Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

"This can't be about revenge, Jason," Flynn MacKenzie said as they met in the conference room before the briefing.

"It's about justice," Special Agent Jason Colter returned, meeting Flynn's gaze with an unapologetic look.

"Is it? Arseni Novikov killed your father."

"Along with thousands of other people."

"And he injured your partner."

"I don't need a recap," he said shortly. "What I need is a team to help me take Novikov down."

While he was officially assigned as a special agent to the LA Field Office of the FBI, because of security breaches the last time this particular Russian terrorist was on US soil, the director had moved the case to the elite task force run by Flynn, with Jason on temporary assignment.

He'd worked with Flynn several years earlier when he'd first joined the bureau. Flynn had been good then, and he was even better now with a top-notch team of experienced agents. He would need every one of them to catch one of the FBI's most wanted men. And despite Flynn's misgivings, he had no intention of sitting this one out.

He had been the one to receive the tip that Novikov was back on U.S. soil. He was the one who knew more about Novikov than anyone. The only person who might have known more had been his father, who had spent thirty plus years chasing the terrorist—until he lost his life three years ago in an operation that was compromised by an internal leak. That leak was the reason this investigation now rested with Flynn's team.

"I just need to know where your head's at," Flynn pressed. "Emotion clouds judgement."

"I'm not known for my emotion," he said dryly. "Ask any woman I've dated in the last six years. My head is good. Now, can we get down to business? We don't have a minute to lose."

"My analysts have already been working since six a.m. I've briefed some of my senior-level agents. I'm going to bring them in now."

While Flynn called in members of his team, Jason turned on the monitor behind him and then clicked into his computer, bringing up several images, including one of Arseni Novikov's face. The silver-haired man with cold gray eyes and a mocking smile haunted his nightmares. Novikov was a man who believed himself to be invincible, and unfortunately, that had proved to be true. But that was going to change. Novikov was in LA, and he wasn't leaving this time—not alive, anyway.

Jason squared his shoulders as Flynn's team entered the conference room. Besides Flynn, he had also worked with Beck Murray, who was dark and unreadable, the perfect contrast to Flynn's blond and sunny look. The other two, a stunningly pretty blonde, who introduced herself as Savannah Kane, and a dark-haired, dark-eyed man named Nick Caruso, he didn't know.

After introductions, they sat down around the table, giving him their attention.

"As I'm sure you know by now," he said. "Arseni Novikov, who currently sits at number one on the FBI's most wanted list, arrived at LAX last night. The two pilots of the private plane who flew the nonstop flight from Warsaw to LAX were found dead in the cockpit. The plane's owner claims the plane was coming to LA to pick him up. There were no other passengers."

"Did anyone get off the plane alive?" Beck asked.

"There was no sign of anyone else in the security footage. Novikov vanished into the terminal. We’re still piecing together where he went." Jason waved toward the monitor, which displayed an image of Novikov from three years ago, the last time he was in LA. "As a quick refresher: Born in Leningrad—now St. Petersburg—Novikov followed his father into the KGB. After the Soviet Union collapsed, he moved into the Bratva, the Russian Mafia. He later formed his own criminal enterprise, dabbling in mercenary and terrorist activities. He’s known for aligning himself with extremist groups to destabilize governments, amass money, and gain power." Jason paused, ensuring their attention before continuing. "We need to find him fast. The only reason Novikov would risk coming back to US soil is for something big—something catastrophic."

"Have you identified potential targets?" Beck asked.

"The LA Book Festival on Saturday in Westwood. The global tech conference starts Monday in downtown LA, and the World Series is at Dodger Stadium on Monday as well. Those are all target-rich environments, but Novikov likes to be unpredictable."

"We'll be working with Homeland Security and local and state agencies to make the city as secure as possible," Flynn added. "But as Jason said, the sooner we find this guy, the better."

"Sounds like we have a lot of ground to cover," Nick commented.

"We do," he agreed. "We've been tracking previously known contacts. Last week, there was a message exchange between one of Novikov's top-level associates, Dominic Ilyin, and Novikov's former girlfriend, Tatiana Guseva, who runs a dance studio here in LA. Ilyin expressed concern about a rumor he'd heard that Tatiana had cancer. She confirmed the diagnosis and was afraid she wouldn't survive. Ilyin asked her if there was anything she needed, and she replied that hearing from an old friend was the best medicine. She could have been referring to Ilyin or suggesting Novikov should get in touch with her. It's a reach, but we'll need to get eyes on her."

"Would Novikov risk entering the US for an old girlfriend?" Savannah asked doubtfully.

He met her gaze. "I doubt she's the reason he came here, but he still might contact her. They haven't been together in at least ten years, but they grew up in the same town. They have a lot of shared history. We interrogated her after the courthouse explosion. She insisted she hadn't seen Novikov in years, and we couldn't find anything to negate her statement, but she's still someone to watch."

