11

Julien didn't think he'd sleep, but he woke with a start at eight. The first thing he did was phone the hospital. He really wanted to be told that there wasn't a patient with Ilya's name and to his relief that was exactly what happened. Even when he gave them his contact number, the answer was the same. That should have been even more reassuring, how careful they were being, but Julien was having no trouble convincing himself that Ilya had somehow been spirited away from the hospital by his father.

It was only after he got there that he realised he had a problem. He had no idea where Ilya would be and he shouldn't ask for him by name. There was a strong likelihood Ilya might be in the ICU, so he headed there, wondering how cooperative the nursing staff would be.

"Can I help you?"

a nurse asked.

"A male patient in his early twenties was brought into A&E last night with suspected sepsis. I don't know whether he's in the ICU or not but I should be the only person allowed to see him. My name and number were put on his medical records."

It took a while. There were a number of brick walls to negotiate but he was politely persistent and eventually Ilya's presence on a ward was confirmed. Julien breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't considered ill enough to be kept in intensive care. It was still too early for visiting, so he went to the café on the ground floor and ordered toast and coffee. He'd taken one bite of toast when his phone rang. His heart sank when he saw it was Cheng. He'd hoped for no more contact with the guy but he swallowed and answered.

"Yes."

"Is the Russian still with you?"

"No. I told you he wasn't."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes, it's the truth. He's not with me. Why?"

"I sent a message to his father, saying I'd give him information about him for five hundred thousand."

Julien clenched his teeth. You fucking idiot! "And you said he was with me?"

"I told them he was hitchhiking and we picked him up near that church. I said you dropped me off and then drove him to London."

"So why are you telling me? Why haven't you taken your money and run?"

You fucking treacherous bastard. "And you'd have to run fast away from Lors."

"I have run. I have half of the money, which was all I was expecting. This is just a heads up."

Julien could almost feel his blood pressure rocketing.

"All you need to tell them is where you dropped him off. Full details and they'll give you the other half."

Cheng was delusional. Not just that Julien would tell Morozov anything, but that they'd give him that amount of money for almost useless information.

"Did you give them this number?"

"Yes."

Fucking hell.

"My address?"

"I don't know—"

"You're of value because of your hacking skills. You know my address."

"Fine. Okay. Yes, I told them."

"When?"

"Just before I called you."

Christ! Julien pushed to his feet and hurried out of the hospital. "Did you mention Denis or Ramzan?"

"No, I swear."

Like I believe you. "You do know they're probably on their way to you."

You bloody idiot.

"They won't find me. Stay away from your place until they've called you. Just tell them where you left him."

Cheng ended the call before Julien could. He immediately called Denis and repeated what Cheng had said, then added. "You need to get out of there, just in case. Don't take any risks."

"Shit. Okay. I'm gone."

"This phone is finished. Get rid of yours. I'll be in touch."

"Right."

Ramzan was an issue. Once he'd called him, it was like telling Lors but Julien called him anyway. Even as he was informing him about Ilya, he knew the game was up. He dismantled his phone before he set off in his car. He told himself Morozov would have no one in London he could send to ask him about Ilya, but he couldn't rely on that. Morozov wasn't the type to ask nicely about his son or the necklace. Though tonight he'd see the necklace around the neck of Akhmadov's wife, which would likely further incense him.

Julien would have driven faster if he could, but there was a lot of traffic and he had to do something first. He headed for a garage where he stored his other car, and swapped the vehicles. He felt better once he'd done that. No one knew about his sports car. Back at his apartment block, he parked in a visitor spot and kept his eyes peeled as he made his way to the lifts. His heart was pounding.

Apart from a set of clothes and a pair of shoes, he packed everything of Ilya's into the suitcase. Nothing could be left here. No hint that Ilya had ever been in the flat. Towels went into the machine and he wiped down the sink in the guest room. He filled another suitcase for himself with everything he preferred not to lose: laptop, clothes, passports, phones, money. Julien thought for a moment and put an extra burner phone in his pocket.

As he headed for the door, he wondered if he'd ever see this place again. For the last six months, the luxury of it had made what he'd had to do more bearable and he knew Lors was aware of that. The place he'd had in the south of France was okay but not as nice as this. He pulled up his hood, used the service lift to reach the gym, then crossed to a different service lift to get down to the car park. He emerged very close to his car.

Julien wasn't close enough to his usual parking spot to see if anyone was hanging around there. As far as he could tell, no one was watching, but he knew he'd have been picked up on the building's CCTV. Awareness of Cheng's ability made him conscious of how much others could find out. A stranger seen in the car park loading suitcases into a car in a visitor spot? Hacking into Congestion Charge data would show movements of his vehicles. He just wasn't sure how much could be uncovered. Julien kept his head down, loaded the car and set off back to the hospital.

