a point, Uncle. Sonya might run if she sees us coming without her usual contact."
"See?" I cross my arms and give Misha a challenging look. "Your own nephew agrees with me."
Misha's eyes burn with fury, but I can see him weighing the tactical advantages. His love for me wars with his strategic mind, and I hold my breath waiting to see which side wins.
"If you come," he says finally, his voice deadly quiet, "you do exactly what I tell you. No improvisation. No heroics. You draw her out, and then you get behind cover while we handle the rest."
"Deal." The word comes out too quickly, and I see suspicion flicker across his face.
"I mean it, Vera. One step out of line, and I'll have you dragged back here in handcuffs."
"I understand." And I do understand, even if I don't necessarily agree with all the terms.
Rolan clears his throat. "We need to move. The afternoon races start in ten minutes, and the crowds are getting thicker."
Misha checks his gun, sliding it back into the shoulder holster hidden beneath his jacket. The movement is smooth andautomatic. It's a reminder of the violence that lives beneath his expensive clothes.
"Ready?" he asks, his eyes finding mine.
I nod, my pulse quickening with anticipation and fear. "Ready."
As we head toward the door, Misha catches my arm with a gentle grip. "Remember what you promised me."
"I remember." I rise up on my toes and press a quick kiss to his mouth. "I love you too, you know."
His expression softens for just a moment before hardening back into the mask he wears for the world. "Let's go catch ourselves a thief."
28
MISHA
The track vibrates with thirty thousand voices raised in anticipation. Grand Stakes Day brings out everyone, from billionaire oil executives to street-level hustlers clutching crumpled bills and desperate dreams. The crowd presses against the railings three deep, their faces flushed with vodka and adrenaline as they watch the thoroughbreds parade toward the starting gate.
I stand on the mezzanine level, my radio crackling with position reports from Rolan's men scattered throughout the facility. The elevated view gives me clear sight lines across the betting floor, the grandstand sections, and the maze of service corridors that snake beneath the main structure. Vera waits behind the main betting counter, her face pale but determined as she scans the crowd for any sign of Sonya Radich.
"Target acquired, sector seven…" Gregor's voice cuts through the static. "Two companions, moving toward the premium boxes."
I lift the small binoculars and find Sonya threading through the crowd near the VIP escalators. She wears an expensive navy coat and moves with a confident stride. She actually believesshe owns the ground she walks on, and it disgusts me. Her companions flank her at careful distances, and their bulky frames suggest they carry more than good wishes beneath their jackets.
"Thom, status on the courier?" I ask quietly into my sleeve, where I have my com microphone safely pinned.
"Still positioned at betting window twelve. No movement toward the collection point yet."
The courier interests me more than Sonya herself. Igor handles the actual money transfers, which means he carries evidence that could bury half the Radich operation. His usual pattern involves collecting payouts, but today he arrived early and keeps checking his watch nervously.