"Jason has provided us with a long list of Novikov's other contacts," Flynn added. "You'll find that information in the case file."

As Flynn gave further directions to the team about breaking down the workload, Jason glanced toward the glass door and saw a familiar figure standing outside. He wasn't surprised. Whenever Novikov showed up, Mick Hadley wasn't far behind.

Mick was of medium height, with a fit, muscular body, and a sharp, angular face. He was in his late fifties and had worked at the CIA for over thirty years. Mick and his father had spent many years trying to bring Novikov to justice. Since Mick was the one who had sent him the footage of Novikov getting off the plane, he was clearly still determined to take Novikov down.

When Flynn finished speaking, the team got up and headed out to the operations center to work while he and Flynn stayed behind to hear what Hadley had to say.

Mick entered the room, giving them both a brief smile. "Flynn, good to see you again."

"I hope it's good," Flynn said dryly. "But you and good don't always go together, Mick. "

"We're on the same team," Mick said lightly, taking no offense. "Right, Jason?"

His father had never completely trusted Mick, and the few times he'd worked with the CIA agent, Jason had felt as if Mick had his own agenda. But in this circumstance, he felt like they were on the same team. "Right. Do you have additional information?"

"Novikov traveled to Belarus three times in the last two months. On one of those occasions, he met with Dominic Ilyin and Gregor Petron."

His gut tightened at that information. Ilyin was a notorious assassin, and Petron was an explosives expert and believed to be responsible for a bombing in France three months ago.

"There's been chatter that Novikov is assembling a team for a big project."

"Where are Ilyin and Petron now?"

"Petron has disappeared. He left his home a week ago. There's no evidence he's in the US, but we're looking for him. Dominic Ilyin was last seen in Zurich ten days ago, but he's also in the wind."

The conference door opened, and a young man asked to speak to Flynn. As Flynn stepped out of the room, he said, "Is there anything unofficial you want to share now that it's just the two of us, Mick?"

"I've told you everything I know, Jason. But I'm concerned about information getting compromised, as it did three years ago."

"None of the people who worked that case will be involved this time around," he assured Mick. "We're going to keep the information as tight as we can by using Flynn's team."

"But things have a way of leaking out, especially when the leaks are coming from the inside. I still wonder if your father had any idea who sold him out."

His lips tightened. That question had haunted him for three years, but he still had no answers. "I wonder the same thing, but it doesn't matter anymore. Leak or no leak, Novikov killed my father and many other people. He's not going to get away this time."

"You're going to finish what your father started," Mick said with a nod. "I think he'd like that. Drew was very proud of you for following in his footsteps. He told me you have his same dogged determination and willingness to put the job above everything else."

He didn’t want to think about his father’s legacy. Not now. Every time he did, the sense of unfinished business gnawed at him like a wound that refused to heal. "It's important work," he said, knowing he'd also used his work to keep himself too busy to think about the loss of his dad, about the fact that he was alone now, really alone…both parents gone, no siblings to remember the good old days. Not that they had all been good.

"I'm going to help you all I can," Mick said. "While I respect Flynn, I'd like to keep a private channel open with you because you're the one person I know I can trust."

"Of course."

"Good. I'll see you later."

He was almost to the door when Flynn returned. "You're leaving?" Flynn asked.

"Yes, but I'm sure we'll meet again soon," Mick replied as he slid past Flynn and left the room.

"Did he say anything else?" Flynn asked.

"Only that he was concerned about leaks."

"There won't be any from my team. I don't know how well you know Hadley, but it's wise to weigh anything he says against facts you already know. I'm not saying he's working against us, but in my experience, Hadley usually has his own agenda."

"I don't disagree, but so far, he's given us the biggest lead we have." Trust wasn’t something he could afford to give freely—not to Flynn, not to Mick. But right now, they were his best shot at taking down Novikov .

The conference room door reopened, and Savannah entered with a gleam in her eyes. "Good news. We picked up Novikov leaving the airport in a rideshare. The driver dropped him off in front of a fast-food restaurant in Torrance, but he didn't enter the restaurant. Instead, he got into a car parked in the lot. There was another individual behind the wheel. We've been tracking the license plate through traffic cams, and it was picked up ten minutes ago at a light in West LA. We couldn't tell if Novikov was still in the car, but it's worth checking out. The vehicle turned into the parking lot at the Wexford University Medical Center."

His pulse jumped at the speed in which they'd gotten another clue. "That's great, Savannah. Well done."

"We caught a break. Shall I drive?" she asked.

"As long as you drive fast."

"I always do."

