The Soldier's Seduction. Jane Godman
had been closed up, the gates locked, the windows shuttered on the outside. Impatiently, she had followed his whereabouts on social media, hoping to discover his intentions. Walter relentlessly documented his progress on various sites and he had not stepped foot in Stillwater throughout the time Steffi had been in the city. Since he had announced his intention to run for a Wyoming seat, he had traveled all over the state. One of the few places he hadn’t been was his hometown. Possibly he believed his popularity there was so great he would win without too much campaigning. The media and polls seemed to agree with him.
Now, instead of putting into practice her plan to sneak into the house and confront Walter on her own terms, Steffi was being carried through the front door by a thunder-faced Erik. Behind them, Sergei was dragging Bryce along with him. The bald man, who clearly had some sort of seniority within the group, strode on ahead of them. Steffi risked a brief glance in Bryce’s direction. A vivid bruise was already standing out on one side of his face and he looked pale, but, as she gazed at him, one eyelid drooped ever so slightly into a wink. It was just enough to give her waning spirits a boost. She didn’t know why it should. They were hopelessly outnumbered, in the hands of a group of murderous thugs, and about to be brought before the ruthless killer responsible for the murders of her parents and brother. Even if she was able to escape, she couldn’t run anywhere on her injured ankle. She very much doubted she could walk. But somehow that tiny gesture from Bryce mattered. It told her she wasn’t alone. It gave her a glimmer of hope.
That glimmer lasted about as long as it took for Erik to march into a luxurious dining room and deposit her on her feet beside a vast mahogany table. In acknowledgment of the cooler weather, a fire blazed in the huge grate. Heavy, full-length crimson drapes had been pulled across the windows, giving the disconcerting effect that night had fallen, even though it was afternoon.
Steffi winced as her injured ankle protested at the sensation of bearing any weight. Sergei shoved Bryce through the door so that he stood next to her. While Erik remained in the room, Sergei, walking with the delicate gait of a man in some discomfort, left.
The man sitting at the head of the table pushed aside an empty plate, wiped his lips with a snow-white napkin and regarded them from beneath hooded lids. Walter Sullivan was one of the most famous men in the state. His business interests, the factories and retail outlets he owned all over the country, raised him to the status of a celebrity, and his charitable giving had made him hugely popular. His darkly handsome features had graced television news programs and newspaper spreads almost daily in the past twelve months. His rise to prominence and his recent campaign had been stylish and intelligent. This was a man who was destined for greatness. Even though he was just beginning his campaign for the Senate, his name was regularly mentioned in connection with a possible future presidency. Now that Greg was gone, Steffi seemed to be the only person who knew what lurked behind that charming exterior.
It scared her that she was the only thing standing between Walter and the political power he wanted, but she wasn’t going to let that fear show through. Tilting her chin, she met his gaze bravely. He had unusually dark eyes. It made reading his expression difficult. The last time Steffi had looked into those eyes, she had called this man Uncle Waltz. What frightened her more than anything was that he was regarding her with the same amused, affectionate smile she had seen from him all those years ago.
“You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, Stefanya.” Walter’s voice expressed the same mild irritation with which he would rebuke a troublesome child. She had heard his voice on TV recently, but being in the same room as him, hearing those cultured tones up close...that was what took her right back to the night he’d murdered her parents. It took every ounce of her strength to keep from screaming.
“You killed my brother.” She was pleased with the way the words came out clearly, betraying no trace of the nervousness she felt. “I wasn’t in the mood to make things easy for you.”
Something shifted in the depths of Walter’s eyes. Something dangerous. Something she guessed he wouldn’t want the voters to see. It was gone in an instant, to be replaced immediately by the public smile he showed the world.
“I haven’t got time to waste sparring with you. Where is the cell phone?”
Steffi took a moment to consider the question. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably, causing the pulse in her throat to hammer wildly. It was an unpleasant choking feeling. She had no idea what he was talking about. She knew nothing about any cell phone, but she sensed giving Walter that piece of information might not be the smartest move she could make right then.
“Why should I tell you that?”
“Because you have no idea how much I can hurt you if you don’t.” Next to her, Bryce made an impulsive movement in Walter’s direction, only to be stopped short as Erik caught hold of him by his upper arms. Walter turned his attention to Bryce, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, yes. We’ll discuss your involvement later. But first we need to return to the subject of Gregori’s cell phone. What have you done with it?”
Although Steffi might not know why he was so focused on Greg’s cell, she sensed she may be able to use its existence to her advantage. “It’s safe.”
“Where?” Walter’s voice was silky. That silkiness made her shiver.
It was a long shot, but she decided to go for it. “If I told you that, you wouldn’t have any reason to keep me alive, would you?” While she was being brave, she decided it was time to ask the question that had haunted her since she was five. “Why did you kill my parents?”
He seemed to debate whether to answer her, then he shrugged. “I first met your father when I visited Russia about a year before your birth. Our friendship and business partnership continued after your parents moved to America. Aleksander Anton was the leader of the Sglaz, one of the most feared criminal organizations in the world. But he made a big mistake when he tried to cheat me.”
Steffi frowned. “If the men with the eye tattoo were in the Sglaz, why were they working for you on the night you killed my parents? Why do they still work for you now?”
“Money, Stefanya. Your father thought he could double-cross me, but I was one step ahead of him.”
“And my mother?” It hurt to ask, to remember her mother urging her and Greg up the attic stairs that night, but she had come this far. She had to know.
For the first time, Walter appeared shaken out of his calm. Steffi thought she saw a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. “Ekaterina was...” He shook his head. “No. No more. This is ancient history.”
“Did you kill her because she could identify you?”
Walter gave a harsh laugh. “You know nothing about my motives, Stefanya, but you and your brother are two of a kind. He made his first mistake when he recognized me in Los Angeles. He should have had more sense, walked away, let the past lie. He had no idea what he was dealing with. Instead, he insisted on a meeting.”
It took every ounce of Steffi’s acting ability to listen to what he was saying and not allow the surprise she was feeling to show. At the start of her career, she had spent a season traveling the country, working in masked theater, an old tradition that was rarely performed by modern actors. The experience had taught her how to hide her emotions behind a blank expression. Even so, her thoughts were raging out of control. A meeting? What had Greg been thinking of?
“You agreed to meet him.” She managed to keep her voice level, midway between a question and a statement. It seemed safe to assume Walter had met with Greg.
His face contorted as if a twinge of pain had caught him unawares. “He told me he had proof I was guilty of murder. Even though I was sure he was bluffing, I wasn’t going to take a chance. When we met, it turned out I was right. The proof he was talking about was his own memory. I couldn’t believe his nerve. He started rambling about Aleksander and Ekaterina, talking about my men and the tattooed eye on their right hands, talking about what happened that night when your parents died. As if I was an idiot who couldn’t remember every detail of my own life. And he assumed I was still involved with Russian organized crime. My involvement with your father