Genie for Hire Read Online Free PDF Page B

who exuded a sense of power. Biff admired Maria
Petrovna for standing up for her daughter.
    Why did Ovetschkin want the pictures of his wife if she had
left him to return to Russia? Biff was confused. Perhaps he had drunk too much
vodka.
    A tall, gray-haired man joined the trio. “How is my princess
enjoying the party?” he said, kissing Natasha’s forehead.
    “Mama says we must leave,” she said, pouting. “First Igor
leaves, and now we must go too.”
    “Surely not so soon,” the man said. “Good evening, Kiril.”
    “Professor,” Kiril said, nodding. “I was just admiring the
beauty of your daughter. She is your oldest?”
    “Yes. She graduates this May, and starts at Yale in the
fall.”
    “So beautiful, and so intelligent,” Ovetschkin said. “She
will make someone a wonderful wife. Igor, perhaps?”
    Natasha beamed, but her father did not look happy. “Natasha
has much ahead of her before she will consider marriage.” He took his
daughter’s hand and said, “Come, my dear. I want to introduce you to someone.”
    He swept Natasha away, Maria Petrovna following with her
head bowed. Kiril watched them leave, licking his lips, and Biff wondered who
the Professor was, and how he could so easily dismiss such a powerful man.
    Biff left the party after wolfing down more of the excellent
caviar. He had the thief’s name and address. But everything else about the case
was murky. Why had Igor taken the photos of his boss’s wife? It was obvious
that Kiril did not know Igor was the thief; if he had, he’d have gone directly
to Igor and demanded their return. Was Douschka dead? Or had Kiril sent her
back to Russia? And why would Kiril demand the return of the digital files if
his wife was no longer in the picture?
    As he walked back to his car, Biff considered removing
himself as intermediary. He could simply notify Kiril that Igor had the files,
and sit back as the powerful man dealt with the issue on his own, removing
Sveta from the picture.
    But he didn’t feel that would be right. He had been hired by
his client to retrieve property stolen from her, and he had never let someone
else do his own dirty work. He would have to get the files himself.
    He didn’t have to get them directly from Igor, he thought,
turning right, toward the ocean, rather than left, which would take him back to
his office. Igor Laskin would be busy driving to Miami Airport and speaking
with the Customs agent there. He would not be back to his apartment in Sunny
Isles Beach for some time.
    Biff was careful to watch the speed limit as he drove south through
Golden Beach, the exclusive town tucked between the Broward county line and Sunny
Isles Beach. He’d seen far too many cars pulled over for speeding tickets, and
his driver’s license wasn’t exactly kosher. For one thing, it didn’t reveal his
true age—but then, no one seeing him would believe the truth anyway.
    He typed Igor Laskin’s address into the GPS on his
dashboard, and received step-by-step directions from A1A to the building, an
elegant high-rise tucked onto a narrow piece of land that fronted Biscayne Bay.
There was no on-street parking, so he turned back, leaving his car in the
Epicure Market lot. It was after one a.m. by then, and the lot was nearly
empty.
    Keeping to the shadows, he walked through the guard gate
unnoticed, then slipped past the dozy concierge at the front desk. Laskin’s
bayfront unit was on the 15 th floor, and despite the deadbolt he
slid through the door like a wisp of smoke, pausing just inside to take a
mental survey.
    It was a one-bedroom unit, with a galley kitchen off the
living room. A real bachelor pad, focused on the view through sliding glass doors
to the balcony and the cityscape beyond. A dozen high-rises loomed across the
broad expanse of the bay, in Aventura on the mainland. A patchwork of windows
were lit; the water glinted in the moonlight, and two sailboats rocked at
anchor in the light breeze.
    There wasn’t much