It was useless to keep arguing on a personal level; experience had taught Misha that his only chance lay in citing business reasons.

“Even if I wanted to come—which I don’t—I can’t.” He looked back at the map, wondering how far Riley had run in the time Misha had wasted in disagreement. “I told you about the situation down here. It’s not resolved yet, but we’ve got a new lead. Another week, maybe two. We’ll talk about the party then.”

“Ah, yes,” Vasiliy rumbled, disapproval heavy in his tone. “That sooka{7} of yours who ran away with your hard drive.”

“Flash drive,” Misha corrected automatically. He didn’t defend Riley’s honor mostly because the insult was meant to provoke him and Misha wasn’t about to fall for such an uninspired ploy, but also because calling Riley Cooper a bitch was so damn ridiculous it simply didn’t deserve a reaction. “We’ve been over this, Papa.” More than once, actually, but Misha was used to repeating himself. His father could be remarkably passive-aggressive when he chose to be. Anything he didn’t want to hear, he tended to forget. Of course, Misha never hesitated to remind him. “Riley was in a hurry, he took my bag, the damn flash drive was in the inside pocket. It’s encoded; he can’t do anything with it, but I can’t let him run around with that kind of data in his possession. So I’m sorry, but this is important. I’m not flying into New York until it’s resolved. You taught me better than that.”

“I understand,” Vasiliy said, and Misha would’ve relaxed had he not smelled a “but” coming. “It is a good thing you are so… diligent… in this matter. I respect that.”

But….

“But your mother has been working very hard to organize this party, Misha. She deserves to have it. She will have it. This data thing must be back in your possession by Friday so you will be able to attend.”

“Three days?” Misha protested, tensing. “That’s not enough time to

—”

“If you don’t have enough manpower, I can send Anton and his men,”

Vasiliy interrupted. It sounded like a sincere offer. It was. It was also a

serious threat to Riley’s life and Misha’s authority.

“That won’t be necessary.” Misha realized he was crumpling the Texas map in his fist and let go of it with an effort. “I clean up my own messes.”

“Glad to hear it,” his father said, pleased. “We’ll see you Friday. Be there in time for lunch. We’ll discuss the details then.”

Misha’s mouth tightened rebelliously, but he swallowed down his anger and didn’t argue again. “I’ll call you when I have the flash drive,” he replied, dodging the issue. “Tell Mama I said hi, okay?”

“Friday,” Vasiliy repeated, a note of warning ringing through.

“Friday,” Misha confirmed reluctantly. “Bye, Papa.”

“Take care, son.”

And then there was blessed silence.