Hunting Human Page 3

  Braden glanced through the folder. “Any calls this morning?”

  “None so far. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not right now. Thank you, Shirley,” he said as he unlocked the door to his office.

  “You’re in late this morning.”

  Braden spun, adrenaline pulsing through his system, tightening his body and honing his senses. “Christ, Chase. You damned near gave me a heart attack.” Braden sank into the chair at his desk, willing his muscles to uncoil, blinking against the suddenly harsh fluorescent lighting. “Asshole.”

  “Way to use those killer instincts.” A wide, toothy grin accompanied Chase across the room, where he sprawled in one of the leather club chairs opposite the desk. He was utterly relaxed in a worn pair of jeans, navy blue sweatshirt, and sneakers that had seen too much action. But he looked good—whole and healthy.

  “How’d you get past Shirley?” Braden asked.

  “The woman gets her coffee at the same time every morning. She probably schedules time to take a piss.” The humor slipped from Chase’s face and his dark blue eyes tightened. “You should be more concerned that I slipped past you.”

  Braden sighed. Chase had spent so much of his childhood surviving solely on his instincts that he’d never learned to fully relax them. Still, he should have noticed Chase was in his office from the moment he opened the door.

  “I guess you didn’t register as a threat.”

  Chase’s grin issued a challenge.

  Braden ignored the invitation. “We missed you last week. Mom was really hoping you’d make it for Dad’s birthday.”

  Chase ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. “I know. I meant to. Did your dad get the steaks I sent him?”

  “Our dad, Chase. He’s been your father for more than a decade.” Braden wanted to push the point further; Chase was his brother, even if bloodlines said differently. But his expression was closed and his posture defensive.

  Not the time for this argument.

  “He got them. We went out back, enjoyed a few cold ones and had a cookout on the built-in grill Mom had installed last Christmas. The steaks were great. Must have cost you a small fortune.”

  “I’m glad he enjoyed them.” Chase paused, then quietly added, “I wanted to be there.” His gaze wandered past Braden and fixed on the window.

  “He understood.”

  Chase turned back to Braden, quietly assessing the truth of the statement. “I got a last-minute call. I didn’t think it could wait.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  Chase stood and removed a folded envelope from his back pocket. Withdrawing a grainy photograph, he smoothed out the creases and placed it on the desk.

  Markko Bolvek.

  Shit.

  Alarm and excitement raced through him. “When was this taken?”

  “Six days ago, we caught him coming into Seattle-Tacoma International. He flew in with an American passport.” Chase gripped the edge of the desk. “I did some checking. He’s entered the U.S. under the same name four times in the last six months, always through a major city on the West Coast.”

  “Do we know why he’s in Seattle?” Braden asked, continuing to study the grainy image.

  “He’s not in Seattle. He was gone by the time I got there.” Chase pushed away from the desk. “It took a while to track him down; he was careful. Used cash for everything. Thank God he’s habitual. It didn’t take long to find a hooker who recognized him.”

  “Is it too much to hope he’s chatty after sex?”

  Chase snorted and shook his head. “But fifty bucks got us the location of his hotel. He checked out before I got there. He was there less than 48 hours.”

  “Security cameras in the parking lot?”

  “No. Just behind the desk. The clerk said he paid and got directions for I-5 South.”

  “You think he’s coming here.” It wasn’t a question. Chase wouldn’t be so agitated if he wasn’t sure there was a threat.

  “It’s a guess. Something’s got him coming in and out of the U.S.”

  “How did we get a hold of this picture in the first place?” Braden pushed the picture back to Chase.

  “There’s been some activity in Europe—we were looking for him. One of our informants tipped us off that Markko has been moving in and out of the West Coast lately.”

  “But why?” Braden swiveled back and forth in his chair, trying to piece together a reason Markko would risk an appearance in Portland.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. The Bolvek family is getting bolder. We think Markko’s making some decisions outside his father’s knowledge.” Chase lifted the photo from the desk and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  “That could work to our advantage. Markko’s vicious but he’s not as smart as his father. It could be an opportunity to wipe them out completely.”

