Nathan checked the luminous dial on his watch as he jogged past the tennis courts, careful to keep his pace steady. He was estimating the distances to various points in the estate by keeping track of how long it took him to jog it. He was also scouting out possible escape routes, but he had yet to find any way in or out other than the main gate.

      For someone who was as paranoid as Volski was turning out to be, it was a good setup. The heavily wooded acreage was extremely private and enclosed by a twelve-foot-high, well-lit, electrified fence. Not only was the perimeter of the grounds patrolled by guards, the men who worked here also lived here. When they weren’t on duty watching for trespassers, they kept an eye on each other. Even though the sun had set thirty minutes ago, Nathan had passed—and had been noticed by—more than half a dozen men.

      The estate would be as tough to break out of as it would be to break into.

      Nathan detoured around a series of terraced gardens that bordered the swimming pool and chose a path that led around the house. It was a long run, since the yellow-brick three-story building sprawled outward in two angled wings. And despite the security provided by the guards and the perimeter fence, the area between the wings was hidden behind a high stone wall covered with ivy. What was in there? A courtyard? More gardens?

      Nathan reached the front of the house and noticed that the upper floors were dark, except for the glow from a large bay window near the far end. Kelly had mentioned there were fifty-five rooms. Which one did she sleep in? Was she already in bed?

      Was Volski there with her?

      Something ugly and violent went through him at the thought.

      I look forward to a long and profitable association with you, Mr. Rand. That’s what Volski had said when he’d met him this afternoon. Although Nathan had photos of the Russian in the files he had gathered, that had been the first time he’d been face-to-face with the man he had to bring down.

      Volski had been precisely what Nathan had expected. Arrogant, pretentious and coldly calculating. He’d furnished his house like a palace and had dressed himself like nobility. The thugs he’d surrounded himself with called him “sir.”

      Kelly had sat on the edge of Volski’s desk throughout the meeting, looking beautiful and composed as she sipped tea from a gold-rimmed china cup, the perfect accessory to complete her boyfriend’s image.

      Nathan had been pursuing this man for more than a month. There should have been nothing in his head except the task in front of him.

      Instead, his mind had been filled with Kelly.

      From what he’d observed since he’d arrived here, she was Volski’s girlfriend and willing partner, but Nathan couldn’t picture those two together. He didn’t want to picture those two together. When he did, it stirred feelings that were as primitive as the desire to kiss her that he felt every time he looked at her mouth.

      His knuckles twinged. He glanced down and saw that he’d tightened his hands into fists. Forcing them open, he turned his back on the house and ran down the driveway. He checked his watch one last time, then slowed to a walk as he approached the long yellow-brick building that housed Stephan’s fleet of cars.

      The guest apartment Volski had assigned to him had been built into the space under the peak of the garage roof and as a result it was enormous, extending the full length of the building. Volski had claimed it would provide Nathan with privacy, but in reality, it did the opposite. The only way to reach the apartment was by an outside staircase, and since the staircase was in full view of the adjacent carriage house where several of the guards lived, all of Nathan’s comings and goings would be observed and reported on more easily than if he’d been staying at the main house.

      Nathan closed the door behind him and peeled off his T-shirt as he headed down the hall to the main bathroom. The place was decorated with overblown opulence. The floors were green marble, the picture frames were gilded with gold and the furniture was heavy and dark, with carved wooden legs and red velvet upholstery.

      Nathan missed the clean, airy lines of his downtown penthouse. The furniture there was low and sleek, with nothing to detract from his view of the lake and the paintings on his walls. Yet as long as he was posing as Rand, it would be safer not to return there, anyway. Not only did staying here simplify his cover, it would allow him to gather more information aboutVolski’s operation.

      Was Volski doing the same with him? Nathan didn’t think the man’s paranoia extended to electronic eavesdropping—from what Nathan had observed, Volski’s methods weren’t that subtle—but just in case it did, he reasoned a bathroom would be the least likely room to be bugged. With the water of the shower running, he slipped his cell phone out of the Velcro-sealed pocket of his running shorts and thumbed in the number of Tony Monaco.

      As usual, the ringing was interrupted by a series of clicks as the call was rerouted. Tony had four houses on this continent that Nathan knew of, not counting the island in the Caribbean. It was anyone’s guess which place he would be using on a given day.

      There was a second set of clicks before the call was finally picked up. An odd hissing noise swelled in the background. The distinctive deep voice that came through the receiver was like granite wrapped in velvet. “Talk.”

      He pressed the phone tighter to his ear and blocked his other ear with the heel of his hand. “Tony, it’s Nathan.”

      “Where are you?”

      “Volski’s estate.”

      The background hissing faded. There was a muted scraping sound, like cast iron sliding across metal—a pan being taken off a stove?—then the clink of cutlery against china. “I’m assuming that is by choice,” Tony said.

      “More or less. He doesn’t entirely trust me.”

      “That was to be expected.” He paused briefly. When he spoke again, it sounded as if he were chewing. “You’ve had more than a month, Nathan.”

      The reminder had been spoken mildly, but that didn’t diminish its impact. Tony Monaco wasn’t the kind of man who needed to raise his voice to get his point across. His actions and his reputation did that for him. At one time, he had been the heir to a criminal empire that would have made Volski’s operation look like a mom-and-pop corner store. Although Tony directed his energy toward other pursuits now, he hadn’t come that far from his roots.

      Nathan’s pulse, still elevated from his run, took an extra leap. “I will pay you back, Tony.”

      “I hope you do. You were one of the first to join the organization, and I’ve enjoyed watching your success over the years. You’ve invested the profits from your business wisely. What are you worth now? Seventy million? Seventy-five?”

      At current market value, his stock portfolio and real estate amounted to closer to eighty, not counting his art collection, but Nathan knew the exact figure was irrelevant. It wasn’t money that Tony wanted.

      “You’ve been an asset to Payback,” Tony continued, “but I can’t make any exceptions, even for you.”

      “I knew the rules going in,” Nathan said. “I’m not asking for exceptions. The deal’s set for this Friday.”

      Liquid splashed into a glass. “All right,” Tony said. “What do you need?”

      “A name. A contact in the FBI I can trust to bring in for the end game.”

      “I’ll have someone get back to you on that. Which number are you using?”

      Nathan recited the number for the direct line to his office at Pack Leader. He wouldn’t be going back there as Beliveau until this deal was finished—he’d tied up as many loose ends as he could and had told his staff he was taking a vacation before he’d come to the estate this morning. Still, it would be safer to retrieve the message from his office voice mail there than to risk getting a call