Page 6 of Victor's Lethal Desire
I grab my silencer and slide that into my pocket. I take a look at myself in the rearview mirror.
I'm ready.
I open the car door and slide out, easing it shut with barely a sound. My shoes make soft clicks against the asphalt as I cross the street in a low crouch.
I move past the front door toward the side of the house where a narrow alley runs between Bogdan's property and his neighbor's fence. A security camera is mounted above a side window, its red indicator light dead. I pause beneath it, tilting my head back to examine the angle.
That's odd.
The camera points directly at this window, covering what should be a vulnerable entry point. But the light's off. No mechanical whir of tracking movement or motion sensors. Nothing.
This fucking idiot has a security system and doesn't use it.
Or maybe he's too cheap to pay the monthly monitoring fee. Either way, I'll take it.
Just as a precaution, I reach up and smash the camera housing with the butt of my gun. Pieces of plastic and glass fall, scattering on the ground. The sound is louder than I'd like, but no lights flick on.
The neighborhood doesn't react to the noise, probably assuming it's one of the stray cats in the neighborhood causing trouble, so I continue.
The window is old, the kind with a simple latch lock that anyone knows can be bypassed with a bit of pressure.
I pull a knife from my pocket and apply pressure in the middle of the window where the lock sits and push until I feel the lock separate from the latch.
The window slides up with a low groan, and when it's up, I pause and listen.
The only sound I hear is water running through the pipes to the shower upstairs.
I put my knife away, grip the window frame, grit my teeth, and jump inside.
I land in a crouch in what appears to be a laundry room. The tiles are cold beneath my palms. The room smells like fabric softener.
I straighten slowly, drawing my gun and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness inside. A washing machine sits against the wall to my left. Above it, shelves lined with detergent bottles and cleaning supplies. Ahead is a door, partially open, revealing a hallway.
The water continues running upstairs. He's in the shower now, but he won't be for long. I need to move. But I need something first.
On the drive out here from Bucharest, one of our contacts reached out and told me they managed to pull intel suggesting Bogdan kept records. Files. Possible evidence ofElena's abduction and his dealings with Cornel. Maybe even information about other operations, other buyers, other victims.
It would all be on a hard drive somewhere in this house. Probably in an office poorly hidden because men like Bogdan always underestimate how easily they can be found.
I figured since I'm in the neighborhood, I might as well grab it.
I move through the laundry room into the hallway, keeping my back to the wall. The house is dark as I pass a kitchen on my right, dishes piled in the sink, empty beer bottles on the counter. A living room on my left with an old brown couch and a huge sixty-inch flat-screen bolted to the wall.
I continue moving and find a small bathroom, but no office. So I've got to go upstairs.
I reach the base of the staircase and stop, tilting my head up toward the second floor. The bathroom light spills into the hallway up there from under the door, casting a yellow rectangle across the carpet.
I stare at it and can see the steam drifting out from beneath the door.
He's still showering.
I need to check the upstairs for an office. If I'm lucky, I can find the hard drive, grab it, and put a bullet in that motherfucker while he's still got soap in his hair and be on my way.
The easiest hit I've done to date.
I place my foot on the first step, testing it. The wood is solid, no creak. I pull out my silencer and screw it into the barrel of my gun, feeling the threads lock fully into place.
I take the second step slowly, raising the gun, aiming up the staircase at the landing above. Finger resting along the trigger guard, breathing slow and controlled.
