“No, it isn’t, but it would be worth popping a few stitches.” Her icy gaze never left Navarre. “So what do you say, sport? It would make my day to teach you a lesson in humility.”
“That’s enough!” Patience exhausted, Jackson’s voice thundered with the same authority he used back in the day to dress down lower-ranked soldiers. They were going to be royally pissed off at him, but at the moment he didn’t give a fuck. “We got more important shit to deal with than whatever the hell this is you two got going on.” He glared at his roommate. “That mafia princess she’s trying to keep alive is Austin Flint’s wife, so Essie stays until this shit is over. And no gloating out of you,” he snapped at Essie. “You’re both going to act like goddamn adults while you’re living under the same roof. Do I make myself fucking clear?”
Chapter 11
Essie stayed ANGRY forthe better part of two days. Not at Jackson, or even Navarre—who she still considered a raging jackass—but with herself for allowing her emotions to get the better of her. That kind of crap could threaten an entire operation and get good people killed. Going forward, for the sake of Nina Flint and everyone around her, she’d keep those feelings locked in a dark, deep hole where they belonged.
“You’re making my job too easy,” said Phoebe, a sketch artist who worked with a number of law enforcement agencies in the area. A tall, willowy redhead dressed in all black, she’d come to Six Points as a favor for one of the Flint brothers to create composite sketches of Vaughn Yeager and Rudolph Bazarov. The drawing she’d created of Vaughn was spot-on, right down to the golden fleck in his right eye and the shallow dent in his chin. Bazarov, on the other hand, was more of a challenge, because Essie hadn’t seen him in years and had to rely on old memories.
Of course, all of this could be for nothing, because both men were rather adept at disguising their appearances. Not to mention, she still had no idea who was working on Bazarov’s team. But it was all they had to work with at the moment, so they’d use it for all it was worth.
Essie studied the collection of cheekbones on Phoebe’s laptop screen and pointed to the one that looked like the closest match for the Russian mercenary. “This one right here. He probably has a puncture wound scar on his left cheek, an inch or so below his eye socket.”
That would be from the keys of her rental car. Gasping for air and on the verge of losing consciousness, it had taken her more than one attempt to gouge his eye. Too bad she hadn’t finished the job in that dank Warsaw alley, but at the time she’d been more concerned about getting the hell away from him.
Phoebe smiled. “That’s exactly the sort of detail I’m looking for. Are there any other facial scars or abnormalities that come to mind?”
For the next hour, they hammered out every last feature, and then Phoebe pulled it all together and finalized the sketch.
“What do you think?” she asked.
A shiver slid down Essie’s spine as she stared at the artist’s rendering. “Damn, that’s…that’s amazing.”
Phoebe practically beamed. “I’ll create a few more, working off these sketches, adding facial hair, sunglasses, hats, etc. That way you have an idea of what each man would look like if they try to alter their appearances.”
“Thank you. That would be great. Can I make a copy of these before you begin?”
“Sure, I don’t see why not.”
Copies in hand, Essie walked down the hall to Nina’s office, crossing paths with two burly guys in full tactical gear along the way. For obvious reasons, Austin was taking no chances with his wife’s safety. Heavily armed men stood guard at each possible point of entry, while cameras scanned every square inch of the business’s exterior. Anyone dumb enough to try to breach the building was in for a world of pain.
The door was open, and Essie tapped on the frame to get the other woman’s attention.
Nina peered up from the screen of her laptop, her gaze going from Essie’s face to the papers in her hand. Today she wore black pants and a red T-shirt with a picture of a flash drive and BACK THAT THING UP written beneath it. “Wow, she’s really fast.”
“And accurate.” Essie claimed the empty chair across from Nina and set both drawings on the desk. “Do these men look familiar?”
Eyes narrowed, Nina leaned forward, her forearms resting on the dark wooden desk as she studied both pictures. “I wish I could say yes, but no.”
“The man on your right is Vaughn Yeager. He was your waiter at the Thai restaurant.”
“He was?” Shock registered on Nina’s face. “That was…I mean…I wasn’t really paying attention that day. We eat there all the time. I didn’t even think for one second that somebody would—”
“It’s okay.” Essie cut her off. “You were in a familiar setting, and you had no way of knowing you were being targeted. Under those circumstances, it’s perfectly normal not to be at a heightened state of alert.”
The frown lines on Nina’s forehead deepened. “That’s all well and good, but it could have gotten me and my husband killed.”
“It didn’t, so stop beating yourself up.” Essie tapped the picture of Bazarov with her index finger. “This is Rudolph Bazarov. He used to be an operative for the Russian Federation, but these days he’s mostly working as a free agent. Phoebe drew him with two good eyes, but the left eye may be prosthetic or missing altogether, or he may wear an eye patch. I can’t say for sure.”
Clearly intrigued, Nina’s focus remained on the drawing. “What happened to his eye?”
“We had an altercation some years ago.”
Nina glanced up, her pale eyebrows nearly raised to her hairline. “You kicked his ass?”
“No, he almost killed me. If I hadn’t gotten a lucky shot in, he would have succeeded.” Even now, there were times when she felt the echo of Bazarov’s hands crushing her windpipe. That was the closest she’d ever come to dying. The next time their paths crossed, she might not be so fortunate.
Over the past two days, she’d contacted more than a dozen of her former associates in search of information about Bazarov’s activities since their last encounter. From what she’d gathered, he’d been a busy boy, leaving a trail of confirmed kills across Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Why he’d chosen to expand his operations into the United States was anybody’s guess.
