Tag: The Night Is a Harsh Mistress

Aleksandr Chernoff just smiled. “If you’ll come this way, Miss Carmichael? I’ve taken the liberty of having a light meal prepared. I understand you had to eat in a McDonalds.” He said the restaurant name with a faint sneer, as though he disapproved of such a pedestrian choice.

Or maybe he just didn’t care for the food…

Her mother’s family always ate when guests came over, so maybe she was just being judgmental. Her mother liked to act American, but Nana kept to the customs of Vorobyovy Gory back home. ‘Zakuski,’ or snacks, accompanied the ever-present vodka and mixers. Her uncle Vanya, whom the family teased because of the play by that name, usually ate his share and a share of everyone else’s, causing her mother distress because she had to cook whenever he just dropped by for a visit.

It didn’t appear that Aleksandr suffered any such difficulties. The room just off the entryway spread along the front of the house, easily thirty feet long. Three separate conversation circles grouped in discrete sections split the room up, but could easily be reconfigured if necessary. Fifteen feet wide and carpeted in a rich chocolate with flecks of caramel, the room’s walls exuded wealth. Heavy carved wooden pillars lined the wall at eight foot intervals, and the area between them sported a rich ivory paint. Wall sconces perfectly centered between each one sparked the way only fine crystal could, and she shuddered to think of how much work went into dusting and polishing them.

A heavy claw-footed buffet stood along the wall to the left of the nearest circle. A silver ewer of tea held court over several plates of puff-pastry and single servings of salad.

Of course, the minute the aroma hit her nose, her mouth watered…

“Please, help yourself,” Aleksandr invited. He stepped ahead of her to pour tea and she lifted a plate.

Bone china, from the feel of it.

She wanted to cry.

She glared at Viktor, but he smirked faintly and got a plate. He said nothing, just waited for her to select some snacks.

If one could call such fare ‘snacks,’ of course.

The pastries still exuded steam and she selected one of each. The last had sugar sprinkled on top, so she set it to the corner of her plate for dessert. A table and three heavy chairs stood next to a huge picture window that overlooked a lush flower garden. She sat down and glimpsed a shadowy figure of a guard, pacing by outside. She shivered.

“Viktor tells me you are quite an investigator,” Aleksandr said by way of introduction. He set three glasses of tea down, one for each of them, and Viktor set a plate of pastries and a salad by his father’s chair. “I’m quite impressed.”

“Thank you,” she responded. “He’s told me little of you.”

The most powerful mob boss in the world gazed at her and then laughed, but a shiver went up her spine. It would not do to push this man too far, she guessed.

“I don’t doubt that,” Aleksandr purred. “But come. Tell me of my son.”

“Your son, sir?” Rachel echoed, glancing at Viktor. “Um…”

“No, of Vasily.”

“She doesn’t know, Father,” Viktor put in.

Aleksandr studied his son. “You keep many secrets, Viktor. Not all of them are necessary.”

“Perhaps,” Viktor grunted. “But until recently, I didn’t think she’d actually find him. They found her, which surprised me.”

“Indeed. How, I wonder?”

“Who?” Rachel demanded. “And who the heck is Vasily?”

“You know him as David Greene,” Viktor told her evenly, with no inflection.

She went cold from the chest out. “David Greene.”

“Yes.”

“Son of Constance and Doug Greene?”

“Yes.”

She sat back, chilled from head to foot. “Viktor, you never said that he was related to you!”

“I didn’t feel it would help the situation.”

“And now?”

“Now, I do.”

“So you drag me into the middle of your family drama?” she shouted.

Viktor just studied her, that remote stare he sometimes got that made her want to scratch his eyes out. Then she got a thought. “Doesn’t that make David your brother?”

“His name is Vasily.”

She ground her jaws together, trying not to shout at him again. “Vasily. Vasily is your brother?”

“Yes.”

Aleksandr chuckled and said, in Russian, “You are being purposely frustrating.”

“Yes, he is,” Rachel answered in the same language.

Aleksandr’s eyebrow shot up and he studied her. “You are full of surprises, Miss Carmichael.”

“Help me understand. Your son is missing, and you want me to help find him?”

“No, Miss Carmichael. I have other men looking into that. But the two who pose as his parents are a danger to you.”

“Why me?”

“They think you are connected to me.”

“Which now, I am!” she cried, glaring at Viktor.

“They already suspected it, Raych,” Viktor said in a placating tone. “This was the best protection I could think of at the spur of the moment. You already know they play for keeps.”

She frowned, flashing on her date. “Yeah.”

“How did they come to hire you?” Aleksandr pressed.

“I don’t know, honestly,” she admitted. “I hadn’t really thought about it at the time.”

He studied her, his dark brown eyes compassionate. “Perhaps you will now start doing so when new clients approach you?”

Her lips thinned. “Yes.”

He just smiled, that faint smile that reminded her of Nana, in this enormous house with its beautiful bone china and wood fixtures.

“Do you play cards, Miss Carmichael?” Aleksandr asked then.

“Yes, of course,” she answered before she thought. Then she frowned. “Why?”

