Her Rocky Mountain Defender

Chapter 2

Roman didn’t like the odds. Three armed men against one. A locked room with no chance of bringing in backup and top that off with a terrified woman, for whom he was now responsible. If he were a betting man, he’d place his money on Oleg Zavalov winning. Thank goodness Roman had never wagered in his life.

“One last time before I get medieval on your girlfriend,” Oleg said. “Who do you work for?”

A fiery sense of self-loathing filled Roman. This whole situation was his fault. He should’ve marched Madelyn up the stairs as soon as she walked into Oleg’s office, to hell with her stubbornness. Instead he had what? Flirted? It was an amateur move, but at the same time, a little of the world’s ugliness had melted away during their exchange.

To top it all off, he was about to lose five months of work. And more than that, Oleg would know that he was being investigated and have time to dispose of any evidence. Roman opened his mouth, ready to confess all. He couldn’t find the words.

What he could find was a lie. “I don’t know what you have, Oleg. But it’s not mine.”

“It’s an ELD, a bug, a listening device.”

“How am I supposed to know about those things?” Roman asked, a little regretful that he couldn’t claim his latest creation. “I’m just the bartender.”

“I don’t think you do. I think she does.”

“But I don’t,” Madelyn said.

“If it wasn’t you, why’d you run?”

Roman answered for her. “Because I’m standing at the top of the stairs and when I turn around, there’s Serge and Anton with their guns. I told her to run. It’s what you do when someone threatens to shoot.”

Oleg’s mouth hung open for a minute, then like it was controlled by a puppeteer’s string, it snapped shut.

Fighting the urge to smile, Roman took in a deep breath. A pain shot through his side from a kick or punch he didn’t recall receiving. Madelyn looked at him. She was beautiful in a delicate way. She wore a navy blazer and white T-shirt that fitted her pert breasts and trim waist perfectly. Her dark hair was cut short and her brown eyes were large. Her skin was creamy and smooth. To him, she looked perfect, almost magical, and he wished like hell that magic was real and she could simply disappear. Small gold hoops dangled from each ear and a gold chain hung around her neck. Funny how small details became important when you were standing next to the thin line that separated life from death.

Oleg tossed the ELD in the air and caught it. “There’s one thing I do know, is that one of you two planted this bug. So, I’ll ask again—how’d this get in my office?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said.

“What about you?” Oleg turned to Madelyn. “How’d this get in my office?”

Madelyn quietly wept and shook her head.

“Nothing to say?” Oleg leaned his hip onto the corner of his desk. “Maybe you need the right motivation to talk. Make her sorry, Serge.”

Serge cracked his knuckles, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He brought back his arm and slammed his fist into Madelyn’s face. She toppled from the chair. A bright red mark bloomed to life on her cheek.

To hell with the work or the loss of the investigation. Roman wouldn’t let Oleg hurt Madelyn any more. Although if they made it out of this alive, Roman would take great pleasure in bringing Oleg Zavalov to justice. It wasn’t professional anymore. It was personal.

“Okay. Okay.” Roman held his palms up and stepped between Serge and Madelyn. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Everything?”

Roman swallowed. His side burned. “Yes.”

A phone rang and Serge pulled a cell from his pocket. “Da.”

While with Delta Force, Roman had studied over a dozen languages. He was fluent in Farsi, German, Spanish, French and Russian. Even if he hadn’t, the single Russian word was easy to translate. Yes.

“Oleg.” Serge held out the phone. “Vy khotite, chtoby prinyat eto.” Oleg, you want to take this.

“Ne seychas,” Oleg said. Not now.

“Seychas,” Serge insisted. “Eto moy dyadya Nikolay.”

Serge’s uncle Nikolai was on the phone? Nikolai Mateev?

Oleg sat taller and reached for the phone. He met Roman’s gaze and his eyes narrowed. Had Oleg guessed that Roman understood the short conversation? Roman looked away.

“Lock these two in the beer cooler,” said Oleg, “but stand guard. We’ll deal with them later.”

Serge pulled Madelyn to her feet. Anton withdrew his gun and motioned to the door. “Go,” he said.

Serge worked both locks on the outside of the beer cooler’s thick, white door. Madelyn was shoved in first. She stumbled over the doorjamb and fell to the metal floor with a hollow thump. Roman calmly stepped inside and turned to face Serge—the man he now knew for sure to be Nikolai Mateev’s great-nephew. “I’m going to get out of here and then, I’m going to kill you for hitting Madelyn.”

“Is that a wager, you stupid American?” he asked in halting English.

“I never make bets. It’s a pledge.”

Serge snorted. “Your promises bore me.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Roman and Madelyn in complete darkness.

* * *

Madelyn skidded across the cold metal floor and crashed into the wall. Every part of her body ached, throbbed or pained her. She didn’t care. She fumbled with the purse’s clasp and pulled out her phone. She hit the home button and the screen glowed.

“That won’t work in here,” Roman said. His voice came out of nowhere. “If it did, one of Oleg’s men would’ve taken your phone before they threw us in.”

