“Where else could you have gone?” J.C. shrugged. “Somehow, that boy of yours pissed off the government. This shit’s serious. I don’t think even your don will be able to protect you from the hell that’s about to rain down.”
“My ‘don’ doesn’t know about this,” Andrej informed him with a frown, “and I’d rather keep it that way, thanks. Last thing we need is the old man taking potshots at Riley. Misha’s one nudge from going postal as it is.”
Maybe Russia wasn’t such a bad idea. Or Iceland. Seemed to be a nice, peaceful sort of country, except for the occasional volcanic eruption.
Apparently, the horses were smaller than Riley was used to, but he’d simply have to deal. Also, lots of green, there. Rustic ambience. It’d be a nice change of pace. No sane person would ever search for them in Iceland.
That was when Andrej noticed a funny look on J.C.’s face. His heart plummeted. “What? What now?”
“Does your Russian friend know you went off the reservation?” J.C.
inquired quietly. “Because he very politely asked permission for your boss to be allowed into the compound and I didn’t know better so I granted it.”
Andrej blinked. “I’m gonna need that cheat sheet now, J.C.”
THIRTY-NINE
“KOLYA what?”
The hits just kept on coming. Misha might’ve been able to appreciate the irony if they had been coming at someone else. As it was, he had to struggle not to yell at the messenger. He didn’t, mostly because Andrej would’ve yelled right back. He didn’t take Misha’s shit as a matter of principle. But come on. Somebody give him a break. Misha hadn’t even had a chance yet to digest the whole alien armor system thing.
Andrej scowled. “For once, I can’t even blame him. We shouldn’t have kept him in the dark.” He glanced at Riley. It looked casual, uninterested even, but Misha didn’t miss the quick once-over or the way that keen gaze stuttered for a moment when it scanned for a goose egg and a bruise that weren’t there anymore. Goddamn it.
“Hi, Riley. Feeling better?”
Riley smiled tightly and inclined his head. “Andrej.”
Awkward was too kind a word for the situation. Misha muttered a curse under his breath and gently herded Riley toward the door before the two most important people in his life could do or say something that would annihilate the status quo.
“We gotta move. You do not want to meet Anton. Or my family.”
“You really don’t,” Andrej confirmed, agreeably enough. “They’re probably out to kill you.”
“Who isn’t?” Riley muttered, but he snatched up his duffel without a protest and headed out of the room.
“Whoa. Wait.” Misha shoved his own gun into his waistband and reached into Riley’s bag to dig out the H&K. “Ammo?”
“Right inner pocket.” Riley frowned. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are.”