Aleksandr motioned to the silent hulk at the doorway and the man stepped out, then returned with a wooden lacquer box.

Of cards.

Rachel dearly wanted to pump them both for information, but separately. As it was, she couldn’t think of a single useful thing to say, and so spent an hour playing whist.

By the time Aleksandr excused himself to sleep, she felt so turned around it seemed like a dream. And when the silent guard showed her the room she could use for the night, Viktor, predictably, disappeared.

Men!

A man wearing a brown wool pea coat entered the McDonalds by the front door. Rachel felt his gaze rake her but when she looked up, he stared at something in his hands that looked like a collection of coins.

Her phone just sat on the table like it died there. The minutes ticked by and she felt like they should have been booms, not soundless movements of the digital clock on her phone.

The man with the brown coat appeared carrying a tray with two apple pie boxes and a cup of coffee. He moved slowly, clearly trying not to spill his coffee. After he passed three empty tables, Rachel look over at him warily.

He sat down at the booth next to hers and opened the first pie with methodical, slow movements. As though he felt her watching him, his eyes flicked to hers.

It was Viktor.

He shook his head slightly but didn’t speak. He fished his mobile phone out of an inside pocket and typed out a text message. She looked back at her table, heart pounding, terrified she’d give him away.

When her mobile buzzed, she didn’t jump. She felt proud of that. She pulled it closer and read the message: ‘Go out to your car and wait 5 min. I’ll join you.’

She took a deep breath and resisted looking at him or confirming the message in any way. She took a sip of her soda and then got her purse. No one looked at her when she rose and walked to the side door. Her skin crawled as she strode around to her car, but nothing moved that she could see. Just to be safe, she circled her car once and even checked underneath. Nothing.

She sat down and locked the doors, then fastened her seat belt. She started the motor, hoping it didn’t sound too loud, and tried to stay calm.

Viktor appeared in the same doorway the young man with the trash used. He strode to her passenger door and the car bounced as he got in. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Just drive.” He wiped his face with one hand and she caught a whiff of gunpowder, the sharp acrid scent that could only mean one thing: Viktor fired a gun recently.

Her heart surged into her mouth and she put the car in gear. She pulled to a stop at the entrance to the street.

“Turn left.”

She followed his cryptic commands, ‘Turn left,’ ‘Go right at the next light,’ for what felt like an eternity. The streets widened and the houses retreated from the road, spacious lawns appearing like magic. She caught the distant odor of water and knew they approached the River. They crossed into the wealthy section of town, palatial waterfront estates with Lexus and Beamers in the driveway – if any cars were visible, that is.

“Turn in at the next driveway,” he ordered softly.

“Viktor…”

Her protest, predictably, elicited no response from her silent passenger. She slowed and turned into the driveway. A tall iron gate swung open slowly, like a bison moving out of the way. A camera eyed them from its perch on the stone wall that spread out from the gate to line the road. A small gatehouse appeared on her left, complete with a silent man hulking in the shadow. He nodded at Viktor and ignored her.

She swallowed. “Where are we going?”

“It’s okay. Just drive up to the house. You’re perfectly safe here.”

“Because I’m with you?” It came out accusatory-sounding, but she didn’t take it back.

He shrugged. “If you wish.”

“If I…” She trailed off. “You are the most exasperating person I know!”

He chuckled.

It caught her off guard, the sound so out of place with recent events, that she had to concentrate to avoid running over a bush. For his part, he just flashed a twinkling eye at her and then stared at the house looming in front of them.

And boy, could it loom.

Three storeys tall, the brick edifice spread back from the driveway like wings. A square carport stood out over the turnaround in the driveway like at a motel, two lights on its front and two by the large oak door. Two men in black suits appeared and flanked the car, waiting for them to drive up. She pulled to a stop and unlocked the doors.

The man on her side opened her door. “Welcome, Miss Carmichael.” He held out his hand.

She realized he meant to let her hold onto him so she could alight from the car!

“Thank you,” she managed to mumble with fairly good grace. His hand felt warm against her skin and she shivered. He stepped back and let her move out of the way of the car door, then he closed the door.

“You can leave your car here for now,” Viktor interjected. “Follow me.”

She desperately wanted to ask where they were, but didn’t dare say anything in front of what were clearly two bodyguards.

But bodyguards for whom?

The massive front door opened onto a spacious entry hall floored in solid wood, something dark and highly polished. She wiped her feet on the mat just outside the door and stepped inside, feeling like the orphan Oliver. Another man, this time clad in a gorgeous beige suit and polished brown shoes, appeared.

His hair, black and curly, lay close to his head. His blue eyes crinkled as he smiled and she put his age at about forty. He wore a huge sapphire on the ring finger of his right hand and a plain gold wedding band on the left.

“This is the famous Rachel Carmichael,” he said with only a trace of a Russian accent. “Welcome to my home.”

“Raych, this is Aleksandr Chernoff. My father.”

The rumored head of the Russian mob in North America, Aleksandr Chernoff never appeared in the press. Wanted by four governments, not only the U.S. but Russia, Canada and England, he ran most of the Russian mob business in the English-speaking world and, some said, that in Russia as well. She felt her heart start to pound and then realized what Viktor said.