Theoretically, Ilya was safe where he was, but Julien wanted them both out of London as soon as possible.

This is where I make my stand.

He wished he'd felt brave enough to do it sooner. His parents were still at risk, but he'd do what he could.

Once he'd parked, he stayed in his car and called Lors.

"Julien."

He spoke quickly in French before Lors could tell him he was already aware of what was happening. "You need to know about the hiccup because it might develop into something more serious. When I lifted the necklace, I was seen by Morozov's son, Ilya."

He heard Lors tsk. "I'm surprised. You developed that skill as if you'd been doing it all your life. Along with getting into safes. Even I was impressed. Surgeon's fingers."

Julien shuddered. He needed no reminders of the life he'd once thought he'd have. "The son managed to take it from my pocket without me noticing and offered to give it back in exchange for a lift away from Sandridge. Morozov was employing someone to convert him from gay to straight, and he'd put a tracker in his arm."

Lors gave a short laugh and muttered something in Chechen.

"The son cut it out himself. We got the necklace back but Cheng wanted to kill him because he could identify us. I had the kid blindfolded but that wasn't enough for Cheng. He'd brought his gun. When I wouldn't let him use it, he was pissed off with me. We split up at Denis' and I drove Ilya to London. Cheng contacted Morozov, told them we'd picked up the son as a hitchhiker and offered to tell him where he was for half a million pounds."

"Enterprising shit."

"Morozov will suspect Cheng of being involved in the theft of the necklace. Cheng thinks he can run and hide. I'm not so sure. He knows the Battersea address—not because I've told him, but because there's little he can't find out. I've warned Denis to move away for a while and I warned Ramzan, though I think he's in the least danger. I've moved out too. My work phone is gone. There should be no risk to you."

Theoretically.

"Theoretically. What happens if Morozov gets his hands on his son? What will he say?"

"He doesn't know anyone's name but mine. He doesn't know where Denis lives. It was dark. He was huddled up in the back of the car. But he did briefly see everyone's face before he was blindfolded."

"What possessed you to give him a lift?"

Julien clenched his teeth. Of course it was his fault. "He'd seen me. He could have talked. It seemed the right thing to do at the time."

"We both know that doing the right thing at the time is one of your failings. You should have let Cheng kill him."

"I'm not getting involved with murder. We made a deal that I would work for you for three years but I wouldn't be involved in any violence. Murder is a step too far for me. If Cheng had shot him, it would have put us all in danger."

Julien really wanted to remind Lors that he was the one who'd insisted Cheng was on the team, but he didn't.

"Where is Ilya Morozov now?"

"I've no idea."

"Hmm. I'm disappointed in Cheng. Though you've pissed me off too."

Julien said nothing.

"What was Akhmadov's reaction?"

"His wife will be wearing the necklace at the Louvre tonight. Morozov is expected to attend."

"I'm tempted to go myself now."

Lors chuckled. "It might be interesting."

Julien rolled his eyes.

"I'll be in touch."

Julien ended the call. Those words were the same as he'd said to Denis and he wondered if Denis had thought the same as he was thinking now. Please don't get in touch. Julien wasn't that lucky.

Ilya's eyes were open as Julien approached his bedside carrying the bag of clothes. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Ilya looked very pale. The bruise on his cheek stood out, and his pallor made his eyes look even darker. He was still on a drip.

"Have you brought me grapes?"

"No."

"A balloon?"

"No."

"A teddy?"

"No."

"A balloon shaped like a teddy? That would be nice."

"Your clothes. I'll put them in your locker."

He was relieved to see Ilya sounding so much better. "How do you feel?"

"Not as bad as I was. I keep getting told how lucky I am. Thank you for recognising it was something serious, not just me whingeing. If you'd not come back…"

Julien didn't want to think about it.

"I'm…sort of surprised to see you."

"Why?"

"I thought you'd view this as a perfect way to get rid of me. Leave me in a hospital and your conscience is clear."

His conscience would never be clear, but not over this.

"Or maybe you are getting rid of me and taking my money for the inconvenience."

"Why would I have come at all if that were the case? Your money is safe."

Hopefully, since it was in a suitcase in the car boot. "I was worried about you."

"You'd be the first."

"Really? No pretty nurses offering to give you a bed bath?"

"They'll do that? Go away and let me ask that cute blond guy. I don't think he's a nurse but who cares."

Julien was glad Ilya still had his sense of humour.