  “That’s the thought. But until we know what Markko’s doing here, you need to watch your back.” Chase cast him a heavy look.

  “I will. I doubt he’d risk making any direct contact with me anyway.”

  “Even so. Until we know what he wants, he’s dangerous.” Chase paused, his brow creasing. “You’ll talk to your parents and Lucy? I saw Caleb this morning.”

  Braden sighed. “Of course. But you should call them, or stop by. They miss you.”

  “I will. But right now I’ve got to track down Markko, figure out what he’s doing here.” Chase moved away from the desk. “If you pick up on anything, give me a call.”

  Braden followed his brother to the door, placing his hand against the solid wood so that Chase couldn’t open it. “Where are you crashing?”

  Chase shrugged.

  “Dammit, Chase. We’ve had this conversation. I don’t like you staying on the streets. It’s dangerous. What if someone sees you?” Braden applied more pressure to the door in frustration.

  “It’ll be easier to track him if I’m out on the streets. The sooner I find him the better.” Chase reached for the doorknob again. “We need to know what he’s doing here, Braden.”

  “Fine. But I want you to take a key to my place. You have to sleep eventually.”

  Chase sighed. “I have one.”

  “Make sure you use it.” Braden studied Chase’s face closely. “I mean it. If you don’t stop by every couple of days to eat, sleep, whatever, I’ll get Dad on your ass.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m not kidding. If that doesn’t work, I’ll call Mom.” The fussing would drive him nuts.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “If I’m not there, leave a note.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom. Where are you planning to be anyway? Got a girl on the side?”

  “Not yet.” With a wide grin Braden removed his hand, allowing Chase to open the door.

  Braden shut the door on Chase’s response. “You mean not likely.”

  Chapter Four

  Markko rolled over, pulling out of the whore beneath him, her pitiful whimper the only indication she was conscious. It was her own fault. He’d flashed some bills and she’d followed him to a room, eager to score some quick cash. She was in no position to complain—he’d paid her price. It was more than she deserved. No amount of his coaxing had convinced her to rise to the challenge. Oh, she’d pleaded and begged, and finally screamed so he had to push her face into a pillow to keep from drawing attention; but there was no real fight in her. The fatal flaw in whores; they were already resigned to their fate.

  The pathetic bitch whimpered again as she started to rise. Boredom and disappointment pushed him to shove her the rest of the way off the bed. He longed for home and the freedom to do as he pleased.

  He swung his long body over the edge of the bed, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. He flipped open the lighter and ignited the paper and tobacco. Soft cries echoed through the dark as the whore collected her clothes.

  Pathetic.

  A deep drag and a satisfying rush o
f nicotine hit him. It was enough to keep him on the bed. Barely. He couldn’t risk the attention a dead prostitute would generate. He’d learned that lesson in San Francisco.

  He took another drag, lazily blowing smoke into the darkness. Back home he’d have kept his hands wrapped around her neck as he’d pistoned in and out of her. He would have gloried in knowing the last thing she ever felt was his absolute ownership. Or, if the mood struck, he could have toyed with her for hours, days, if he had the time and patience. The terror of impending death could be almost as stimulating as the vicious fight for life. His dick began filling again just thinking about the possibilities.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked the whore’s movements. Her hands shook as she pulled her shirt over her head, wincing as it brushed against skin. She clutched her shoes to her chest, scanning the room warily for her purse and hesitated when she spotted it on the nightstand.

  If she came back to the bed, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  She left the bag and escaped into the parking lot. Apparently she thought her life was worth more than the five twenties she left behind. Not likely. But just as well—he wasn’t here for her. He lit a new cigarette with the embers of the old one. He wanted the bitch that killed his brother; wanted her on all fours, begging and pleading. Wanted her badly enough to defy his father. His father who’d ordered him to forget about Ivan, abandon his revenge.

