Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [11]
“Whatever.” Jelena shrugged. She spoke English with no foreign intonation at all, unlike Annika, whose English was freighted with a heavy Russian accent.
“I see you have no trouble talking to strangers.”
“If I did, I’d be out of a job,” Jelena said. “I handle the hotel’s overseas bookings.”
Annika signaled the bartender. “What will you have . . .”
“Jack,” he said. “Jack McClure.”
Annika nodded. “What’s your poison, Jack McClure?”
“Single malt,” Jack said to the bartender. “Oban, please.”
“Right away, sir.” The bartender went to retrieve the bottle of scotch.
“I hope you have a strong constitution, Mr. McClure.”
“Shut up, Jelena.” Annika shot her friend a daggered look before turning back to Jack. “Ignore her. She’s developed a lurid imagination from reading too many American thrillers.”
“I have no idea what the two of you are talking about.”
The bartender set his drink in front of him, then backed away as if they were all radiating plutonium.
“You might as well tell him, Annika.”
“That seems like a good idea,” he said, taking a sip of his Oban.
Annika sighed. “My ex—his name is Ivan Gurov—is a minor—and I stress minor—member of a Russian grupperovka.” Her eyes locked on his. “You know this word?”
Jack did. “He’s part of the Moscow mafia.”
“He’s a fucking criminal,” Jelena said with more emotion than she’d shown up until now.
“As you can see, Jack, Jelena didn’t approve of my involvement with Ivan.”
“He’s a bloodsucker,” Jelena said, clearly warming to the topic. “He’s trash washed up in the gutter, who’d as soon slit your throat as look twice at you. He gets more pleasure out of blood than vodka, that’s for sure.”
“My friend needs to learn to have an opinion,” Annika said with a good-natured laugh.
“And you need to watch out behind you,” Jelena said soberly. “You, too, Mr. McClure. I saw the look Ivan gave you.”
“I take it that means he won’t be thrown in jail.”
“His friends would see he got out in a heartbeat,” Annika said, “which is why the police won’t bother pursuing the matter.”
“More likely they don’t want to wind up in an alley with a bullet in the back of the head,” Jelena said. “They have a serious aversion to being taken out with the garbage.”
Jack took another sip of his scotch. “Count me in on that group.”
“Don’t worry,” Annika said. “Jelena tends to overstate the case when it comes to Ivan. He’s pretty far down the grupperovka food chain.”
Jelena made a derisive sound. “That doesn’t stop him from killing people.”
“You don’t know that for a fact.”
“I hear things, Annika, same as you.” She shook her head. “You’re so naïve sometimes.”
Jack had had about enough Halloween stories for one evening. He had zero interest in seeing Ivan Gurov again, but he didn’t have any expectation that he would, especially since by tomorrow morning he’d be in the air, on his way to Ukraine.
He finished his drink and stood up. “Ladies, it’s been interesting, but all things considered it’s time for me to leave.”
“You see what you did, Jelena,” Annika pouted, “you’ve driven away another man.” She rose and threw some money on the bar. “I promised to make sure you got to your room.”
“That’s right,” Jelena said with a sardonic edge. “That disgusting pig of yours might be hiding in the elevator.”
Jack held up his hands. “Ladies, I like women fighting over me as much as the next guy, but, really, I can find my way upstairs by myself.”
ALONE IN the elevator, he still felt Annika’s cat’s eyes following him, and he wondered whether she or Jelena had been seriously coming on to him. Maybe that was just male ego talking. Then again, it could be that both of them had been flirting with him, which had long been a fantasy of his, one he shared with about a billion other men. One thing was for certain, his brain and theirs had been vibrating on two distinct frequencies. Between the assignment in Ukraine, secret from even the president’s staff, and the escalating friction with Sharon, his mind had no room for flirtatious Russian women, especially when one had a mobster for a boyfriend,