“Wait. Did you say father?”

Chapter 16: You Know That Saying, ‘Don’t Poke the Bear’?

The chocolate cake tasted every bit as good as it looked. Rachel felt tempted to eat it all, even Viktor’s portion, but she still had some manners.

She fished her address book out of her purse, glad she’d put her client information in there and not just on the hard drive. Viktor still hadn’t re-installed it for her, but he said he’d be back. She decided to take him at his word.

After all, what was she supposed to do if he didn’t?

She dialed her phone and waited while it rang. Precisely on the third ring, it got picked up. “Carter Lawson.”

“Mr. Lawson, this is Rachel Carmichael. I have some news for you; is now a good time?”

“One moment.” He set the phone down and she heard footfalls, as though his desk sat on a wooden floor. The sounds returned and then he picked up again. “Yes?”

“Mr. Lawson, I can tell you for certain that your wife is not cheating on you with Peter Henkle.”

“You’re sure? But…” He paused. “Absolutely sure?”

She cleared her throat and decided she came this far, she might as well jump in with both feet. “Mr. Lawson, were you aware that Peter Henkle is gay?”

A much longer pause followed this time, though no footfalls. Then a creak, of what she assumed was a chair. “Could… could you say that again, please?”

“Peter Henkle is gay, Mr. Lawson. Your wife loves you, it’s clear to me from following her that she’s not having any kind of an affair.”

He exhaled what sounded like a shaky breath. “You don’t say.”

“Yes, Mr. Lawson.”

“I see. Well. You are worth every penny of your fee, Ms. Carmichael. Every penny. Would you prefer me to send the balance of your fee in the mail, or do you want to send a courier to pick it up?”

Her mind boggled at the idea of her, Rachel Carmichael, having a courier. “Mail is fine, Mr. Lawson.” She confirmed the address and hung up the phone.

She finished up the case file for Mr. Lawson and his wife and put everything away in her empty-looking file cabinets, annoyed all over again at the invasion of her personal space. Maybe she should get a dog. She could just imagine the look on Mr. Singh’s face when she tried to sneak a Rottweiler past him.

Her mobile phone gave a shrill chirp and she jumped. “Carmichael.”

“Raych?” Viktor’s voice sounded scratchy, like he didn’t have good cell reception. “Are you still at your office?”

“Yes. You told me to –”

“Get out of there! Now!”

“What? Viktor, what are you –”

“Just go! Get somewhere public and call me when you’re safe. Go! Go now!”

She stood up, heart pounding in her throat. “You’re not kidding, are you?” She scooped up her purse and her keys and hit the lights. “How bad is it?”

“Just go!” he barked, and the line went dead.

Jerk.

She slipped into the hall, her back crawling with the need to hide. She locked her door and started for the elevator. It ‘dinged,’ someone arriving at her floor, and her heart shot into her mouth.

Rachel dove into the stairwell, easing the door closed behind her, and waited. Footfalls approached and then went past, heading down the hall. She took off down the stairs, her purse clamped under her arm, and fished her keys out of her pocket to clench them in her hand so they didn’t rattle. She made it down four flights and could see the exit door for the ground level when she heard it.

The door on her landing opened.

She froze, one foot dangling in thin air, her hand clamped on the railing to her left. She opened her mouth as wide as possible so the sound of her panting wouldn’t be heard. No sound came for several more moments, and finally the door closed. She waited, suspicious, and then heard it. A soft scrabble, as of a jacket over jeans, and resisted the urge to crane her head over the edge to see if someone looked down at her from above.

The wait stretched, her heartbeat thudding so loud she felt sure the neighbors on the other side of the stairwell wall could hear it, not to mention whoever stood above. Finally, they moved, and the door opened and closed.

She blew out her breath and crept as quickly but quietly as possible to the ground floor door and peered out of the small peep-hole. Nothing moved.

She eased out into the night, wishing for once that the street lights had burnt out. Something to give her more shadows to hide in. She crouched down by the car parked in front of the door and then realized that if someone truly did follow her, they’d know where the stairwell let out. She could either unlock the door and go back up, or get out of there.

Trusting to Viktor, Rachel bolted for her car. She made it with no outcry. She unlocked the door and threw her purse onto the passenger seat with such force that it bounced off the opposite door and fell flat on the floor. She started the engine and pulled out of her space, no other lights moving.

Something drew her eye up, and she stared a moment. She counted the windows to be sure, and then swore.

Someone, equipped with a flashlight, snooped around her office.

She turned onto the main street and headed for Borders, out of habit, then changed her mind. She’d met Steve at Borders. A McDonalds stood in the middle of two wide parking lots, one for a strip mall and the other for a medical complex, so she pulled in and drove around back to park next to the dumpster.

‘Get somewhere public,’ Viktor had ordered. Was this public enough? Was it far away enough?

A sharp boom nearby made her jump and let out a squawk. The young man emptying the day’s trash looked at her quizzically before dumping it in the large container, then turned back inside.

She made up her mind and cut the engine. She’d just get a table in the back and a soda, and wait for Viktor. Should she text him? Call him? Wait?

