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their special forces trainees wade through pools of blood while fighting off seasoned Spetsnaz, he could only guess at what Tori had survived.
    To start with, Tori wasn’t Tori’s real name. It was Viktoriya. And this wasn’t the first time she’d changed her name, but for some reason both she and Veronika had gone with derivatives of their birth names.
    There were more questions where Tori’s family was concerned, but now he knew who the blond woman was. Her mother. Olga. Emery also felt reasonably certain the Russian hit team was being called in on some sort of retaliation hit job against the girls’ father, Alexander Iradokovia. Unless the spook had faked his death, he was long gone, but the mafia had an even longer memory. Emery also knew where the girls’ new surname came from. Chazov was the maiden name of one of Olga’s aunts.
    The girls’ lives had woven in and out of the FBI records since they were babies, first as footnotes to Alexander’s files, then later because the girls were proving useful. The details about their early work were vague, usually pertaining to information they could provide, often missing chunks of time or reports that should have been filed, but the FBI had used Tori since she was a girl. And now she was a contracted employee. It was a miracle the girls hadn’t been killed, considering all the FBI had asked of them.
    Their history was fascinating, but it didn’t give him the window into Tori’s life he’d secretly wanted. It was merely a road map that told him the when and where, but never the why. Guilt gnawed at him. Though it was part of his job to know, he didn’t have to pry. Would Tori be upset at him for digging around? He couldn’t tell. The good thing was, he had a lead. Or at least a place to start.
    Special Agent Tony Cardno was stationed in New York and worked on the FBI’s mob task force. If the Russians were shifting people around, he was the one to ask. He was also the source of Emery’s most informative data hits of the night.
    What exactly was the agent searching that would return results that included Tori’s history?
    The last time he’d had to call an FBI source, Emery had made up a name and a bullshit reason to get the information he needed. At least this time he’d met Tony.
    Emery grabbed a cup of instant coffee and settled in at his desk. It took him a few moments to route a call through Washington, D.C., for good measure. By the time he slid his headset on, the line rang.
    â€œPick up,” Emery muttered.
    â€œCardno.”
    Emery almost sighed with relief.
    â€œTony, it’s Emery down in Florida.”
    â€œHey, what are you doing calling me?” Tony’s tone brightened. Emery had almost expected the man to have forgotten him.
    â€œHey, man, is this your work I’m hearing all over the news?” Emery sipped his coffee and waited. For the last few days Emery had caught snatches here and there on all the major channels about the Russian spy ring and their method of passing information along in seemingly innocent items. Hats. Umbrellas. Sporting tickets. It was all very Cold War, and they’d been quite successful with it for a while.
    â€œI can’t talk about that, man.”
    â€œAll right. Well, give my congrats to whoever is busting that spy ring. That’s some crazy stuff.”
    â€œIsn’t it?”
    â€œYeah, man, but that’s not why I called. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. I’ve got an asset I think some mob boys are about to target, and I was hoping you’d know a bit about the current Russian movements in and out of the state.”
    â€œThat’s not specific at all. Remind me, what op are you running?” A door closed, shutting out the ambient noise of an office in the morning.
    The sounds of normalcy hit Emery in the stomach. He’d pretty much been on his own since his indoctrination into the