How had he missed Georgie’s friend? Cavanaugh would probably demote him to cataloguing evidence for the next decade if she heard about Cade’s negligence. Cade took in the lean, shaking form of the young financial analyst, dressed in pressed khakis, button down shirt, and loafers. He couldn’t weigh a buck fifty and barely crested Georgie’s height. He looked suited to guide leaders on the best mutual fund. How had this guy rescued Georgie? “How did you find her?”
“Maybe we can discuss this inside out of the cold?” Cole nodded toward the house, his hands thrust into his front pants pockets.
Nodding, Cade tucked Georgie against his side, trying to protect her from the pelting sleet and whipping wind. He didn’t care how inappropriate Dylan would say his attention toward a victim was. Georgie Dixon was safe. And she was in his arms. He wasn’t sure he would ever let her go again, except to hunt down those responsible for her disappearance. For that mission, he could make an exception.
~*~
Walking through the back door, Georgie wanted to drown in the blessed warmth of the kitchen. She’d never been so happy to be suffocated in Savvy’s embrace.
“Where have ya been? Half the state’s been lookin’ for you.” Savvy squeezed, sending mind-numbing pain through her left side.
“Ahhh…owww!”
“Darlin’, what’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Savvy stepped back from her and began dragging her hands along Georgie’s frame looking for injury. “We need to get ya to the hospital. Mac, can you drive in this weather?”
“I’m OK. For now. I need to talk to the police. Doctor later.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Her aunt shoved a fist into her hip, her mournful tears all but dry in her eyes, drawing a painful chuckle from Georgie.
“I won’t leave the house.” She lifted her gaze to Cade’s steely focus. He would only be a glance a way. “I’m safe here. You can go with me to the medical center after I answer what I can. OK?”
“Well…”
“Savvy, she’s fine,” Mac said.
With a sigh, Georgie slid onto the bench in the breakfast nook. Dylan headed into the dining room, but she wasn’t surprised when Mac slid next to her and Cade leaned against the other bench.
“What happened, Slugger?”
She opened her mouth to share the whole story, but Cade lifted his hand. “We will want a neutral party to listen.” The implication he was no longer a ‘neutral party’ helped to warm her better than the cup of hot cider Savvy slipped into her grip. Feeling her blush rise she glanced around the room. Where was Cole?
“Did Cole leave?”
“He went to the restroom,” Cade said. “O’Neal’s with him.”
With a nod, she sipped the cider, the spice burning the cuts on her lips. She glanced toward the backyard and caught the sight of several flashlights bobbing through the winter storm.
“Likely the sheriff, maybe SLED,” Cade said. “They’ll want to secure any evidence before the storm destroys it.”
“Charlotte?”
The wooden spoon Savvy used to stir her cider dropped with a clatter onto the stove, snapping Georgie’s focus. Her aunt’s shoulders curved forward, shaking with slight tears.
Mac slid from the bench and tugged Savvy to his side, always the comforter.
Cade folded into the breakfast nook, slipping his fingers to cover hers. “Your sister isn’t here.”
“Did she…”
“No. I don’t believe she was connected. I was the one who told her you were missing. No one can fake that kind of devastation. But while we chased a lead to Charleston, she opted to stay here.”
“But she’s not here now?”
“The tip was a diversion,” Mac said. “I’ve been calling her nearly non-stop over the last two hours. Every call rolled to voicemail.”
“She went for a walk,” Savvy said. “She was on the phone with her grandmother. I thought she wanted, needed, privacy. Ya know how she puts up that shield. It was shattering around her like a piece of crystal under the foot of a five-hundred-pound pig.”
The throbbing pressure building at the base of her skull forced Georgie to close her eyes against the bright lights of the kitchen. Was her sister simply her sister or was she behind the terror of the last few weeks and hours? Father, Jesus…please help me. Show me what I’m missing.
The creak of the kitchen door snatched her from her prayer.
Cade got up to share rushed whispers with Dylan and a uniformed sheriff. The urgency of their conversation weighted the room with unheard worry.
“Spill it, Murphy,” Mac said.
Cade twisted, ignoring Mac’s demand. He squatted to eye level and held her gaze.
“What is it?” Georgie asked.
“Cole slipped through the window in the bathroom. He’s on the run.”
“Why? He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a hero.”
“Is he? He found you. ‘Rescued you.’ Without any credible leads.”
“No. You are wrong. Cole’s my friend. He’s been nothing but kind.” Since the day of the funeral, Cole had been a constant companion, helping her to navigate the troublesome and confusing world of Watershed Industries. He couldn’t be connected. No. Not Cole. Not someone she trusted.
“It’s not him. It’s Bridget. She’s the one who knocked me out. She was in the cellar. She was talking to someone else. A man with an accent I couldn’t place. Cole must have been walking the property. Seen them and waited to investigate. Yes. That makes the most sense. He must have just found me by accident.” She nodded, lifting her gaze to Mac’s. “That makes sense, right?”
“Slugger, if he’s innocent, why did he run?”
The sound of arguing in the dining room tugged their collective attention.
Dylan slipped from the room, allowing the volume of the fight to pierce the relative solemnity of the kitchen.