She decided to wait, in case he needed to be quiet. She had a horrible flash of his mobile vibrating at the wrong moment and alerting some faceless assailant to his presence, and swallowed back sudden tears.

“Viktor, where are you?” she whispered.

An obviously homeless man two tables over eyed her when she spoke and then went back to talking to his tray. The minutes dragged by, slow, like poison.

By the time the sun slept, tucked in its bed, she had a neat schematic of all the pieces she could put together. There were holes, to be sure, but at least she had a start.

First and foremost, in a section by themselves, the Greene family took up almost half the page. Next came Mrs. Dawson and her strange behavior at Mario’s, especially the strange, mismatched handbag.

At the bottom, like footnotes, sat the rest of her cases. She was ninety-nine percent sure they had nothing to do with any of this, but Viktor had indicated he knew of them. So that meant … what, exactly? She didn’t know, but if she had to beat him with the paper, she’d find out!

She sat back and tossed the pen on the desk. She eyed her computer, but it did her no good without a hard drive.

Just as she started to get heartily bored, a figure appeared outside her door. She stared at it, heart in her mouth.

“Raych?”

Victor didn’t say anything else, but she recognized his voice. “Coming.” She unlocked the door. “Where have you been?”

He handed her a large brown sack, redolent of onions and garlic and marinara sauce. Definitely marina sauce. “What’s this?”

“Dinner,” he responded. He pushed the door shut behind himself and locked it, then went to her windows and closed each of the blinds one by one. He turned back to catch her watching him, frozen with the bag in her hands. “You gonna serve us, or do we just smell it?”

She moved. “Sorry.” She got plates and set them down next to the bag on the desk. She lifted out the containers, wincing at the heat. He brought pasta with marinara and grilled chicken, garlic bread, salad, and dessert in a container marked, helpfully, ‘dessert.’ “What’s this?”

“Dessert.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can see that. What kind of dessert?”

“Eat your dinner first.”

“Yes, Dad,” she retorted, working the lid off the container. It turned out to be a luscious-looking chocolate cake with ganache. Her stomach growled loudly.

He laughed and took one of the plates, serving himself pasta. He sat down on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I found your hard drive.”

She stared at him, meal forgotten. “You’re kidding!”

He shrugged. “Took some doing, but I got it back. I’ll install it after dinner for you.”

“Is there any data still on it?”

“Some.”

“Some?”

He nodded. “Some. They destroyed the files related to the Greenes and some other pictures, but other than that, it’s intact.”

She hid her disappointment. “I did some work while you were gone.” She sat down in her chair and pulled the notes over. She took a bite of chicken and paused. “Oh my God, is that good.” It came out garbled.

“I’m glad you like,” he responded. “I wasn’t sure what you liked for dinner, but I figured Italian was a safe bet.”

“Because my name is Carmichael?”

He snorted. “No. Because I know you’ve eaten Italian before.”

She almost asked, but didn’t. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “I put together all the things I know so far. It’s not a lot, and there are holes, but here.” She handed him the paper. “I don’t think those ones at the bottom are connected, but I don’t know.”

He studied it, eyes flicking back and forth as he read. “Impressive,” he grunted finally.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I do this for a living, remember?”

Viktor eyed her. “I know that. I meant, it’s impressive the connections you’ve made here. You’re right about Mrs. Dawson, she’s connected.”

She felt like preening at his compliment. “Connected how?”

“Blackmail.”

“They’re blackmailing her? How?”

He smirked again. “What makes you think she’s a victim?”

She frowned, confused. “Huh?”

“She’s the pickup contact. She’s not being blackmailed, Mario’s is.”

“Oh my God.” She flashed on the handbag. “So that’s what that was for!”

“What?”

“The second time she went there, she came out with a handbag that didn’t match her outfit. I couldn’t figure out what it was for; I bet it was the drop!”

“Probably.”

“Her husband thinks she’s cheating on him.”

“With whom?” Viktor scoffed. “That’s preposterous!”

“He thinks it’s his partner, Peter Henkle.”

“Henkle’s gay!” Viktor took another bite of chicken and watched her reaction. “I take it, you didn’t know that?”

She shook her head and tried to school her features to a less startled expression. “No, I had… um, no idea…” None at all, actually. She should have, probably.

“Carter Lawson’s in debt up to his eyeballs. He got into gambling a few years ago and is paying it off. He’s clean, hasn’t touched the dice in months, but still. My bet is that his wife did it in order to get them off the hook financially. I’m not sure why he’d hire you; she’s head over heels in love with him. She’d do anything for him.”

“He doesn’t know that?” Why would he hire her, then? “Who is he in debt with?”

Viktor’s expression grew careful. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

Russian mob, then. Huh. They were everywhere, these days. “Maybe she didn’t tell him what she’s doing?”

He cocked his head. “That’s a possibility. Sort of like Othello, really.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“It’s a play by Shakes –”

“I know what it is,” she interrupted. “I’m just surprised you’d quote it!”

He laughed at her with a straight face. “Ah.”

