Page 44 of Locked and Loaded

Dragan snapped back into focus. “What? When? How?”

“Their bodies were found floating in the Mediterranean off the coast of Spain, Marbella, specifically, about two hours ago. The police are still on the scene, but my source says the couple had a screaming match that led to a physical fight where she stabbed him and then he shot her before he died. The captain and crew all tell the same story. She was killed instantly, but they apparently tried to save him.”

Dragan’s stomach tightened. Was it a possibility that it happened like that? Maybe. Was it likely? No. He didn’t think so.

“Are you still there?” Mick asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Dragan responded. “Just thinking.”

“Well, here’s more to think about. The name of the first mate who witnessed the whole thing and tried to save Rostov? Olavi Korhonen. I just sent you a picture of Korhonen.”

Dragan’s phone pinged. He brought up the picture. “Shit.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely Olavi Virtanen, the contract killer that you asked me about earlier. I gotta say, that was fast. He went from the hotel to a yacht off Marbella in record time. Not sure how he managed that.

Dragan briefly wondered the same thing. “Helicopter to the yacht. Brought Katya and Rostov with them and then killed them on board. Wouldn’t take more than two and a half hours to get to the yacht. Kill them and set the scene. Another hour at most, then wait for the cops to show. They had the time. What’s more impressive, and much more frightening, is that they have enough staff to lie for them and tell the same story with enough conviction that the police believe it without question.”

“Scary, isn’t it?” Mick commented. “Half the staff say they were asleep and the other half back up the first mate. Apparently Rostov has rented that yacht several times, and they are all very familiar with the couple. The staff says their relationship was volatile at best. No one is surprised. They’re all just sorry it happened.”

“I bet.” Dragan ran a hand through his hair. “The scale of this…the lies that they have to put in place…”

“Agreed,” Mick said. “There’s already pressure from higher-ups in the police department to cover it up. Rostov is too big of a name. They don’t want the negative attention. The story that I’m hearing they’re going to go with is that the couple were sitting with their feet in the water on the hydraulic swim platform at the back of the yacht. They’d been drinking all night, and they fell off and drowned before anyone could save them.”

“Just another too-rich couple being stupid,” Dragan confirmed. “Yeah, that plays. No one will cry over their deaths or demand anybody dig into it further.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Thanks, Mick. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Dragan was about to end the call when Mick said, “Look, I don’t really know what you’re into over there, but keep one eye on your six at all times. This business is nasty, the likes of which I haven’t seen in a long while. It could all go south in a blink of an eye. Stay alert.”

Dragan was surprised by the other man’s words but appreciated them. It also proved to him that Mick was more than the computer geek he pretended to be. “On it, but thanks for the warning.”

He clicked off the call and sank against his chair. This changed nothing, he realized. He might be able to frighten Lennox with the news, but more likely she would just feel guilty because she’d dragged Katya into whatever this mess was. For now, it was better to keep this bit of news to himself.

He closed the laptop.

He needed to talk to Lennox. He needed to impress upon her the gravity of the situation.

He stood, pocketed the key, the iron warm from sitting on the desk, and stepped out of the office into the courtyard. The morning light was full now, pouring down through the open square of sky above the riad, catching the mosaic floor in a blaze of blue and green and white. The pool shimmered. The palm fronds rustled softly. The carved wooden doors stood closed on all sides, silent and ancient and indifferent.

He crossed the courtyard to the stairs and climbed to the upper gallery. The worn stone banister was cool under his hand. At the top, he turned left and stopped at the third door.

He knocked on it and then pushed it open.

Lennox was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in the same blue sundress from last night, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked up at him with eyes that were sharp and wary and already calculating. She'd been awake for a while.

"Breakfast?" he said.

"Information," she shot back.

He almost smiled. Almost. "Both," he said. "Kitchen. Ten minutes." Then he turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving the door open behind him.

There was one thing he knew; Lennox was a pawn in a very dangerous game, and the pawns all seemed to get killed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN