Kolya sounded deeply satisfied, but there was something else in his tone that told Misha there was more to come. Kolya didn’t come out with it immediately, though. He was moving around, breathing carefully,

apparently dividing his attention between whatever he was doing and the man sitting on tenterhooks at the other end of the line.

Misha waited, grinding his teeth. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Kolya was being difficult in order to bug the hell out of others or because it was simply his nature.

A nudge from the left made Misha glance at Andrej.

“Well?” Andrej mouthed.

Wait, Misha signaled.

Andrej’s eyes narrowed. He held out his hand and waggled his fingers, wordlessly demanding conversation time with Kolya.

Remembering the last time he’d let the two of them tangle, Misha shook his head and made sure to keep the phone out of reach.

“Where are you?” Kolya asked at last, still sounding distracted.

“Heading west on the I-10,” Misha told him. “What’s going on?”

“He’s checking out,” Kolya explained. “Don’t know where he’s going yet. Want me to detain him or follow?”

Misha hesitated. It would’ve been easier to tell Kolya to move in on Riley, make sure he stayed put and didn’t disappear again. The problem was that Kolya wasn’t trained to be careful with the people he kidnapped. And Misha could order him to handle Riley with kid gloves all he wanted, but Riley wasn’t going to come quietly. He’d run if he could, fight if cornered.

To sic Kolya on Riley meant to risk Riley getting hurt. Riley in pain wasn’t likely to listen favorably to the man he’d rightly suspect to be responsible for his predicament.

“Follow him,” Misha said. “We’ll be there—” he glanced at Andrej, who murmured an estimate, “—in about half an hour. Keep me updated.”

He snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. His fingers stroked restlessly down his side, smoothing a wrinkle in the expensive material of his jacket. It didn’t quite hang right, having been tailored to accommodate concealed weapons. Most of Misha’s clothes were cut this way because he usually carried at least one firearm on his person. He’d tried to break the habit when he’d been with Riley, but his body still felt unbalanced without the familiar weight.

Misha cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that was creeping back in along with the growing lump of anticipation in his gut. This was a peace mission if there had ever been one, but damn if it didn’t feel like they were about to waltz into a war.

“You expecting a shootout or something?” Andrej asked. “I haven’t seen you this antsy since Boston.”