“So, Othello suspects his wife of cheating, even though she isn’t. Mrs. Lawson tries to get money, and doesn’t realize he’s making his debt payments. Mr. Henkle’s gay, and his partner thinks he’s sleeping with his wife.”

“Yeah.”

“So what does that have to do with the Greenes?”

His brows drew down and he took a bite of salad, chewing the crunchy greens with loud sounds. He swallowed. “What makes you think they’re connected?”

“Call it a hunch,” she growled.

He laughed. “Okay, okay.” He sipped his drink. “They are connected because the Greenes work for her boss, that’s all. Nothing more sinister than that; they don’t know each other, as far as I know.”

“So what do I tell Mr. Lawson about his wife?”

“He still pays your fee either way. Tell him the truth, that his partner’s gay and his wife loves him dearly.”

“What about the embezzlement?”

“Leave that out of it.”

“What about the woman?” she asked absently, looking back at her list.

“What woman?” he asked sharply.

“The one in the window?” She looked up at him. “I didn’t tell you?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “No, you didn’t tell me. What woman?”

“The one in the window, down the street from Mario’s? She was there the first day I saw Mrs. Lawson go in.”

“Curly brown hair? Wears red lipstick?”

“How the hell do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I know many things. That’s not a person you want to tangle with.”

“Why? Jesus, Viktor. Everyone around me right now is someone you want me to stay away from!”

“Why would she be following Mrs. Lawson?” It sounded like he mused to himself, not her.

“My question exactly. She seemed angry.”

“She would be.” He stood. “I need to go. I’ll be back,” he said before she could open her mouth. “I’ll be back.”

She watched him deposit his food in her trash can and walk out.

Just like that.

She didn’t throw her drink at the door as he closed it, but she sure was tempted.

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress
by A. Catherine Noon

Chapter 14

Fine. If Viktor Khrushchev wanted to pretend this was some kind of bad crime novel, then fine. She would show him that Rachel Carmichael was nobody’s fool. After all, it did say “Rachel Carmichael, Private Detection and Security Consultation” on her door, not “Damsel in Distress” or “Idiot in Need of Coddling.” And most especially not “Someone Who Can’t Be Told Anything Useful For Their Own Good.” She lit one of his cigarettes with precise, angry movements and then regretted it. The scent made her think of him.

“This is stupid,” she announced out loud to the room and then flinched. Then felt completely ridiculous. “It’s not like there’s anything to it,” she muttered out loud spitefully. She got up and moved around the office, straightening her belongings and neatening.

It took about five minutes and then she was back at her desk, staring down at the blotter. Outside, the sun sank toward the horizon, stealing the light from the day. She started to reach for her desk lamp and froze.

A person stood outside her door.

Rachel wasn’t sure how long she froze, staring at the door and the shadow outside of it. The unknown visitor didn’t knock or do anything, just loomed. Rachel cast about for something to do or say that wouldn’t be so ridiculously like a deer in the headlights. She cursed Viktor in her mind for making her so paranoid. When the handle jiggled and she heard the scrape of a lock pick, she did the first thing that popped into her mind.

She ducked under her desk.

“Good afternoon!”

Mr. Singh’s voice startled her so badly she squeaked.

The stranger responded, and said something Rachel couldn’t quite make out. Mr. Singh said something and then the voices moved away, toward the elevators. Rachel stayed where she was, thinking, even though her mind refused to come up with anything useful. Finally, deciding that the stranger would be long gone by now, she got up and turned on her desk lamp.

“Miss Carmichael?” Mr. Singh called, tapping the glass.

She jumped. “Coming,” she called. She grabbed a file to use as a prop and went to the door.

Mr. Singh beamed at her. “You just missed him!”

“Him who?”

“Your friend, of course. Look, he left a message on your door while you were in the bathroom. If I knew you were here, I would have had him wait.”

Rachel frowned. Taped to the outside of her door was a folded sheet of paper. “Thank you, Mr. Singh.”

He waved his hand airily and turned away, bustling already. “No worries, Miss Carmichael. No worries!” His cheerful wave over his shoulder made her smile.

She retreated into her office and pushed the door closed. She unfolded the sheet of paper and stared at it.

It was blank.

She set it on her desk and studied it. A blank note. A missing boy who wasn’t missing. The Russian mafia somehow aware of her business, and Viktor Khrushchev, White Knight. Don’t forget Mrs. Dawson.

No, it definitely wouldn’t do to forget Mrs. Dawson.

Rachel sat down and turned her chair to the window, staring moodily out at the sunset. The sun continued its descent, oblivious.

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress
by A. Catherine Noon

Chapter 13

Viktor’s smirk widened. “I can find it because I know where to look.” He paused. “You’ve had no contact from the boy?”

Rachel squinted in an effort to keep her reaction to herself. She knew it didn’t work, but he didn’t react to her, just watched her. “No. No contact from him or his parents. Whoever they are.”

He digested that. “No other contacts?”

She almost didn’t answer him. What right did he have to question her? But the fact remained that he saved her life, and that she probably owed him at least a little for that. He seemed to be her biggest ally in this mess, even though that didn’t mean much since he refused to actually share any of his information. “I saw Mrs. Dawson today and followed her.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And where did she go today?”

