The detective looked tense, but Dylan was confident that in less than ten minutes, she’d have her murder case solved.
She scowled as Dylan and Sarah drifted over. “Mr Quinlan, I’m not happy about this plan. We don’t usually allow civilians to –”
He held up his hands. “Well, sure, if you want to go up there now and arrest him with no confession or evidence, be my guest.”
She opened her mouth to give a gruff reply, but then she closed it again and shook her head. “If he kills you, I’ll tell your family ‘I told you so’. Alright?”
Dylan chuckled. “It’s a deal. You got your cell-phone number? I’ll call you so you can record the whole thing, okay?”
“Yes, go on then.”
He winked at her and she almost smiled. He called her, then placed his own phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Can you hear me?” he asked.
The detective held her phone to her ear. “I can.”
“Perfect. Sarah, sweetheart, stay here with the detectives and I’ll be right back, okay.”
Sarah threw her arms around him and kissed him hard, attracting a few looks from the reception staff. “Be careful, Dylan. I’m not losing you again.”
He laughed and eased himself away. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Dylan made his way in the elevator to the third floor and summoned up his cockiest stance as he strode down the lavish corridor towards the heavy wooden doors of Orlov’s office.
He drew on the strength of his brothers – Adam’s charms, Ivan’s fighting spirit, and Joseph’s optimism – and they merged together in his chest, along with his deep love for Sarah. After this was over, they’d be free to love each other safely again. And this time he was never letting her go.
He threw open the door without knocking and ambled inside. The huge boardroom overlooked the stunning London skyline, and the massive windows made the whole space feel light and airy. But
the main feature of the room right now were the eight burly Russian men sitting in expensive leather chairs around the long boardroom table dressed in designer suits, all staring at Dylan with their mouths open. Dylan recognised most of them from Orlov’s party. The guy who’d been led away that night was conspicuous in his absence. But the others were here and waiting to see what Dylan wanted. They were managing to keep as cool as Orlov – who was sitting in the centre of the boardroom table, drumming his fingers on the polished wood.
Dylan stared directly into his eyes, refusing to be intimidated by how young and good-looking his nemesis was. “Hi, Vlad.”
“Mr Quinlan,” Orlov said coolly. “I think you are early for our meeting.”
“No, actually, I’m right on time.” He strolled into the room and stood at the head of the table – as eight pairs of fiery Russian eyes scrutinised him. “You see, the thing is, I thought you and I should confess our dirty secret to your buddies here. I’m sure they’d like to know all about that little thing you lost, huh?”
Orlov’s face didn’t flicker. “Well, please be welcome to confess all, Mr Quinlan, but it would be like committing suicide. They will merely torture you until they get it back.”
A middle-aged balding Russian glared at Orlov. “Get what back?”
Orlov stared at Dylan, daring him to expose their secret.
Dylan shook his head in mock-disapproval. “Alright, I’ll tell you. Orlov’s lost the blueprint for the perpetual motion device. Can you believe that? I mean, who’d do that?”
The atmosphere in the spacious room turned as chilly as an Arctic glacier – and much more destructive. Dylan saw Orlov run a finger nervously inside his shirt collar. Perhaps one person in here was beginning to feel the heat…
A stern-looking bullet-faced Russian banged his fist on the table, making it shake. “Is this true, Vladimir?”
Orlov refused to become rattled. “Our friend here has it. I assume he thinks he can blackmail us with it, but he obviously doesn’t know Russians very well. He will give it back or he knows what will happen.”
“Yes,” the bullet-faced Russian growled. “You will give it back now. You will never blackmail us. Return it, or your family will suffer.”
Dylan shrugged. “Impossible. I destroyed it.”
Dylan smiled as his words slammed into the minds of the powerful Russians. Realisation dawned and they seethed as one. Dylan’s heart pummelled his ribcage, but he stood tall and kept his cool. The Russians seemed to be processing the fact that their ticket to infinite wealth, power, and world domination had just exploded in a single second.
And they all knew whose fault it was…
“You destroyed it?” the balding man hissed.