Rob Thurman - Chimera

He filled the envelopes quickly and silently after that. When he was done, I handed them to Michael before directing him to the door. “Wait in the hall, Misha. I’ll be right out.”

I expected him to hesitate at the tone in my voice. I barely recognized the sound of it myself, abraded hoarseness aside. He didn’t, though. Flashing me a look of confidence, he faced Lev and said with excruciating politeness, “Good-bye, Uncle Lev. I’d say it was nice to meet you, but then I’d be a liar.” He hefted the load in his arms and finished with unusually savage bite, “Just like you.”

Once Michael was out of sight, I stared at the man who had done more to shape my childhood than my own father. He had taken me to see Santa when I was six, as he’d said. And like Saint Nick, Uncle Lev had been nothing but a myth. All this time, he had been just a story I’d been stupid enough to fall for . . . even though I was a man who should’ve known better. “Have a seat, Uncle.”

Obeying at a snail’s pace, he settled himself slowly on a couch of buttery leather and eyed me with false sympathy. There was some genuine concern there as well, but it was reserved for him. “What, Stefan? What do you do now? Shoot me? You know better, and so do I.”

He was a liar, a killer, and maybe as much of a monster as Jericho. He was also a seventy-year-old man who had acted as family toward me my whole life. It hadn’t meant anything to him, but it had to me. As much as I would’ve liked to deny it, it had meant a helluva lot to me. After what he had done, hating him should’ve been child’s play. A nice black hatred sizzling with acid and bile would’ve made things so much easier. And I wanted easy now. I was tired of hard, and I was tired of family that disappeared . . . one way or the other.

“Shoot you?” I walked to the desk, picked up the phone and base, and tossed it into the hall. “Why would I want to shoot a toothless old wolf like you, Uncle?” I asked grimly. “Your day has been over for a while. All you’re good for is carrying tales to men more powerful than you.” It was true. He was a fat spider; poisonous, but if I avoided his web, I’d be safe enough.

Ripping one of the curtains free, I tore it into pieces and tied both of his thick wrists tightly. He hissed disapprovingly as I squatted and used the remaining material to do the same to his ankles. “Those are silk, Stefan. That’s no way to treat a beautiful thing.”

“Criminal of me, I know. How will I ever live with myself?” The house was old, a historical masterpiece, and the doors all had the large keyholes equipped with baroque keys. I would lock Lev in the study and Michael and I would be long gone before he was found. He’d done us the favor of sending his help home; the house was empty except for him and the unconscious and dying hit men.

“I think you’ll do just fine, krestnik .” Resigned to the situation, he leaned back and let his eyes fall to half mast. “You’ve more yaitsa than I gave you credit for. Anatoly will be proud. That is, he will be if he’s alive and you yourself live to see him again.”

“If I do, I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.” I tied the final knot.

Under a naturally ruddy complexion intensified by a high-fat diet and an enlarged heart, he paled slightly. I might have balls of steel, but my father’s were titanium. While I wouldn’t kill an old man, Anatoly would stop and make a point of it.

“Enjoy that wave-free retirement, Lev.” I picked up the Steyr from the floor and tapped the muzzle on his knee. “However long it lasts.”

Rising, I moved toward the door. Behind me the couch creaked alarmingly as Lev shifted. “Stefan,” he called urgently.

I kept going.

“Stefan, my heart medicine.” He was referring to the nitro pills he had been taking for nearly a decade now. Too many bleenies and too much vodka had finally caught up with him over the years. “I might need it. It’s in the master bedroom.”

“Is it?” I paused in the doorway to look back at him. “That’s too bad, Uncle Lev. It really is.” Quietly pulling the door shut, I locked it.

And then I walked away.

“ Ilike this one. Can we keep it?”

I shut off the engine and snorted ruefully as Michael ran a reverent finger across the dashboard. “Life should be so easy.” We were in the middle of a snowdrift-covered mall parking lot in the SUV that Sevastian and Pavel had rented at the airport. Our own car was beginning to flounder in the snowstorm and I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it had four-wheel drive and was sitting unlocked in Lev’s driveway. It was about time we switched cars anyway, but we couldn’t keep this one. Too bad. It was nice, with leather seats and a stereo system that could be heard in the next state. It also had GPS written all over it, but we had a few days to find another car before the rental place figured out no one was bringing this one back.

“It would be a nice change.” Breathing lightly on the passenger window, he drew a cartoon face in the fogged glass. It had a ferocious scowl and familiar curly hair.

“What?” I reached over and wiped away the unflattering if accurate portrait. “The car or life?”

“Both,” he said with a teasing quirk of his lips. Then more seriously he said, “About what happened at the house . . . I’m sorry.” The words came out rather awkwardly, as if he’d never said them before. Chances were he never had. If one of the kids in the Institute had reason to be sorry, I would be surprised if they were given the opportunity to apologize. Jericho was bound to embrace a zero tolerance policy with a vengeance.

“Sorry?” I echoed blankly. “What do you have to be sorry about, Misha? I’m the one who got us into this mess. Hell, you saved my life back there.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Two fingers softly stroked the ferret’s head as it peeked from Michael’s jacket pocket. “I’m sorry about your uncle Lev.”

“Yeah?” My jaw tightened and I made a conscious effort to relax it. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Like the man said, it was only business. It’s my fault for forgetting that.”

“It is? When you were five or six? I know I would’ve been thinking that while sitting on Santa’s lap.”

I raised my eyebrows at his sarcasm and ignored the meaning behind his comment. I knew I’d started out young and innocent, and I didn’t blame the naïve kid who’d loved his uncle Lev. But not blaming the blindly stupid adult who should’ve known better was a little more difficult. “Had a class on Santa too, did you?”

“All the major topics were covered.” He was still wearing the glasses, but they had swooped down to balance on the end of his nose. It made it easier for him to shoot me an exasperated glance over the rims. “You’re changing the subject, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m ignoring it altogether.” I leaned the seat back, looked at the roof for a moment, then rolled my head toward Michael. “You never did say what you did to Sevastian to take him down like that.”

He pushed the glasses back up, trying very hard for casual. To give him credit, he almost made it. “Stopped the blood flow to his brain, just for a few seconds. It’s harmless. Mostly.”

“You knocked him out,” I said with instant and strong approval. Michael had done the only thing he could to save me. I wasn’t going to let him start second-guessing or blaming himself now. He’d shown a lot of restraint with Sevastian, a good deal more than I had. “Good idea. You really did save my life, you know. Again. It’s getting to be a habit of yours, making me look bad.” I grinned at him. “I guess I owe you, huh?”