She ignored him and dialed 9-1-1. The phone icon tumbled across the screen.

“We’re underground. The walls are cinder block, which makes the signal weak at best. Then you throw in these.” He wrapped his knuckles on the door. The metal walls echoed. “There’s no way for a signal to get through.”

She didn’t listen, staring instead at the cartwheeling phone icon.

“Madelyn, it’s not going to work.”

Roman knelt next to her, light from the phone illuminated his face. His lip was split and, for a moment, she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. Was that to be her final joy in life? A kiss from a stranger?

“How can you be so calm, while we’re sitting here waiting to die?”

Roman gently rested his hand on her wrist. “We aren’t going to die,” he said.

“Yes, we are. Those men will be back. They said so.”

“I don’t care who’s coming. I’m not going to let a turd like Oleg Zavalov end my life—yours, either. But to get out of here, I need you to work with me. Can you do that?”

The next call failed. It looked as though her only option was Roman. She took in a fortifying breath. “Okay, what do we do?”

“Bring your phone over here. I need a light on this lock.”

Madelyn used the screen to light their way. He knelt before the door and she illuminated the catch.

“Do you have a credit card?”

“For what?”

“If the dead bolt isn’t engaged, I can slip a credit card between the jamb and the door and disengage the first lock.”

Madelyn’s pulse began to race, but this time she felt hope and not dread. She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. The open end tipped over, scattering the contents of her handbag. Seeing the debris of her normal life on the floor brought tears to her eyes. The keys to her apartment and car. Her ID for the University of Colorado Hospital. Lipstick. Nail clippers. Two peppermints and a lint-covered bobby pin.

Would she ever need any of it again?

“Here.” She handed him a card and repositioned the phone to shine on Roman and the door.

He worked in silence for a moment before muttering a curse. “It was too much to hope that they’d be careless and not use both locks. I can open the bottom lock. To get out, I need to unlock the dead bolt, too.”

“So that’s it? We can’t do anything else.”

“I’m not giving up. Shine your phone on the walls, there has to be something we can use.”

Madelyn illuminated the walls from right to left. She saw nothing helpful, but then again—she didn’t know what he wanted to find.

“Bingo,” said Roman.

Her sweep stopped and the light shone on a thermometer.

Roman pried the face of the thermostat free, exposing the guts of the device. “It’s not as good as piano wire.” He worked a thin piece of metal free. “But it’ll do.”

Holding it up to the light, Roman continued. “I need you to shine your phone’s light on the door and keep your credit card steady at the same time.”

She slipped her wallet back into the bag and knelt next to Roman. His body heat enveloped her, warming her, reassuring her that he would do everything possible to save both of their lives.

Roman reached for Madelyn. His hand was large, with smooth calluses, and strong. He led her fingers to the card. “Hold it steady, just like that.”

She felt the tension in the thin plastic as it was held between the door and the jamb. “Got it,” she said.

He regarded her. In the light of the phone, his green eyes blazed. She moved closer to him, his breath brushed over her cheek. Madelyn never used the word brave to describe herself, nor adventurous. Yet as Roman moved forward, erasing the space between them, Madelyn took the lead and placed her lips on his. “In case we don’t make it out of here alive,” she said.

“We’ll make it.” He turned back to the door.

She smiled, not daring to hope and yet not able to fathom what would happen to her if they didn’t.

Roman’s breath stilled, and Madelyn held her own. Even in the freezing cooler, sweat damped Roman’s hair. He had a tattoo on his forearm. A screaming eagle with a banner in its talons.

“Hoc defendam,” she said. “This we’ll defend?”

“It’s the army’s motto.”

He’d been in the military. It explained a little—like how he knew how to handle himself in a fight and maybe even how he’d learned how to pick a lock. What it didn’t explain was why he was planting a listening device in Oleg’s office and what he hoped to overhear. Before she had time to wonder anymore, the lock clicked.

“Got it,” Roman said.

The door opened a fraction of an inch. Warm air and light leaked into the cooler. Madelyn didn’t have time for the tears of relief she wanted to shed. Sitting back on her heels, she collected her belongings. After shoving everything into her purse, she rose to her feet.

Roman peered into the hallway. Madelyn, at his back, looked over his shoulder. The door to Oleg’s office was closed. The man who’d been ordered to stand guard was nowhere in sight.

“There’s a door at the end of the hall that leads to a set of stairs and then an alleyway. We’re going out that way. Stay by my side and don’t make a sound.”

Madelyn held her breath and stepped into the hall. Roman carefully clicked the door shut behind them. Holding Roman’s hand, she quietly moved down the corridor. The door at the end was locked, but an electronic keypad clung to the wall. She waited while Roman entered a set of four numbers, certain that the pounding of her heart would give them away.

Two things happened in the same instant. A light atop the gray, metal box changed from red to green. One of the thugs came out of an adjacent room.

“Chuto, chert voz mi, ty delayesh?”

Madelyn had no idea what he’d said, but then again, she didn’t need to. The gun in his hand spoke volumes.

