Desperate Hours

Cassian

He was like a man on fire, a man possessed although his mind was now moving coldly, clinically. He was reaching out to all the people he knew, the ones who had any idea about Igor Volkov's whereabouts, the ones who had agreed to stand with him if a gang war broke out.

But he kept drawing blanks. Raking his hand through his grey-white hair, he turned sharply as the door was flung open.

Firs