25. Hunter

TWENTY-FIVE

HUNTER

" Y ou sure about this, H?" Leo's voice is low. Cautious. I look over my shoulder at him, then back at the fa?ade of the mansion I haven't been to in nearly two decades.

The villa looks dead. Forgotten.

The highest part of the island is the cliff face—a shaft of rock that juts out over the Caribbean. When I was younger, I made up a story that some giants in the water cut the island from one bigger land mass, like chopping a wood block in karate. The matching other half of the island is about eighty nautical miles east.

I don't answer Leo.

There are only five of us: me, Leo, and three of Misha's men. I doubt he sent them to be a help and more to babysit us—and to get whatever it is that Misha's looking for that we can't be privy to.

We checked Isla Cara for my father months ago and found the place deserted. The handsomely paid workers who travel from neighboring islands were sent home.

From what we know, no one has been to the island in months .

I feel Leo's presence near my shoulder as we all walk up the shore and to the long stone staircase in unison. The guards haven't said much at all since we left Misha's airfield at the back of his property.

I left Winter in the solarium under a thick blanket and gave Veronica instructions to check on her after I'd left. I should have said goodbye. I should have held her as she begged me not to go, as I know she would have.

Instead, I kissed her head, drawing the rose scent of her conditioner into my lungs.

It would have been too hard for me to say goodbye.

"Stop," I tell the rest of our group. We're out on the veranda. The ghosts of gilded elites glide across the expensive stone, taunting me.

I stop because of the glass. Shards of the shattered eighteen-foot door litter the area in front of us, blowing inward to land in the open-air foyer on the other side of the frame.

Leo enters first, and his boots crunch as he takes careful steps to peer into the dark mansion.

"No one said the place was ransacked," I tell Leo.

He nods in agreement.

Because it wasn't. When we got the report about Isla Cara, it didn't mention any damage to the property.

This is a new development.

"We keep going," one of Misha's men says.

Foreboding runs up my spine.

Leo arches his eyebrow when I look at him, and in response, he raises his gun. I pull mine out too, and we all walk into the empty grand room.

The lack of sound presses on my eardrums, making them feel stuffed with cotton. The heavy darkness covers my skin like a wet blanket.

My steps are uneven as broken glass crunches beneath my shoes. Even though the eastern Caribbean heat adds to the feeling of suffocation, I'm grateful for the long black tactical pants that help protect me from the sharp edges of the broken furniture.

In unison, we all turn on our flashlights. I'm grateful for the illumination.

"Where to, H?" Leo says coolly.

I ransack my memory. There are two places where Father held his notable secrets. The safe in his office and the vault.

Whatever Misha's looking for has to be in the vault.

"The vault," I say, beginning to walk further into the estate toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor.

A rivulet of sweat runs between my shoulder blades, and the thick humidity reminds me I'm far from home.

I rub the side of my nose.

Despite the enormity of the mansion, it doesn't take many minutes for me to come across the vault door in the dark hallway.

The five sets of boots march toward the safe, and I shine my light on the combination pad next to the door.

"You know, this would be a whole hell of a lot easier if you just told me what you're looking for."

The three men, who I've named Nameless One, Nameless Two, and Nameless Three, pause to look at me.

"We are looking for a black leather journal," Nameless Two says in a richly accented voice.

"Okay, a black leather journal. Any ideas on size?" Leo asks.

"We'll know it when we see it." This from Nameless One.

"Cool," I drawl. "We have a lot to go off then."

"Just open the door, mudak."

If I didn't already know he was calling me an asshole, the way he grinds out the last word makes it perfectly clear.

I shine my light on the digital keypad. Since the electricity is cut off, the screen is dead, black.

I pause, and not because I don't know how to bypass the dead control system. I pause because when I shift my beam a little to the left, the vault door is open.

"What is the problem?" Nameless Two again.

"The door is open. My father never would have kept it open like this."

The Ukrainians ignore my statement, pushing past me and surging into the room. They immediately knock over furniture and pull-out drawers.

It's strange that the men completely ignore the piles of money and jewels in the center of the room.

What's also strange is that this room is untouched.

"If there's going to be anything," I say, moving further into the vault, "it's going to be in here."

I look in the direction of the old television and file cabinet. The pair stands just as it did when I was a kid—seemingly undisturbed.

It can't be this fucking easy.

I nod to Leo, and we keep our steps casual as we walk deeper into the room. In the corner is a desk, and I move toward it, reaching below the oak lip to grab the key I know is there.

When I have the drawer open, I pull out reams and reams of paper—receipts, notes—and scatter them on the tabletop. Nameless Two sorts through the mess while Nameless One opens a crate.

"Anything there?" I ask.

Nameless One grunts.

Rolling my eyes, I pull at the false bottom of the drawer, pulling out an armful of items. A gallon-sized bag full of pills, two handguns, stacks of cash, passports with my father's picture under several aliases, and a few other miscellaneous items.