Wexford University Medical Center had been Alisa Hunt's second home since she'd started working there as a nurse three years ago, but today was different because the patient in front of her was her mother. Her mom had been plagued by a mysterious illness that had begun a week ago and had taken a turn for the worse on Monday when her father had brought her into the ER just after seven a.m. It was now Wednesday, and her mother was doing better after forty-eight hours of IV fluids. She was looking much more like her old self, albeit a tired, paler version of that self.

She sat down on the side of the bed, giving her mom a smile. "You're doing good today."

"I feel better, Alisa. I'm ready to go home."

"Probably tomorrow," she said, knowing Dr. Grayson was still concerned they hadn't found a diagnosis for her mother's condition. "Where's Dad? "

Her mother averted her gaze, picking at a loose thread on the blanket covering her legs.

"Mom?" she questioned in concern.

She hadn't seen her father since yesterday when he'd gone home for a break. His continued absence concerned her.

"Your father had to go somewhere for a day or two," her mother said finally, giving her a tired look. "His friend is ill, and now that I'm feeling better, I told him he should go and say his goodbyes. It might be his only chance."

"Who are you talking about?" she asked in surprise.

"Greg. Greg Palmer," she said. "He was a childhood friend of your father's."

"I've never heard that name."

"I'm sure you have at some point. He and your father grew up on the same block."

"Dad told me he doesn’t talk to anyone from his childhood, and he surely hasn't seen this guy in years. Why would he leave now while you're in the hospital?"

"I told you. Greg is very sick, and your dad has something he needs to say to him. He'll be back soon."

"How soon? Tonight? Tomorrow?"

"I don't know," her mother said, irritation moving through her brown eyes. "Please, just let it be, Alisa. It doesn't bother me, so it shouldn't bother you. I'm doing well. Dr. Grayson said it's amazing how quickly I've recovered. You need to stop worrying about me."

Her mother had certainly gotten better in the two days she'd been in the hospital. There was more color in her cheeks, although her brown hair had thinned and grayed in the past week. She'd been feeling off for a while, before things had gotten bad enough for her to come to the hospital. She should be grateful her mom was getting back to normal, but the lack of a clear diagnosis troubled her.

"Why don't you go home, Alisa? You must be tired after working all day. Or better yet, why don't you call Tim and go to dinner with him, take a break from all this?"

"Tim is obsessed with his fantasy football league." She felt disheartened that the guy she'd been seeing for the past month hadn't been able to come to the hospital the last two days. If the situation were reversed, she would have made time for him. "I'll just sit with you for a while."

Her mother shook her head. "You've been with me every minute you can spare since I got here, and for a week before that. I don't need you by my bedside anymore. I'm okay."

"I am glad you're better. I just wish Dad was here to stay with you. I don't want to leave you alone. I'm going to call him."

"No," her mother said with more force in her voice than she'd shown in days. "Your father will be back as soon as he can. I don't want you to pressure him."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand, because I do."

As their gazes clung together, Alisa was reminded of other moments when she'd questioned something and had been met with the same stubborn glint in her mother's eyes. But she didn't need to add stress by arguing with her. If she was okay with it, then she'd have to get on board. But she still might give her father a call. She'd see how her mother did tonight. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was almost six. "You should get your dinner soon," she said. "I can help you with that."

"I feel strong enough to eat on my own, not that I'm at all hungry."

"That's why you need someone to encourage you."

Her mother gave her a small smile. "All your nursing friends have taken excellent care of me. Go home. And don't worry about me being alone. Henry is going to stop by to visit. It's all good. I wish you could believe that."

"I'm trying. You just gave me a big scare."

"I know. And you're a wonderful daughter. But I'm all right."

She got up from the bed. "I'll call you later tonight. "

"I'll probably be asleep, so don't worry if I don't answer. Now, give me a kiss, and I'll see you in the morning."

She leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her mother's cool cheek, which thankfully wasn't as cold as it had once been. Maybe this nightmare would be over soon.

As she turned to leave, Henry Cavendish, a longtime friend of her parents, entered the room. Henry was the director of the oncology research center at Wexford University, and his lab was in the building next to the hospital. Henry was one of the first people to encourage her to go into nursing when she'd been trying to figure out what to do with her life. After she'd graduated, he'd helped her get her current job. Since her mom had gotten ill, both she and her father had leaned on him for advice. But Henry had not been able to offer an explanation, either.

A tall, thin man with dark hair, graying at his temples and also his sideburns, Henry wore glasses and always seemed like someone who needed to get out in the sun more. His skin was extremely pale. But then, he spent a lot of time overseeing the groundbreaking research being done in his lab.

In one hand, he held a vase of flowers, while in the other hand was a small white bag.

"Hello, Alisa," he said, giving her a smile before he turned to her mother. "Pamela, I hear you're doing better."