The woman’s voice daggered Georgie and propelled her through the swinging door. “Stasi?”
Charlotte’s mother was screaming unintelligible words at a sheriff.
“Little girl!” Stasi whipped to face Georgie, violent accusations shooting from her black eyes. “Where’s my Charlotte?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were with her, weren’t you? They took you. They took her. They have my baby.”
“Stasi,” Mac said. His lawyer tone stretched thin over the obvious concern weighing on him. “What do you mean ‘they took her’?”
“They wanted the money. I was supposed to get it from her. I wasn’t fast enough for them. They rushed. They took you.” She twisted to face Georgie. Tears cut ribbons over her painted cheeks. “I didn’t know. He’s always been patient before. I was able to pay. But now. There’s new people. New leaders. I don’t know why. I just know they took my malyshka.”
“Who took Charlotte, Ms. Bickford?” Cade asked.
“Anton. Anton Dorokhov.”
Cade nodded to Dylan and snatched his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Dylan placed a gentle hand to Stasi’s arm and guided her to sit at the dining room table. “Ms. Bickford, we need to understand everything from the very beginning. Are you willing to tell us what you know?”
“You must find my daughter. They will kill her if I don’t get them the money. They’ve lost patience. Please promise me you will find Charlotte.” Tears wracked her frame.
Her fear for Charlotte’s well-being seeped through Georgie. Limping to a chair across from Stasi, Georgie grasped her sister’s mother’s fingers and squeezed. “Tell them what they need to know. Cade and Dylan will bring Charlie home.” Her vision blurred against the tears filling her eyes. Georgie couldn’t fully process the last few minutes. Or days. Or months. But she knew a hurting person. And she knew how to stretch compassion without judgment. Stasi would need all the compassion she had left in her person. Charlotte’s life depended on how well Georgie could embody Jesus to the woman who had caused her father, her mother, and her sister t
he greatest pains of their lives. “Start from the beginning, Stasi,” Georgie said.
42
Shallow breaths battled against the pounding of Charlotte’s heart thumping in her ears. A dark hood cloaked her vision, shrinking her world. Pins and needles raced over her arms and legs in agonizing waves. Cold sweat streamed down her forehead and into her eyes, burning her blackened vision.
One…two…three…
Shutting her eyes against the wall of fabric sheathing her face, she dragged a taut breath through cracked lips and counted.
Counting always helped. Elevator. Airplane. Closet. Regardless of the small space, counting usually helped to ease her tight chest and constricted airway.
Ten…eleven…twelve…
Her heart slowed its pace. The thumping in her ears quieted to a steady drum roll.
Where was she?
How long had she been unconscious?
Was Georgie here?
The ransom note floated into her mind. Why hadn’t she told Mac what happened? He would have helped her. Known what to do. Stop it! Hindsight was for freedom. Survival needed to come first.
She wiggled her fingers, rocketing streaks of pain through her body. Short, staccato breaths puffed through tight lips. Her wrists were locked together by a restraint treating her flesh like a Thanksgiving turkey, awakening sleeping muscles with a jolt. She struggled to stretch her toes, the feeling in her limbs limited to stinging numbness. Stifling the scream threatening to bellow from her lips, she chomped the inside of her cheek filling her mouth with the metallic and salt laced taste of her own blood. Focus, Charlie. Pain. Fear. They live in your heart. Your mind is stronger. You are stronger, Charlie.
Charlotte could hear her father’s dusty southern voice echo in her spirit. How or why her mind landed on the memory of her attempts to learn to ride a bicycle when she was eight years old, she couldn’t imagine, but she clung to the coaching moment. She couldn’t allow her claustrophobia to disable her. Her father was right. She needed to focus. Her ‘where’ was most pressing. The how and the why could wait. Drinking in a deep breath, she quieted her mind to listen to the sounds. She couldn’t see, but her ears and body could draw a picture. Cold seeped through the building and slithered up her back.
Maybe metal walls? Old brick? A warehouse?
The tin of ice pelted against glass. What warehouses had that much glass? Mentally, she whipped through the docks and industrial locations near Colin’s Fancy. But she had no idea how long she was unconscious. She could be anywhere.
Another deep breath in and out. Echoes of water and howls of swirling wind filled the room. Much bigger than she originally imagined. The space felt exposed not tight. She sucked in another long breath, her heart slowing to a crawl. Was she alone in the room? She didn’t hear breathing besides her own.
No sounds of movement beyond the storm raging against the building.
Stretching her body, she dragged her long legs against the wooden floor. Her bare feet slammed into a brick wall, reverberating ripples of dull ache over the needles under her flesh. Using the wall as an anchor she scooted forward on her side. The wood scraped against her exposed skin, reawakening the vibrations of pain. Tears burned for release.
“Help me,” she said in a whispered prayer.
Mumbled voices floated to her ears. Her heart sped to a rabbit pace. Breaths shallow. She stilled her body. The voices grew louder, and she recognized the spoken words.
Three voices. One female. Two male. All speaking Russian.
