Hunted by Jaycee Clark Page B

soul took what belonged to Mikhail Jezek. Reyer, or whoever the hell the bastard was, would pay and pay dearly for taking her.
    Mikhail took a deep breath, trembling with the force of controlling his rage. When he opened his eyes and saw the destruction, he fisted his hands.
    “Find them . ”
    “We’re checking the hotels in the city,” Luther said.
    Mikhail took another deep breath. He’d have to report the loss of another girl. The bosses would not be happy.
    He kicked a piece of the lamp out of the way. “You stupid fool. They’re not in the city. Get the word out. I want someone at every embassy, every bus station, the airports, and the border crossings.”
    He’d known.
    The calm look of Reyer had warned him. The man had been too calm. Too still.
    Had she known?
    Mikhail closed his eyes and thought about Dusk. That swarthy, exotic skin, the dark black hair, the icy eyes. She hadn’t known. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, the worry, even the hatred as she’d stared at Reyer when the man had touched her.
    So who was he?
    It didn’t matter. That man would die. Whether or not Mikhail killed Dusk right off was another matter. If she’d left willingly, then he’d make her suffer. If she was an innocent pawn in all this, some move against him . . . He’d see.
    No one left Mikhail Jezek.
    “Find them,” he lashed out again. “Contact me as soon as you know something.”
    He walked across the room, the rage still riding him hard. He needed to get rid of it so he could think. Where were the women? He went in search of the stupid little pretties that would have to suffice for a current replacement of those who angered him.
    Dusk . . .
     
    * * *
     
    Near the German-Czech border; 3:02 a.m.
     
    The checkpoint was open this time of night. Why, she wasn’t certain and didn’t care. They would know. Someone would know. They always knew. How had she thought she’d get out of this alive? Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
    Mr. John Ashbourne, no longer Reyer, reached out and clasped her hand, leaning down to say, “It’s all right, darling.”
    The name change didn’t really surprise her. For some reason, it seemed one of the more normal things of the whole damn night. Her brain couldn’t seem to wrap around everything. Not quickly enough. Things were going so fast.
    Mr. and Mrs. Ashbourne. They were heading to Berlin to fly home after a mini vacation, but she had fallen ill. Good thing she looked the part.
    Ice chipped through her veins and she looked around, not wanting to lean on Ashbourne, but not wanting to draw attention to them.
    They had to get away. The feeling the noose was closing in on them would not go away. It was as if she were still forced to wear that damn collar, but this time, it squeezed, like angry hands. Waiting, just waiting for her to make one wrong move.
    The old building was probably built back during the Cold War and hadn’t changed too much since. Scuffed and scarred linoleum, no longer a color other than gray, covered the floor. There were four people in front of them, all college students from the laughter and sounds of things. One was sick, still drunk and swaying, but still grinning. She vaguely wondered if they’d just hopped over the border from Germany to have a bit of fun like too many others she’d known. Maybe so, but they seemed harmless enough.
    Harmless? What the hell did she know of harmless?
    Every face she saw as a potential danger. Someone watching her too closely.
    A shudder racked through her and Ashbourne pulled her coat tighter around her and kissed the crown of her head.
    She was so exhausted, so weary that she felt herself leaning into his warmth.
    She didn’t want to. The man was a man. Helping her or not, he was a man. She’d learned that men had a way of taking what they wanted, regardless of what she wanted.
    The foursome moved off around the checkpoint and through the other door at the end of the building.
    She trembled again.
    Their turn.
    Oh, God,