Archer perked right up and glanced at his watch. "It's a bit late."
"It's never too late for what I have in mind."
Yuri tried not to imagine what shenanigans those two were about to get into this late at night. Instead, he shook their hands, thanked them profusely and promised a favor in return. Mikhail and Tari finished their drinks a few minutes after Niels and Archer departed.
"We should go," Mikhail said. "I'm sure your girlfriend misses you."
Yuri thought of Lena and hoped she was sound asleep. Everything would be all right now.
"Listen," Mikhail said and slipped arm around his shoulders. At nearly six inches over six feet, Mikhail was quite a bit taller than Yuri and had to lean down to speak softly. Tari spoke excellent Russian so Mikhail kept his voice low. "I asked Jerry where he acquired the painting. He told me he got it from a woman—a Russian woman."
Yuri remembered Tommy Cruz telling him that he'd gotten a call from a woman about the painting. He'd neglected to mention her nationality. "A Russian? You're sure?"
Mikhail nodded. "A bit strange, yes?"
"Yes."
As Yuri waved goodbye to Mikhail and Tari, he couldn't stop thinking about this new bit of information. The woman who had called Tommy asked for that painting specifically. How would she have known the painting was in Lena's father's warehouse if she hadn't known the person who stole it or the person who originally fenced it? The idea of a Russian connection to this cartel mess started to feel…personal.
Turning back to the painting he'd just purchased from Mikhail, Yuri stared at it. The piece was a thing of strange beauty. It was the sort of painting he would have loved to have on his walls but tonight it inspired only distaste. He never wanted to see this painting again.
"Boss?" Derek stood near the doorway looking very irritated. He gestured with a flick of his fingers and Kelly stepped into the room looking guilty as hell.
Yuri's chest tightened. "What is it?"
"Something happened while you were playing poker. Apparently, Kelly decided not to tell me until the game was over. He says Lena asked him not to get you involved but I reminded him that he works for you, not her."
Yuri didn't like stepping on toes and chose not to set Derek straight in front of his subordinate, but later, in private, he would remind his head bodyguard that the moment Lena walked in his front door they began working for her.
Sighing, Yuri asked, "What happened, Kelly?"
"She called me a little before midnight and sounded scared. I ran up to the master suite and found her looking really shaken. Someone had been in the suite while she was on the balcony. They left an envelope with her name on it."
"WHAT?" Stomach seized with panic, he fought the urge to run to her. "Is she all right? Who was it? Are they still on the boat?"
Derek shot Kelly an annoyed frown. "The jarhead says no one without clearance was in the private section."
Kelly looked like he wanted to gut-punch Derek for the jarhead remark but he kept it professional. "Actually that's not what I said. I said that there were two keycards used during the time in question. Johnny Burkhart was up there getting fitted for a tux and talking about his sister."
Yuri nodded. "Johnny's sister and Lena are good friends. That's why he was asked to serve our rooms."
"There's no suspicion he was involved. At the time your suite door was being opened from the outside, Johnny was swiping his card to get into the staff quarters. He was seen coming in the main door by seven other guys."
"So who came into my room?"
Kelly glanced at Derek. "It was his card that opened the door."
"Which is impossible," Derek snapped back, "because I've been here all night."
Yuri's mind raced as he tried to recall Derek's location during the night. "He's right. He wasn't out of my sight once."
Kelly shrugged. "So someone stole his card or made a copy. Either way someone was in that room—and we don’t know who it was."
The realization that he couldn't keep Lena safe made him sick. "Who is with her now?"
"Vasya," Kelly said. "She's been asleep for the last hour or so. He's got the door propped open so he can watch her."
"Get the painting," he ordered and headed for the door. "It's not leaving my sight until we hand it over."
"When do we leave?" Derek asked.
"Soon," he said, no longer certain he could trust anyone on this ship. Kelly seemed like a straight-shooter and Vasya had Nikolai vouching for him. He'd never once doubted Derek or Jake or any of the crew on the ship but maybe he'd been too trusting. His gut soured at the realization that he really didn't know any of these people he employed.
He found that great big bull of a guard watching over his Lena. Vasya rose from the chair he'd placed in the open doorway. "Boss."
Yuri nodded at him before entering the suite. The television screen cast an eerie glow around the room. Lena was rolled on her side, facing away from him. She slept on top of the covers and looked uncomfortable. Already familiar with her sleeping habits, he reached down to lift her up as Kelly arrived with the painting. Yuri gestured to the far side of the room. "There."
"Yes, sir."
After Vasya set up the easel, Kelly carefully propped the painting in place. The two guards left the suite and shut the door behind them. Yuri finished moving Lena under the covers. She stirred but he quieted her with a tender kiss and the soft caress of his hands upon her back.
As he stood, his hand brushed something jutting out from under her pillow. He felt the sharp edge of an envelope and tugged it free. Unable to read in the dim light of the television, he carried the envelope into the bathroom, shut the door and flicked on the light.
The sight of Lena's name in Cyrillic surprised him. He shook the contents onto the counter. His gaze flicked across the angry looking letter and the black and white photo. Almost immediately, his stomach lurched painfully. That warehouse…
The old, painful, disgusting memories rose to the surface of his mind along with bile from his stomach. He barely made it to the toilet before retching. Everything about that night—the smells, the sounds, the sensations—coursed through him as fresh as if they were happening right now. He retched violently, his stomach seizing with pain as the long-buried memory of the thing he'd discovered, of the thing he'd done, overwhelmed him.
Crawling to the counter, Yuri grabbed the note and photo. He flopped down on his ass and stared at them. How?
He read the note twice before the words finally started to make sense. Someone knew. Someone knew every sordid detail of what he'd done. Of what he'd done to save Nikolai.
Hands shaking, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Nikolai.
Always business, Nikolai answered with the all-important question. "Did you get the painting?"
Yuri cleared his throat. "Yes. It's safe."
"I'll make the arrangements. Do you want to go tomorrow or should I—"
"Someone knows," he interrupted.
"Knows what? About you and the cartel?"
"Someone knows about Pasha." He spoke the name that hadn't left his lips in more than twenty-five years.