"I've been thinking about that tracker. Why do you think your father was so desperate to keep you close? Was he worried you were under threat because you were gay or was there some other reason? If he's so against your sexual orientation, then why not just have nothing more to do with you?"

"Take your choice of answers. Because he's a narcissist who thinks he's always right. He believes being gay is a choice and so my mind can be changed. And I'm his only son. That does mean something. Although, I've been thinking about my abduction too. I never really had the conversation with him about being gay. I sort of assumed that he'd assume I was. He wasn't supportive of LGBT rights, but he wasn't vehemently homophobic."

"Was your relationship good when you were younger?"

"Younger and not obviously gay?"

Ilya sighed. "I hardly saw him. I was shipped off to boarding school as soon as Svetlana could convince him it was the right thing to do. I was seven. Not the right thing to do for my sister, needless to say. Of course, he now blames the English public school system for corrupting me."

"Did it?"

"I didn't have a very happy time but it didn't make me gay. My father knows that being gay in Russia is asking for trouble, but I lived there for years and he did nothing. After I was brought back here, I suffered more under the control of Bryant than I ever did in Russia."

"So, I'm not sure I understand why he's done all this."

"Maybe someone said something about me being gay, some guy I danced with in a Russian club who gave my name to someone else to get himself out of trouble. That someone might hate my father. Who knows? Or maybe he wanted me to do something for him because I have a British passport and he doesn't. It could be anything. I don't care. I don't want to see him ever again. I want to be left alone to live my life."

"That might have to wait a while. There's been a…development."

Ilya's dark eyes widened. "What sort of development? You didn't make that sound as if it means anything good."

"You remember the guy who wanted to make sure you didn't say anything?"

"The one with the—yes."

"He contacted your father and asked for money to tell them where you were. He was paid part of it or at least he thinks he was, but in the process, he told them my address and gave them my number. Though that phone is gone."

"Podonok!"

"Whatever that means, I probably agree."

"You have to run."

"I prefer the term—make a strategic temporary withdrawal. And you need to do the same once you're off the drip."

Ilya reached to pull out the line and Julien stopped him. "Don't. You're safe in here. I did give the admitting doctor your name but I said no one was to know you were here. When I called, I was told no one of your name had been admitted. I asked in ICU and only after they'd confirmed the contact details that I gave last night did they tell me which ward you were on. Your father has no reason to suspect you're in hospital."

"He'll know by now I cut the tracker out. He might think I need hospital treatment."

"But not as an in-patient. You're safe."

"But you're not. Not in your apartment anyway. Oh God. I'm sorry. You should go. Drive to your other home."

Julien blinked. "How do you know I have another home?"

"Just a guess."

"What gave it away?"

"The place at Battersea looked too much like a hotel suite. You don't even have a drawer of paperclips and elastic bands and stamps and coins and keys that don't work and hand sanitizers and magnets and random crap that we save because we think we might need it for some reason, and the drawer just gets fuller and fuller."

"I'll remember that."

"It was in my How to fool people that you're not a spy book. It's the only thing I remember."

"Strangely enough, it's a good tip."

"I could discharge myself and come with you now. I'm a loose end, right? I could be forced to give away information that you wouldn't want given away. I'm not trying to blackmail you into it, but please take me with you when you make your strategic withdrawal. I won't be any trouble."

"That's what you said last time."

"I did. Sorry. My middle name is trouble. Actually, it is, sort of. Mikhailovich. After my father. The worst trouble there is. You do know he's a crook, right? Bratva through and through."

"In that case."

Julien pretended to walk away.

"I'm not,"

Ilya called.

Julien returned to his side. "Then what are you?"

"A silversmith. An artist. A teacher. Well, I was. I was a friend, I was fun, I was just an ordinary guy."

Julien doubted Ilya could ever be called ordinary. He handed him the phone.

"My number is the only one in there. Don't call anyone else. It's password protected. 1-7-5-7."

"Thank you. I know I should tell you never to come near me again."

Julien took a deep breath. "I don't think I can do that."

When he reached out to touch Ilya's jaw, it was like an out of body experience, his hand developing a mind of its own.

I'm not doing that.

But he was. He ran his fingers over Ilya's mouth and felt Ilya's tongue give them a soft lick. Oh shit.

"I can't do this,"

Julien mumbled, pulling his hand back. "It's a mistake."

He looked down, unable to cope with looking at Ilya's face, then walked away with his fingers tingling and his pulse racing. Why the hell had he done that? You did it because you wanted to. Stop trying to talk your way out of it. Julien swallowed his groan. While part of him was wondering what the fuck he was doing, the rest of him was the most determined he'd felt for a long while.

I want him.

He just had to get his head around that.