“Mario’s, again. Same as last time.”

“Same as… You mean you’ve already followed her there once?” His attention seemed sharper somehow.

“Yes. Viktor, maybe if you told me what is actually going on I could give you better answers.” She was proud of herself. She didn’t shout or snap at him when she said it. No matter how much she wanted to.

He seemed startled. He studied her without speaking, his blue eyes intent and slightly less empty than they seemed usually. Finally he inhaled and sat back. “There’s more going on here than you realize, Raych. Not all of it is safe.”

“I realize that,” she snapped.

He nodded. “Yes. But what you don’t realize is how much danger you,” he pointed at her in emphasis, “are in.”

Her stomach tightened. “What are you talking about?” Her voice came out breathy and even squeaked a little.

“You’ve managed to stumble on something that has nothing to do with your business. How the Greenes managed to get to you in the first place is beyond me. They never should have come to you. But now that you’re involved, I’m trying to keep you from coming to the attention of people you really don’t want to meet.”

“Viktor. Stop it. You sound like a bad crime novel. ‘You’re in danger.’ ‘There are people you don’t want to meet, more going on than you know.’ Talk to me, like I’m an adult! I’m not an infant, and I can take care of myself. If you gave me enough information to actually make better decisions, then maybe I wouldn’t be in so much danger!” She was shouting by the time she finished her little speech but stared at him, seething. She meant every word.

For his part, he just stared at her. A buzz caught her attention and she watched him reach inside his jacket to pull out a handheld. He glanced at it and his face went blank.

When he met her gaze, he was back to his remote, dangerous self. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He held up a hand when she started to argue. “I promise. When I come back, I’ll explain as much as I can. Please, Raych.” His eyes, as he stared into hers, seemed intense suddenly. “Just stay here. Keep the door locked and don’t go anywhere until I get back, okay?”

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Dammit!

Rachel got halfway through planning her day when it dawned on her that she had parked her car downtown for her date with Steve. “Great. Just great,” she muttered out loud. In the process of looking for the telephone, she lost her temper with the mess and decided to clean the office.

It took her the better part of an hour. Other than the hard drive, nothing seemed to be missing. Except for the folder that Viktor took, she reflected angrily. Of all the things for him to do when she had just started to trust him a little. Well, that was a lie; she trusted him a lot, almost in spite of herself. The question remained why he’d take the file.

She sat down on the couch, finally finished. She wondered if she had time to vacuum the carpet but decided to call a cab to go pick up her car. She needed to get out for a while, if nothing else.

If the cabbie thought it odd that she asked to be taken downtown to a parked car, he gave no sign. Maybe lots of people left their cars behind on dates like she had. She paid him and walked over to the driver’s side and looked around before getting in. No one loitered nearby and she decided she could afford to pretend nothing was wrong.

She winced at the price the attendant of the garage charged her, but paid it and pulled into traffic to navigate her way home. She pulled up at a light and looked to her left. A red Audi pulled up next to her, leaning over the line into the crosswalk as though impatient to be held back. She glanced at the driver.

Mrs. Dawson checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, oblivious to Rachel’s shocked gaze.

Rachel looked back at the traffic signal before the woman next to her could feel her staring. When the light turned green, Rachel hung back and pulled in behind the sleek sports car, keeping enough distance that it wasn’t obvious she was following. The streets started to look familiar and Rachel guessed where they were headed. Sure enough, they pulled up in front of Mario’s. Rachel went a few cars passed it this time, to avoid the house with its unknown watcher, and parked.

The same man admitted Mrs. Dawson, again checking the street before closing the door. Rachel peered back to the second floor window she’d seen the woman watching from the last time, but the curtains were still. She didn’t dare get out and tip the woman off that she was back again, and settled in to wait.

This time, Mrs. Dawson appeared after only maybe twenty minutes, a handbag hung from her left arm. Rachel blinked. She’d’ve sworn the woman had gone inside with nothing. She studied the handbag as Mrs. Dawson strode to her Audi and realized that the bag didn’t match the outfit. It was a plush, thick black leather, while Mrs. Dawson’s outfit was a royal blue dress with matching shoes. She opened her door and set the purse gently on the passenger seat before getting in. As she pulled into traffic, Rachel pulled in behind her, wondering about that purse.

This time, Mrs. Dawson’s course meandered through town and finally fetched up at home. As she pulled into her driveway, Rachel somewhat regretfully continued on, pointing her own car toward her office. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to leave Mrs. Dawson, but rather that now she had nothing clear-cut to occupy her attention.

Her mind stubbornly refused to let the issue of Viktor and the file go. Why would he take her file after making such a show of protecting her?

Then her stomach clenched and it was a good thing she was stopped at a traffic light. Steve had been killed, she assumed by Viktor, but that wasn’t what stopped her cold. She flashed instead on the gun near Steve’s hand. A semi-automatic pistol, it wasn’t a small revolver someone would purchase for “home protection.” It was a serious weapon, the kind someone carried when they knew how to use it. Someone like Viktor, say.