* * *

Glaring at Roman, Serge switched to English. “What the hell are you doing?”

One person. One gun. Roman’s odds were getting better and better. He stepped in front of Madelyn, shielding her with his body. The need to protect her was more of an instinct than a thought and he held his hands up, as if he intended to surrender.

Wordlessly, Serge jerked the gun toward the cooler.

Roman nodded, hands still lifted, and moved from the door. His focus sharpened to a razor’s edge. He kept his gaze connected with the thug’s, yet his concentration was on Serge’s hand, his arm, his gun.

Back to the wall, Roman inched toward the cooler—and Serge. Five feet away. Four feet. Three feet. Strike. Roman grabbed the gun’s barrel and wrenched it to the side. He twisted the firearm toward Serge’s thumb and at the same time, chopped down on the thug’s wrist. Roman righted the firearm, placing Serge into his sights.

Not sure of his next best play, Roman paused. In Russian, he said, “Opustoshit vashi karmany.” Empty your pockets.

Nikolai’s nephew gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Ty govorish’ po-russki?” You speak Russian?

“Da, chert voz’ mi, teperi’ opushoshit’ vashi karmany.” Damn right, now empty your pockets.

“Da, da, da,” said Serge. He withdrew his cell phone, wallet and a package of cigarettes from his blazer. He tossed them on the floor. From the pocket of his slim trousers, he pulled out the set of keys and threw those into the pile, as well.

“Walk,” Roman said, his voice little more than a whisper. “And if you make a sound I’ll blow your brains all over this hallway.”

Serge sauntered toward the cooler. He reached for the handle and then he swung out. Roman dodged back, but not far enough and the blow hit the gun’s barrel, knocking it from Roman’s grasp. The gun skittered down the hall, stopping next to where Madelyn huddled by the door. Roman wanted to tell her to run, but he could hear Oleg’s voice behind his closed office door, which meant that Oleg would be able to hear into the hallway, as well.

Serge bolted forward. Roman held out his arm, catching the other man midchest with a clothesline and knocking him back. Roman pounced before Serge had a chance to rise. He drove his fist down again and again. Roman’s arms ached, a stitch in his side burned and throbbed. His sweat-damp shirt clung to his torso like a second, gritty skin.

Nikolai’s nephew held up his arms to block the blows. His hands and wrists took more punishment than his face. Serge brought up his legs, hooking them over Roman’s shoulders. Shifting his weight, the thug knocked Roman onto his back. Then Serge crawled to stand and Roman grabbed him by the foot. He came down hard and Roman pressed down on his back. As Serge began to scream, Roman clamped his hand on the other man’s mouth and nose. His arms swung out wildly with ineffectual punches. His hits slowed and then stopped altogether.

The body went limp. There was no breath. Roman felt for a pulse that he knew he’d never find.

“Damn it,” he cursed.

In the silent hallway, he heard Madelyn’s stifled sobs and Oleg’s voice from behind the door. “Konechon, Otets, ya ozhidal uvidet’ vas poslezavtra.” Of course, Father, I will see you here tomorrow.

Otets. Father. Sire. It was a code name often used with Nikolai Mateev. Was the head of the Russian Mafia coming to Boulder? It was the information that Roman had been waiting five months to gather. He needed to contact the team from Rocky Mountain Justice right away, but first he had to hide Serge’s body.

He grabbed all of Serge’s personal effects and dropped everything, except for the keys to The Prow, on the dead man’s chest. Roman opened the cooler door and then dragged the body inside. He locked both locks and returned to Madelyn.

“Is he...?” She hiccupped as tears ran down her face. “Is he dead?”

Neither of them had time to mourn. “It was him or us,” he said as he entered the back door’s code. The lock disengaged with a click and Roman pushed the door open. He peered outside and saw nothing more than a set of metal stairs ascending to the alley and the backside of a Dumpster.

He opened the door further and reached for Madelyn’s hand. They’d done it. They’d escaped. But then from behind came an all-too-familiar voice. “Black!”

Oleg stood in the corridor. “Anton,” he screamed. “Serge! After them.”

Anton rushed out of the office.

“Get the car,” Oleg said. “Chase them down.”

Roman didn’t wait to see if Anton followed the orders. He pushed Madelyn into the night and pulled the door shut. Gripping Madelyn’s hand again, he sprinted up the stairs. His feet hit the pavement as a large raindrop fell on his forehead and the back door to The Prow burst open.

He held tight to Madelyn and willed his legs to move faster. The stitch in his side had returned, turning every breath into a fiery torture. He fixed his gaze on the intersecting street and ran faster still. Rain fell, wetting his skin and blurring his vision.

“My car’s two blocks up and one over,” Madelyn said, her voice breathless with exertion.

He liked that she was thinking. All they needed to do was outrun Oleg and Anton for three blocks. Or better yet, lose them. Roman pushed on. The end of the alley grew larger with each step. He ran through the intersection. On the other side, he kept close to the buildings and let the shadows hide his movements.