He assessed the club within seconds; five booths were occupied, but the scarred, good-looking blond man in the back sitting with an illegal Russian—Sean could tell simply by how she responded to a stranger walking in—was Sergey Yuran.
There were four bodyguards in the room at every entrance and one next to Yuran. Overkill, in Sean’s opinion, but it would give Yuran the sense of complete control in any situation because he had multiple shields. It also told Sean that Yuran was paranoid. He tucked that tidbit away for future use as he approached the largest of the four and handed him a business card. “Sean Rogan to see Mr. Yuran.”
The bodyguard told him to stay, and Sean obeyed. Now wasn’t the time for sudden movements or disagreements.
He didn’t make any pretenses of ignoring the exchange, but watched the bodyguard approach Sergey Yuran and hand him Sean’s business card. Yuran had a poker face, but his feet gave him away. They went from crossed at the ankles to flat-footed under the table. No other part of his body registered a reaction. He spoke low, in Russian, and the bodyguard returned.
“Mr. Yuran asked if you have a death wish.”
“No sir, I do not.” He didn’t elaborate, and instead waited for the bodyguard to ask the next question.
“What business do you have with Mr. Yuran?”
“Personal,” Sean said.
The bodyguard stared and didn’t move. This game could go on all day, and usually Sean would enjoy the challenge, but he didn’t have the time.
“I want to know if Mr. Yuran had Roger Morton killed last Friday night. If so, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him. If not, I’d like to know who did, so I can shake their hand.”
His blunt response had the bodyguard show a rare, albeit brief, look of surprise. He left Sean again, though two guards moved in to flank him.
When the big guy returned, he ordered Sean to turn around and submit to a search. Sean complied. He wouldn’t get near Sergey Yuran with a weapon. “As long as I get them back,” he said.
“If you live, you will,” Big Guy said.
Fair enough.
Sean was relieved of his .45 and his backup .22. When the guy was done, Sean said loud enough for Yuran to hear, “You missed the H&K blade. Inside right pocket of the jacket.”
He couldn’t help himself, but it cost him. He was searched again, then a fist connected with his right kidney. He winced and closed his eyes a moment for the pain to pass.
The bodyguard led Sean to Yuran’s table. The Russian girl was gone. Whatever papers Yuran had been reading had also disappeared.
“You have balls, Mr. Rogan,” Yuran said in a heavy but understandable Russian accent. Sean knew it was fake. Yuran was Russian, but he’d been born and bred in the U.S.A.
“So I’ve been told.” He didn’t sit until the bodyguard motioned for him to do so. When he did, the guard moved to prevent him from suddenly leaving.
“Do you know who I am?”
“More or less.”
Yuran said, “Your brother put a hit out on me ten years ago.”
“You must have come to an agreement. You’re still alive.”
Sean had no idea which brother Sergey Yuran was talking about. It could have been Liam, since Liam was in Europe, but Liam wouldn’t have put out the hit. He’d most likely have killed Sergey himself, if he felt strongly about it, but Liam didn’t feel strongly about much of anything. He didn’t see Duke putting a hit out on anyone, even a cold criminal like Yuran, but Duke had surprised him in the past. Kane? The most likely.
But Sean didn’t ask. He knew whom to get the answer from later.
“Why do you come to speak to me?”
“Roger Morton was killed last week in Alexandria. Friday night, around midnight, take or leave.”
“If I had killed Mr. Morton, there would be no body to find.”
“I have no doubt. I didn’t think you killed him. He was in D.C. to meet with someone regarding a special business opportunity, similar to the business he ran with his dead partner, Adam Scott. You might know him as Trask.”
Sergey laughed heartily. “Ahh, Trask. He let women control him. Just because you kill a woman doesn’t make you a man. I suppose it was—what do those God people say? Divine providence? Fate?—that had one of his girls killing him in cold blood.”
Sean had to use every ounce of control not to react to Yuran calling Lucy one of Scott’s “girls.” Whether Yuran knew anything about Lucy or not, Sean didn’t know, but he didn’t want her on his radar. Yuran was watching Sean like a hawk while pretending to be more interested in the scantily clad female bartender working behind the bar.
“Why you come to me?” Yuran asked, sipping his drink. “Why risk your life? I could kill you and no one would find your body. It would be extremely satisfactory to send your head overseas.”
It had been Liam. What was he up to? Ten years ago? But that was a story for another day, because Sean had to focus on finding Morton’s killer and making sure that Lucy wasn’t in danger.
“Your name popped up as a former associate of Trask Enterprises. I’m not interested in your business. I’m only interested in finding out who Morton was meeting in D.C.”
Yuran was quiet, assessing Sean with a blatant interest, running through every possible scenario in his head. Sean knew because he often did the same thing.
“I have no reason to help you, Mr. Rogan.”
“Of course you do. It’ll be your good deed for the year.”
“I don’t do good deeds.”
“Might as well start now.”
He knew something. Sean felt it in his bones. Yuran stared at him for over a minute, then said, “I didn’t kill Roger. He wasn’t worth a bullet. But I did hear about a new venture. It wasn’t Roger asking, however.”
When Yuran didn’t continue, Sean barely restrained himself from prompting the Russian. There had been a subtle shift in the bodyguards behind him, but Sean didn’t feel that the threat level had been raised.
“Word came down from a scumbag named Ralston. I heard he was spreading the offer far and wide, and I don’t appreciate competing for business. I had Johan follow up—” Yuran looked at Mr. Big Guy. “What did you learn, Johan?”
“Ralston was full of shit.”
Yuran smiled. “Someone put the word out and used Ralston to do it, but when I showed interest, it dried up. Frankly, Mr. Rogan, if I may be blunt, I wanted to gut the prick for wasting my time. But I have a heart.”
Sean smiled and Yuran smiled back. Coldly.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Yuran.”
He stood. Big Guy didn’t budge until Yuran nodded so faintly Sean almost missed it.
“Mr. Rogan.”
Sean turned back to the trafficker.
“Tell your brother Liam I haven’t forgotten.”
A chill ran up Sean’s spine. He gave Yuran a faint nod, then retrieved his weapons.
When he reached the door, Yuran said, “The only reason you’re alive is because I know you haven’t seen your brother in fifteen years. Make it another fifteen.”
* * *
Lucy met Cody at the Starbucks on M Street during his lunch break.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down as soon as he saw her.
“I need to talk to you about Brad Prenter’s murder.”
He stared at her with cop eyes, assessing, curious, and a bit worried. “You saw the paper.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know until this morning.”
“Did you know he was shot four times? Three times in the abdomen and once in the back of the head?”
He straightened. “How do you know that? It wasn’t released—” He caught himself. “You went to the morgue.”
“I read the autopsy report.”
“Why on earth would you do that? You could have asked me.”