  The old bastard still believes he controls me. He barely controls the pack.

  His father’s authority no longer went unquestioned. The Bolvek name no longer held the same power. Inspired the same fear. The raids on their territories and the continuing interference in their businesses over the last decade had destroyed far more than wealth and numbers.

  Power was shifting. Even now, whispers of his father’s strength grew and traveled. Instigating doubt. Inviting challenge. Three assassination attempts in the last eighteen months. All failures. The most recent he’d dispatched himself.

  He stamped out his cigarette against the headboard. His father’s time wasn’t at an end. Not yet.

  Not until I’m ready.

  Soon enough he’d step in. Terminate his father’s reign. It was the cycle of things. Natural for the younger to supplant the elder. The strong to dispatch the weak. He knew it. His father knew it. In time, Markko would wage war against his father’s rule. Restore the fear of the Bolvek name.

  But not yet. First, he had a score to settle. He’d have the bitch responsible for Ivan’s death. With patience and skill, he’d reduce her to little more than a mindless animal. Only then would he allow her to die.

  An eye for an eye, bitch.

  Chapter Five

  “Chai latte for Michelle!” Beth secured the lid and pushed the to go cup across the bar.

  “Take a break.”

  Rolling her shoulders, Beth glanced over the bar at Angie. “I’m fine.” She flashed a smile to back up her statement. Mornings were always hectic and to top it off they were short staffed and one of their espresso machines was on the fritz. In less than thirty minutes, the lunch crowd would start rolling in.

  “I didn’t ask if you were fine. You’ve been on your feet all morning, so take a break.”

  Beth glanced around the café there was definitely a lull. A break now would probably be a good idea. “Alright. You win. I’ll bus the empty tables and grab a snack.”

  She pulled a bin from under the counter, then moved around the bar, intending to slide past Angie. Angie, as usual, was two steps ahead. She stepped directly into Beth’s path, a warning glare cutting through her glasses.

  “Take. A. Break.” Angie got two well-manicured hands on the side of the tub and gave a fierce yank. “I’ll take care of this.” When Beth didn’t immediately let go, Angie’s eyes flashed and her lips went white and thin, her fingers curling like claws into the tub. The message was clear: lose the tub or lose your hands.

  Beth had realized within the first week of working for Angie that it was best to pick her battles. This one had loser written all over it. “Okay, okay.” She let Angie yank the tub away from her. “There are a couple of open tables outside. I’ll be back in fifteen.” Beth untied her apron as she walked toward the kitchen.

  “You’ll be back in five.” Angie helpfully supplied. “The sky’s going to let loose any minute.”

  “What?” Beth craned her neck around the corner to glance out the back window. A huge storm was rapidly devouring the sky behind the café while the sun still streaming through the front windows was completely deceiving.

  Beth swallowed several creative curses, grabbed her keys out of her locker and rushed for the back door. “I left the top down on my Jeep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Angie’s shout of “Take your time” barely registered as she hit the sidewalk at a run.

  ***

  Braden was several blocks from the café when the first fat raindrop hit the pavement in front of him. Cursing, he shoved his paper between his teeth, freeing up a hand to open the umbrella he’d grabbed on the way out of his loft. The air was heavy with the crisp, fresh scent that permeates the atmosphere just before a good soaker. With any luck he’d make it to Angie’s before it really let loose.

  Braden spared a quick glance for any traffic before stepping into the street rather than waiting for the light. Halfway through the intersection his attention snapped to a woman in the parking lot across from him. It took less than a heartbeat to recognize her.

  Braden watched for a moment as Beth struggled with the soft top of her Jeep. This opportunity was too good to pass up. He had stopped into the café a couple of times in the last few days, and mysteriously, he always seemed to miss Beth. He suspected Angie was running interference. It was hardly a deterrent—his curiosity grew every time Angie tried to shut him out. Coupled with the hyperactive awareness he felt the first time he met Beth, it was too much to resist. He had to know her.