In fact, she bet Viktor knew what model the pistol was. Not for the first time, she wished she had a phone number for her elusive Russian. As she pulled into her parking spot behind the building she saw him waiting for her, leaning against the wall next to the back door with his foot cocked against the bricks behind him.

“Viktor!” she exclaimed as she stood away from her car.

“Raych,” he responded laconically.

“Where the hell is my file, Viktor?” she demanded, stalking up to him with her keys in her fist.

“Did you lock your car?” he asked instead.

“What?” she shot back, annoyed. “Of course I did.”

“Never can be too careful,” he murmured and turned to allow her to pass by into the building. “After you.”

She almost stopped and repeated her question but something in his manner made her step inside the building. She could hear him behind her, nearly silent steps and soft breathing, like some kind of ghost.

She didn’t speak until they arrived at her office and she shut the door behind them. She rounded on him and threw her keys on the desk. “Now where is my file?”

He studied her without speaking right away. “Have you had any other contacts from the boy?” he asked.

“What? No! No, I haven’t figured out any of this stuff yet! Why did you take my file, Viktor?”

“I’m trying to find your hard drive,” he said.

It took her a moment to parse what he said and then her mouth fell open. “How?”

He shrugged and turned to sit on her couch. “Sit down, Raych. Let’s talk.”

“Let’s talk?” she echoed. “Just like that?”

He laughed, startling her. “Yes, Raych. Sit down.”

She sat in her desk chair, just to be contrary. He watched her do it without saying anything.

“Okay. Now give!” she snapped. “Where is my file, and how can you find my hard drive?”

Rachel woke, the dream fading too rapidly for her to capture it. She inhaled and caught a whiff of her own scent and her eyes popped open. She really needed a shower. The sight of her office chair moved all the way out from behind the desk, in a position she never left it, brought her fully awake. She gasped and started to sit up.

“Gently,” a voice said from next to her and a hand pressed her shoulder down.

She squeaked, startled, and her eyes flew to Viktor’s face. “Viktor! What are you doing here?”

Viktor studied her, his eyes serious. “What do you remember?”

She started to say, ‘nothing,’ and then like a strobe light she flashed on Steve’s face. “Oh, God…”

Viktor blinked, expressionless. “Raych?”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his eyes, the knowing look. “I remember Steve…”

“Do you remember anything else?” came the careful voice.

“You slapped me, and yelled at me for going out with him.” Sudden tears, hot and uncomfortable, welled up in her eyes. She turned her head into the pillow, ashamed for him to see it. “He seemed so nice,” she whispered.

It took her a moment to realize his hand on her arm was meant as comfort. He rubbed back and forth, up to her shoulder, in long gentle motions that were oddly soothing. “We all do dumb things when we’re lonely,” he murmured.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t want him to see her tears, to know that she was hurt by the stranger with the attractive face and enticing cologne.

He seemed to guess it anyway. “It’s okay, Raych. You’re safe now.”

She wondered about Viktor, suddenly, and met his gaze. “Why do you care?” she demanded. “Why are you here, Viktor?”

He studied her, not answering right away.

He said something in Russian, softly, that she couldn’t catch. Then he stood up. “You need some food,” he noted abruptly, and turned to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she could react, he was out the door, closing it softly behind himself.

“Dammit!” she burst out and sat up. “Jerk,” she said more softly, superstitious that he might hear her. She blew out her breath in annoyance and looked around her office. “I need a shower,” she told her desk, more to ignore the feeling of being completely alone than because the desk would answer her.

She gathered up her toiletries and gym bag. Her unknown intruder had scattered everything all over the floor and it took quite some time to put it all back in her bag. She couldn’t find her brush and turned back to the desk and got down on her hands and knees to look underneath it.

A picture caught her eye and she fished it out from under a pile of papers where it was half buried. It was a picture of the Greene family.

She sat back on her heels, her shower forgotten. “David, where are you?” she asked softly. Her mind started into gear. First, Viktor showed up to tell her not to search for the boy, saying that it was too dangerous. Then she met Steve, who Viktor claimed was one of Krichoff’s men. How were they connected? And what about the parents, if that’s what they really were? What was their part in all of this? They had seemed harmless to Rachel, worried for their son; not members of a crime syndicate spanning three continents.

She fished out more of the file and sat on the floor to rifle through it. First there was the original visit, the report she hadn’t had time to type up yet. Then there were the pictures she’d been given. She sat staring at the contact record for several moments as the plan formed in her mind. She was so engrossed she didn’t register when Viktor returned until he was actually in the room.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

She jumped and compulsively stacked the papers. “Cleaning up,” she lied.

He glanced at the papers in her hands and frowned. She shoved another set of papers on top of them and stacked them all together, despairing of ever getting her files straight again. Instead, she stood up with the sheaf in her hands and laid it on her desk. “What food did you get?”

He blinked and his eyes snapped to her face, as though he saw through her subterfuge. “Corner Bakery,” he answered. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got a couple things. We can put the rest in the fridge.”

Her stomach growled loudly and she blushed. “That sounds good,” she said gratefully. “I’m actually hungry.”

