Targeted Risk (R.I.S.C. #7) - Anna Blakely Page 0,37

he was there because her father had paid him to be. So yeah, I’m sure.”

Between that and what Lopez said about Volkov getting a new trial, it was a no-brainer.

“How you want to play this?” Jake studied the gate closely. “Looks like a standard system. We could wait until dark and then make our move. I had D send me the blueprints of Volkov’s place, and I found a couple of places that should make for an easy entrance.”

“We could do that.” Mike turned to his friend and grinned. “Or we could just knock on the front door.”

Blinking, Jake gave an appreciated nod. “All right, then. Let’s do this.”

With a quick facetime call to Derek, Jake was able to unlock the gate and gain entrance into the neighborhood. After that, it was a matter of following the GPS through the spaced-out mansions sporadically located within the expensive-as-shit area.

Mike would never understand why someone would spend that much money on a house that was seventeen times bigger than what they actually needed. To him, a modest home on a large piece of private land was much more valuable than anything he was looking at now.

To each his own.

“There’s Volkov’s place.” Jake pointed up ahead.

Of course, the bastard would live on the largest lot at the far end of the neighborhood.

Mike took in the monstrosity as Jake parked the car against the curb in front of Volkov’s house. “I don’t see any guards.”

“Probably goes against the Homeowner’s Association rules,” Jake quipped.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have people watching from inside the house, though. We’ll need to stay alert.”

“You get my ass shot, Liv will be pissed at us both.”

With a chuckle, Mike opened his door and got out. “Just remember to call me Jay,” he told his friend. “Otherwise, your wife will be the least of our concerns.”

“Not my first rodeo, brother. From now until we leave this place, you’re Jay Reynolds to me.”

Nodding, the two men started up the paved driveway toward the elaborate front door. They’d only made it halfway up before two men came out to greet them.

Both overly muscular, one man had blond hair and light blue eyes, while the other had light brown hair and brown eyes. Dressed in identical black suits, the two men looked like your stereotypical mob boss strong-arms.

“This is private property,” the blond informed them. His expression was hard and his Russian accent thick.

“We’re here to see Volkov,” Mike responded.

The two men shared a glance before the brown-haired man spoke up. “Like my friend said, this is private property.” There wasn’t even a hint of an accent in his voice. “You need to leave.”

“Tell Alexandar that Jay Reynolds is here to see him. Trust me, fellas. He’s gonna want to talk to me.”

If there was a leak as Lopez suspected, then chances were good Volkov knew all about the shooting at Juliet’s place in Houston.

After sharing another sideways glance, the blond tipped his chin to the other man, motioning for him to go get their boss.

“Good choice,” Mike threw out for good measure. Both he and Jake waited patiently, their stances remaining casual, yet guarded.

Men like the one standing between them and the front door were like wolves. If they smelled even a sliver of fear or trepidation, the twisted game was over before it even began.

It wasn’t long before the front door opened and out walked Alexandar Volkov, himself. It had only been two years since Mike had seen him last, but from the way the man had aged, during that time, it may as well have been ten.

The man’s dark hair had more salt than pepper now, and the lines that had once made him appear distinguished and wise made Mike see him for what he really was. A sad, old man whose best years were well behind him.

“Jay.” Volkov’s stride was unhurried as he made his way down the curved sidewalk toward the paved drive. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” Mike nodded, keeping his undercover persona in place.

As he got closer, Volkov’s assessing glance became obvious. “You’ve changed.”

“So have you.”

The older man laughed. “Not for the better, I’m afraid. I cannot say the same for you, however.” He held out his hand as if they were two friends greeting one another. “I never liked that ponytail or shaggy beard of yours. Told you they made you look like a thug.”

“I remember.” Mike shook the man’s hand.

“And who is this?” Volkov turned his focus to Jake.

“This is Steve.” Mike offered. “Or,