  His dimples flashed, a predatory smile crossing his face.

  Perfect timing.

  Beth looked like she could use an extra set of hands and Angie wasn’t here to meddle. Can’t be everywhere, can you, Ange? Braden strode confidently into the public lot and right into the largest pothole on the planet. Angie’s laughter rang in his ears.

  “Perfect.” He pulled his leg from the hole and examined the damage. Muddy water stained his khaki pants halfway to his knee and his left shoe was completely soaked through; his sock already clinging to his skin. He could only imagine the picture he presented. Undaunted, he shook out his pant leg and shrugged off the blow to his ego. A little water wouldn’t kill him.

  She had her back to him as he approached, struggling to clamp down the top of her Jeep. He was still ten yards away when his senses fired. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise, his vision became sharper. Beyond his control, his nostrils flared, straining for the moment her scent would rush through him. It was one of the strangest experiences of his life—and one of the most potent. Every muscle, every sense, every single cell pulled him forward.

  A few steps brought him close enough to see the raindrops in her hair dance and sparkle with every furious yank. Four more strides and she engulfed him. The scent of her mixed with the powerful, almost violent scent of lightning in the air had him salivating. The woman was a sensory feast and he hadn’t even touched her. The thought of touching her, of having her naked beneath him sent a rush of heat through him, finally coiling low in his gut. Braden clenched and relaxed his fingers. He’d never felt like this, so out of control, so animalistic.

  What is it about this woman?

  Determined to find out, he closed the remaining distance between them and maneuvered his umbrella until she had some protection from the steadily increasing rain.

  “Can I help?” His body tight with anticipation, his words came out rough as ground gravel.

  He was close enough to hear her breathy gasp of surprise. And close enough he couldn’t avoid the elbow she plowed directly into his s
olar plexus.

  Braden staggered, gasping for breath as she spun to face him. Her face flooded pink the moment recognition dawned in her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s fine,” he wheezed. At least the blow to the gut helped get his raging libido under control. “You’ve got one pointy elbow.”

  “Really, I’m very sorry.” Beth reached out to lay a hand on his forearm, but pulled back at the last second. “You spooked me.”

  “It’s alright.” Braden sent her a quick grin that was still half grimace and shoved his umbrella into her hands. “Let’s get the rest of this covered before it starts to pour.”

  Beth stepped aside, switching places with Braden. “Be careful, the top’s really stiff.” She watched fascinated as he planted one leg inside the Jeep and got a firm hold on the top. He had to bend a bit at the hips to get the right amount of leverage. As he pulled the top forward, well-defined muscles bunched and stretched across his back. Her mouth went dry as she let her gaze wander down to a firm backside and long, lean legs. He had the lines of an athlete—broad shoulders over narrow hips, lean muscle broadcasting a powerful grace.

  “Gotcha!”

  Beth snapped her head up, her face coloring in embarrassment. Thankfully, Braden was focused on zipping up the windows. Lightning splintered the sky and a long roll of thunder raced in behind it. Seconds later, as though the lightning had torn a seam in the clouds, the rain began in earnest, falling in heavy sheets of gray. Dashing around the side, Beth tossed the umbrella into the backseat and began furiously zipping up the passenger side window. In the half minute it took to get the window up and throw the door open she was soaked.

  “Get in, quick!” The words were barely out of her mouth before Braden was settling into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed. The silence that settled thick and heavy between them drowned out the furious sheets of rain.

  “I guess we aren’t going anywhere soon.” He slid his seat back and turned his dimple-infused smile on her. “It’s really coming down out there. You’ll drown before you make it back to Angie’s.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “Unless you’re done for the day? In which case, I’m at your mercy.” His brown eyes, warm and friendly, settled on her face. “Don’t toss me out.”