That got a smile out of him and he set the bag on her desk. She moved the stack away and set it on the chair behind her. “Let’s see what you brought.”

They ate their food in companionable silence, only speaking in short sentences. He seemed as hungry as she felt, stuffing his mouth.

“I have to get a shower,” she mused out loud when she finished the last of her eggs.

“You mind if I make a phone call?” he asked.

“No problem,” she answered, spying her brush under the desk. She fished it out and popped it in her bag. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He nodded and pulled out his phone as she went to the door. She shook her head and went down the hall to the locker room. The shower washed away a multitude of sins and she found herself just standing, letting the spray beat down on her skin. She turned it off with a pang of regret and got dressed, wondering what she would say to Viktor when she got back to her office.

She had to unlock her office when she returned. Viktor was gone, the scent of his cigarettes the only thing remaining. Then she saw the desk. A new pack of his cigarettes sat in the precise center, with a note: ‘Just don’t smoke them all in one sitting. V.’ “Smart ass,” she muttered.

She turned to set her gym bag down and her eyes fell on the place where she’d stacked the papers with the Greene’s file.

The file was gone.

She tore through the remaining papers franticly, hoping that she’d just misremembered where she’d put them. But they did not turn up.

Viktor had taken the entire file, including all the pictures.

“Dammit, Viktor,” she whispered to the empty room. “Why did you do that?”

Rachel woke to Viktor’s face inches from her own. “Wake up!” he snapped, and her cheek stung.

“Did you just slap me?”

“Rachel!” The relief in his voice sounded odd, out of character. Then she blinked.

“What are you doing here?”

“Come on,” Viktor said unhelpfully, and leaned forward. Before she could protest, she was in his arms. He strode through the living room with its ivory carpet and glass and steel furniture. He got to the door and started to open it.

“Wait! Viktor! What’s going on?”

He turned slightly to angle her through the door and she saw a body on the floor of the hallway. A semi-automatic pistol lay inches from his limp hands, but even with the body face down, Rachel recognized him. “Steve!”

Viktor was through the door and into the hallway before Rachel realized she was losing time. Her head felt thick, like it was stuffed with sand, and her stomach burned. “What happened?” she managed to get out.

Viktor made a strange noise in his throat, almost like a growl, and yanked the door to the stairwell open. Then they were below the building and she heard the chirp of a car alarm. Viktor jostled her as he got the door to a red-brown Jaguar XK open. He laid her gently on the seat , protecting her head, and she blinked up at him in confusion. “What is going on?”

“Shh,” he shot back and shut the door in her face.

The interior of the car smelled spicy, like his cologne, with a faint overlay of the cigarettes he liked. It was a surprisingly comforting scent and she found herself relaxing like putty into the seat.

“We’re here,” he told her, waking her.

She stirred and blinked out at the night, the streetlights brighter than usual. They seemed edged with purple and she blinked, her stomachache swelling. “I don’t feel well,” she complained.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Viktor agreed with some note of anger or something else in his voice. He pushed himself out of the car and slammed the door, then appeared next to her to pick her up again.

“I can walk!” she protested.

“Sure you can. Hush,” he said down at her, a gentle expression in his eyes disappearing so fast that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

He made it all the way to her office without anyone seeing them and let himself in with her keys, produced from a pocket.

“My purse!” she blurted.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your wallet and keys. The rest is gone, but the important stuff is here.”

‘How would you know what’s important?’ she almost asked but didn’t. He laid her on the couch and the nausea intruded insistently.

“I think I need to throw up,” she gasped, mortified.

He swore and started to help her up but the wave hit so fast it took her breath. He snatched her trash can from near the desk and she used that as a receptacle, wishing he would disappear.

When she was finally done, she collapsed against the couch. He set the can down and turned back to her.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

“What?” she responded, trying to keep her eyes open.

He laid a hand on her forehead and snarled, “You’re feverish. God, Raych, what were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about, Viktor?”

“Going out with a strange man like that!” he shouted, hurting her ears.

She laughed, it was so unexpected. “Viktor, this is 2008!”

“And he’s one of Krichoff’s men!” he yelled.

“Don’t shout, please,” she winced, and then heard what he said. Her eyes popped open. “What are you saying?”

He stared at her angrily and then stepped away. He motioned toward her desk and it took her a moment to take it in.

All her case files were scattered around the carpet, the file cabinets open and empty. Her desk drawers lay on the floor, clearly having been gone through as well. Her computer gaped, its hard drive missing.

Viktor kneeled in front of her and took her arm to shake her roughly. “You could have been killed, you little fool!”

The shaking proved too much for her head. The dizziness swelled and she blinked at Viktor dully. “Viktor…”

His expression changed, that gentleness she’d seen earlier appearing again. As she fell forward into his arms, he lifted her and sat down on the couch with her in his lap. “It’ll be okay, Raych. You got rid of most of it, and I gave you something that will help wit the dizziness. Just relax, let your body recover.”

She wanted to ask him what he was talking about but couldn’t muster any awareness to speak to him. Between one though and the next, she slid into sleep, or dreams. It was hard to tell the difference.