"I'm on the road to recovery," her mother said.

"That's excellent news. I brought flowers to brighten your room." He paused, his gaze coming to rest on the vase next to her bed. "I guess I wasn't the only one who had that idea."

"I don't know who those are from," her mother said. "I woke up and there they were. I think Dan might have sent them."

"I'll put yours on the dresser," Alisa told Henry, taking the vase out of his hand and setting it on the dresser by the window.

"I also brought you something to tempt your appetite, Pamela." Henry handed her mother the bag. "Chocolates from your favorite place."

"I can't believe you went all the way to Claire's to get these," her mother said as she peeked into the bag. She gave him a big smile. "This is so thoughtful, Henry. I'm going to love them later, but I haven't had much of an appetite today."

"Hopefully, it will be back soon." He put his hand on her shoulder as he finished talking. "We've all been anxious about you, Pamela."

"I appreciate the concern," her mother replied.

"You must be happy to see your mother so improved, Alisa."

"I am. I just wish we knew what caused her symptoms," she replied.

"We're not getting into that discussion right now," her mother said. "I don't want to think about it anymore tonight. I want to just chat, and you can tell me about your work, Henry. Alisa is going home now." Her mother gave her a pointed look. "Right?"

"I guess," she muttered as Henry pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. At least her mother wouldn't be alone, and she was pretty exhausted and ready to go home.

"By the way, Alisa," Henry said as she turned to go. "Do you know what's happening downstairs? I saw a lot of security gathered in the lobby. Is there a patient of importance?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Maybe they just came in. I'll call you later, Mom. And Henry, make sure she eats something when dinner comes."

"I will," he said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Your mother is in good hands."

Her mother should have been in her father's good hands, but Henry wasn't a bad backup.

After leaving the room, Alisa went downstairs to the nurse's lounge and opened her locker, putting a sweater on over her blue scrubs and then grabbing her large tote bag. She set it down on a table in the center of the room and took out her phone.

She hadn't heard from Tim since last night, and she was more than a little annoyed. His absence during this crisis in her life had definitely made her question their relationship, if she could even call it that. She sent him a text with a quick update on her mom's condition and then stuck her phone back in her bag and headed out of the lounge.

When she got to the lobby, she saw a security guard talking to her friend Robin, who was working at the information desk. As he left, she walked up to the counter, wanting to make sure she wasn't leaving her mother alone in the hospital with some situation going on. "What was that about, Robin?" she asked. "There seems to be a lot of security in the hospital tonight."

"They're looking for some guy," Robin said. "But I haven't seen him walk past my desk, not that I see everyone, but I'm usually pretty observant."

"Did they say why they're looking for him?"

"No, they did not, and I asked—twice. Security told me there was no reason for concern. It was just someone they wanted to speak to."

She felt uneasy about Robin's answer, but the guard was no longer in sight, and everything seemed to be normal in the lobby, with visitors coming in and out, heading for the bank of elevators behind her or to the cafeteria or gift shop. "Okay," she said, stepping away from the desk.

It had been a long couple of days, and she didn't need to manufacture more problems to worry about. She had enough to deal with. If there was any kind of security breach, the hospital would be on lockdown. Whatever was going on had to be fairly minor.

When she left the building, she felt immediately better, the crisp, cool air of mid-October making it easier to breathe. Fall was one of her favorite times of the year in Southern California. The chillier fall evenings were a pleasant respite from the unrelenting heat of summer, but today, the dark shadows seemed stressful, the turbulence in her life exacerbated by a sense of foreboding she couldn't explain. Her mother's mysterious illness and her father's unexplained trip felt like the tip of an iceberg, and she had no idea what kind of devastation lay ahead .

Or maybe she was letting her imagination get the best of her.

But she couldn't shake her dark thoughts as she entered the parking structure and went down the stairs to the bottom level where the employees parked.

There was no one around, and as she walked down the row of vehicles, she opened her bag and fished inside for her car keys. Her fingers brushed against everything—her phone, her wallet, a packet of tissues—but not her keys. She felt an odd sense of desperation. She just needed to get home, make some dinner, pour herself a glass of wine, and take a deep breath. Everything would be fine.

A chill ran down her spine as she heard footsteps behind her.

As she turned her head, she saw a tall man running toward her. He wore a black sweatshirt with a hood pulled up over his head and dark glasses covering his eyes, despite the dim light in the parking garage.

Her keys—where were her damn keys? She frantically searched her bag, but her fingers were trembling now.

If she couldn't find her keys, she couldn't get in her car.

She was out of time.

In one quick motion, he grabbed her arm and shoved her against her car. The metal was cold and unforgiving against her back as she tried to push him off, but he was too strong.She screamed with terror, her mind racing as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She had to think. She had to do something…