Limbo Man by Blair Bancroft Page A

plate of scrambled eggs and bacon onto the table, before dropping into a chair across from him, keeping her pout fixed on her mug of black coffee.
    Nick attacked his breakfast, but even with his mouth full, he couldn’t resist the obvious taunt. “Daddy makes you nervous?” he inquired sweetly. Oh, yeah. If dear old dad was that high up in Homeland Security, he’d probably had to sign off on pimping his daughter to a Russian arms dealer. No wonder tensions were high.
    “Go to hell.”
    But Vee’s heart wasn’t in it, Nick could tell. He could almost see the thoughts ticking in her head. Dad, docking. Securing lines to a couple of bollards. Walking up the path, climbing the porch steps . “Aren’t you going to meet him? Front door’s locked.”
    “Let him ring the bell.”
    “Vee, the guy’s come here to save your neck. Give him a break.”
    “This is Jack Frost we’re talking about. Believe me, it’s your neck he’s come to save. Family comes dead last. Pun intended. And, besides, he’s probably carrying a spare key in his pocket. That’s my father. Always prepared, as long it’s business.”
    Sure enough. Firm footsteps sounded on the hall’s wooden boards. Jack Frost, also following the smell of bacon to the kitchen.
    As their visitor paused in the doorway, Nick bounced to his feet, because anyone who sat and gawked at a man like Jack Frost found himself devoured, hair, skin, teeth, and bones by a serious predator. Nick had a flash of one of his Russian serf ancestors being dropped at the feet of the Tsar. Even Sergei felt a tremor of respect.
    Jack Frost topped Nick by at least an inch, a big-boned man with a handsome face honed by classic WASP arrogance. Generations of privileged wealth, the best schools, and the sure knowledge that he was born with the right to govern. To tell lesser mortals what to do. A man who lived by My country, right or wrong.
    Nick recognized the type. Somewhere, somehow he’d known a man like this. Larger than life. A man who could hold a room, a crowd, a country in the palm of his hand. A man who . . .
    It was important, vital that he remember this giant in his life. But the glimpse of a ghost faded, leaving him with the dynamic presence of Jack the Giant Killer. One thing was certain—Frosty was very well connected.
    And so, perhaps, was he.
    But he would never wave a daughter like a nice juicy steak in front of a gangster like Sergei. He’d really like to take a swing at the self-satisfied shmuck.
    Without so much as a “Good morning,” Frost spoke directly to Vee, who was still seated at the table, looking mulish. As if she knew she had to depend on Daddy, but wished he were anywhere but here. “Valentina, I need to speak with Tokarev alone. We’ll leave you here to finish your breakfast.”
    She shot to her feet. “Oh, no, you won’t. You’re not shutting me out.”
    Interesting, Nick thought, that Frost didn’t snap her head off. He could almost hear the VIP from Homeland Security counting to ten.
    “I will brief you both together, Valentina, but right now I have private business with Tokarev. You will wait here.” No need to add, “That’s an order.” Nobody who heard Frost’s tone could doubt it.
    Vee buried her flushed face behind her coffee mug, while Nick followed her father into the living room. The man from DHS waved him onto the sofa, but remained standing. “What are you still doing here?” he barked.
    “Sir?”
    “Why haven’t you snapped her neck, grabbed her cash and gun, and taken off?”
    A valid question, Nick conceded, but damn cold-blooded.
    “Okay,” Frost continued, “let’s put this another way. You and Vee were supposed to be surrounded by agents from the moment you left the hospital. The ride to the airport, the flight, the carefully chosen safe house. No way was she ever supposed to be alone with you. And yet within twenty minutes of leaving Bellvue, the two of you were on your own. And she’s been alone with you on this