The Nameless crew goes through everything when my hand pauses on a plastic card.

I shine my flashlight on it and steel myself against the sharp kick of emotion. My mother's ID is in the pile.

I stare at Amelia Brigham's face—the bright eyes I only see in my memories. Father had all the photos of Mom burned and deleted any recordings of her in our possession.

He not only killed her, he quite literally wiped her from the Earth.

Nameless Three barks something, and the group speaks rapidly in Ukrainian.Unease grows at their agitation. They say we've found nothing, but to me…it seems like we've found everything that could possibly matter.

I put my mother's ID in my pocket.

"What the fuck?" Leo exclaims. He stands in front of a closed black file cabinet, and he holds a folder in his hand. I move over to him and slap my hand over the depraved image. Leo drops it as if it's burned him.

"There are definitely more," I say.

"Shit," Leo says when I pull a drawer open and it's full.

I pull out a manilla envelope and turn away with a sharp inhale, holding down a retch at the sight of a bloodied female body being eaten by five grown men. Her mouth is open—toothless and crimson-stained.

Her eyes still maintain an energetic pop of consciousness.

Leo's breath escapes between his clenched teeth.

When we've both got control of ourselves, we turn our backs on the evidence, busying ourselves as the men search through the other side of the large room.

I whistle to get their attention.

"Is this it?" I motion toward the file cabinet where a black, leather-bound book sticks out.

Nameless One walks to me with a determined clip. Leo and I step to the side, parting so the file cabinet and television are between us.

He stares at the object for a moment, his beam of light focusing on the front of it for several moments. He picks it up, thumbing through the pages and looking at both sides of the cover. From my vantage point, I can tell it's an address book or diary.

"No," he growls but drops it in a crate nonetheless. He turns his lethal gaze on me, then walks back to his team members with a flurry of Ukrainian bursting off his lips.

I look at Leo and then down to my feet. The mismatched black and cream tiles give me pause. I never analyzed the vault floors on the rare times I was allowed inside, but now….

Shining the beam of my flashlight over the dark, symmetrical tiles, I slowly pace the stretch of the design to make sense of what I'm seeing.

An eye.

One of the Nameless shouts, stepping up to his comrade, and I lift my flashlight in their direction.

"There's one other place if this isn't it. We can check the safe in my father's office," I tell them. They keep speaking in tense spurts, but after a moment, they all turn to look at me. I leave the vault without a word.

Heading to the office means going up another level, over the T-shaped catwalk, and just past the giant opening that allows a view of the four-story main ballroom below.

But as soon as I raise my foot to go up the next flight of stairs, an unmistakable stench hits me.

"Oh, no," Leo says, putting his forearm over his nose.

Something's dead in here.

I turn to Misha's men.

"It's not safe to keep going," I tell them, trying to breathe through my mouth. Thinking better of it, I lift the neck of my shirt to cover the lower half of my face.

I take a step down the stairs, and Nameless One stops me with a menace-filled command.

"You keep going."

I don't look away from his pitch-black eyes.

"Fuck," Leo snaps under his breath .

One heartbeat. Two. I stare down the Ukrainian.

"Whatever you say," I reply.

I guide the crew up the remaining stairs and down the pathway to the office doors. When we're thirty feet away, I point.

"Over there." The stench is nearly unbearable now, and flies swarm past my head.

"Keep moving, Brigham," Nameless Two says.

I turn to face the dark corridor, taking one step after the other. Scales of vermin coat the panels of the French doors and the surrounding walls. The buzzing of flying creatures resonates in my ears, crawling over my skin.

I wrench the door open and stumble back.

Because in a single beam of light from the expansive window overlooking the sea, the remains of a liquified body lay propped in the expensive leather chair. Behind the body, the office safe stands wide open.

Empty.

The entire room is empty.

From the body and under the oak desk, a river of biologic sludge courses toward the entrance of the office, and when I shift my flashlight to make sure my feet aren't standing in human remains, my attention is taken by the glint of metal.

An unblinking onyx eye embedded in a gold ring.

Though black clouds of flies obscure my vision, I pick it up. Looking from the unrecognizable body and back to the ring in my hand, it's easy to know who it is.

Father.

Sets of hands pull me back from the open office doors. I blink, and all of us are out on the veranda.

"H, you okay?" I focus back on Leo, trying to breathe in clean air to chase out the stench of death.

"Yea—" I get out before gagging. I rush to the stone barrier, leaning over the edge to puke out my stomach's contents .

In contrast to my angry retching, the ocean laps at the shore, a soft sound.

Father.

Father is dead.

He's dead.

Dragging in what feels like a gulf of air, I stand up more fully, still leaning on the stone for support.

"Who could it have been?" Leo asks. A glance to the side of his face lets me know he already has the answer.

The gold ring burns in my palm when I open it to show Leo.

"Shit," he says, running both hands over his face and into his hair.

"Yeah," I murmur.

Father is dead. I'm free.

"Yeah," I repeat.