Page 75 of Lethal Obsession

“Not exactly.” He gives me an annoyingly cryptic smile. “But we’ll get to that. Before we do”—he pulls a heavy-looking telephone out of his jacket pocket—“your friend Renata needs to talk with you, and she didn’t want the conversation overheard.”

“Renata?” I frown. “How do you know about her?”

Mak lifts a shoulder. “I know people.”

I shake my head. Fucking Mak. “Are there any pies you don’t have a finger in, Tereschenko?”

He gives me a bland smile. “Very few, Petrovsky, and none worth eating.” He hands me the phone. “It’s secure, obviously. She’s expecting your call—just hit number one on speed dial.”

“You do realize I have my own secure line?”

“Ah.” His smile doesn’t change in the slightest. “But mine is always better.”

Unfortunately, knowing Mak’s access to top-level military hardware, he’s probably fucking right.

Walking to the railing on the edge of the deck, I hit the number.

Renata answers on the first ring. “We’ve got a problem,” she says without preamble.

“Just the one?”

“It’s big enough on its own, believe me.” Her tone doesn’t match my levity, so I drop it.

“I’m listening.”

“It seems the FBI have lost interest in our congressman. And when I say lost interest, Lex, I mean they’ve done a complete one-eighty. A week ago I cleaned up that recording so that Hunter’s voice could be clearly heard ordering the hit on Watkins. Took it to the FBI—and guess what?”

“It disappeared.”

“Bingo.”

Owens.

Somehow, I’m not surprised. But until I know more, I still don’t want to mention that particular name to Renata. If—or rather, when—Owens ends up in the swamp, the less she knows, the better.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince. “No recording means no charges against me. I come home, and it’s business as usual.”

And technically, I should be happy about that.

Except I’m not.

I stare over the glittering water at the low blur of the Spanish coastline. My lack of enthusiasm has nothing to do with leaving behind the beautiful view, any more than it does with facing John Owens, congressmen, or the FBI.

It has everything to do with Ofelia Borovsky, who is so fucking close right now I can almost taste her rose-scented skin.

“You’re missing the point, Lex,” Renata is saying on the other end of the line. “Hunter isn’t just off the hook with law enforcement. He’s back in the political game—only this time, it’s not the midterms he’s running for. It’s governor.”

“What the fuck?” Suddenly she has my full attention. “One minute Hunter is headed for prison, and the next he’s running for governor? Even if his own party will swallow it, the Luccheses aren’t going to back a traitor, any more than the Cardeñas cartel will.”

“Except there are no Luccheses left in Miami.” Renata’s voice is tight. “All three senior members of the family were found in the Everglades yesterday. Or at least parts of them were.” She pauses. “The bodies were all headless.”

John Owens smiling blandly across the airport table: “We’d also like you to give your backing to Mr. Hunter and persuade your friends, such as the Luccheses, to do the same . . .”

It seems the Luccheses were just as emphatic in declining Owens’s offer as I was.

And headless bodies are Kiril Novikov’s fucking MO.

Owens and Kiril working together is the kind of headache I really don’t fucking need.