Why couldn’t it have been French? She’d spent a year in France. Her French was flawless. Even though she’d been exposed to Russian her whole life, she tried to avoid using the language unless she was with Baba. The language was an anchor in her life tethering her to the past. On her best day she needed to mentally translate Russian to English in her mind before she could respond. The conversation swirled around her. Rushed words, but she quickly understood.
Dolg. Debt
Vznos. Payment.
Pogibshiy. Lost.
Lost? What could they have lost?
And she heard, “Anastasia.”
Always Mama.
Did they lose her mother?
Korotkiy Devochka. Little Girl.
Georgie. They lost Georgie? Was Georgie free? Was Georgie dead?
Please God. I know You are there. You’ve shown up too many times these past few months. Georgie loves You so much. Protect Georgie. Please let her be safe.
Charlotte strained to listen, stifling the emotion in which she wanted to drown.
“English, please.”
Bridget? Her administrative assistant was here?
“You know I can’t follow all of the gibberish.”
“You stupid woman. How you call beautiful Russian gibberish? You choose Russia. She not choose you.”
“Ugh, whatever.”
Definitely Bridget.
“When is he getting here? She has to sign the papers to make this work. I have to get out of this town. She knows who I am.”
“Don’t rush. You rushing cause problems.”
Charlotte recognized the second voice. The smooth, lecherous tone of Anton Dorokhov. Her mother’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, and loan shark. He was behind the ransom note. The money laundering. But was Mama complicit? “If you patient. No problem. Just solution. But you impatient. Now we lose little girl. Problem much worse. We have the other one. You take leverage.”
“We should just kill this one. Clean up this situation. The gallery. All the loose ends. He has the other one wrapped around his finger. He’s her hero. She’ll do whatever he tells her. I’ve been dealing with this one’s signature for the last two months. I can totally fake it. Get the accounts transferred.”
“We wait. You jump. You cause more problems. We not fix your problems with more problems.”
The vibration of heels clicking against the wood floor reverberated through Charlotte’s frame.
Please God, keep me still. She steadied her shallow breaths imagining wide spaces. Central Park. The Bombers ballpark. The backyard at the plantation. Her heart slowed, the beats no longer thumping in her head.
“How hard did you hit her, Boris?” Charlotte felt the heat of Bridget’s minty breath flow through the hood.
“Name not Boris. Name Vsevolod.” The second man’s voice was thicker with a heavier accent. His English was not developed. He was pure Bratva.
The pointed edge of Bridget’s shoe pressed into Charlotte’s belly. Tears burned her eyes. Blood pooled in her mouth. But she focused. Her mind was stronger. Pain wouldn’t win.
“Whatever. I need my money and I’m not waiting here all night. I need to take a little sail south.”
“Relax.”
Charlotte’s breath caught. A fourth voice. One she recognized. But from where?
“It took you long enough.” Bridget’s heels tapped against the floorboards signaling her move away from Charlotte. “You’re soaked.”
“Unavoidable.”
“Do you have solution we discussed?” Anton asked.
“No. The situation turned. I’m compromised.”
“We need moneys.”
“We will have to discover a different path.”
“No!” Bridget said. “I need the money you promised me. I’ve stuck around in this crummy town for months for this deal. Skimming just wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Enough. Things changed.”
“I want my money.”
A single gunshot rattled the windows. The slithered thump of dead weight quickly followed.
The burn of sulfur threatened to choke Charlotte.
“Wrap her in the paint tarp,” the fourth voice said. “We’ll dispose of both bodies together. The ocean can be their grave.”
“We cannot. The other one holds importance. You should let little girl go, but kills this one?”
Let little girl go? Georgie was free. Tears burned Charlotte’s eyes. Her heart slowed.
&n
bsp; “Everything has changed, Anton. We are no longer safe. The police. The FBI. Everyone is on our trail. We have minutes not hours. She’s seen us. She has to go.”
“But she one of our own. She only see the woman. Woman gone. No problem. She will come around. Give big foothold. The art…just beginning. Anastasia say she can make her do.”
“Stop. Don’t you think I want this to be different? Ms. Nelson’s choices exposed us. I will be held responsible for this failure. I must return home. Face Temi. She cannot remain. We will not return to this place.”
The thud of heavy footsteps reverberated through Charlotte’s frame.
Please God, be with me. Forgive me for not trusting You. For not believing in You. I am Yours. And You are mine. Just as You promised. Forgive me.
Dragging in a deep breath, her lungs filled to the point of aching, but her heart remained slow and steady. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Words floated through her lips, barely a whisper.
Her eyelids slammed open and she stared into the tightly woven black hood. Cold sweat dried against her temple. The pace of her heart remained slow and steady. Each footstep set a tremor through her body. Be with me, Lord.
The light flickered through the weave. A deepening shadow stretched across her vision.
“Take off the hood, Vsevolod. I do not want to make another mistake. I must be sure.”
“She the one.”
The weight of his steps paced the pounding of her heart, deafening the thick accent.
The scrape of callouses against her neck forced a moan through her lips.
“Hurry, she’s waking up.”
How did she know that voice?
“I go fast as can.”
The one she thought was called Vsevolod tore away the hood.
The crack of Charlotte’s skull against the solid wood floor scattered piercing stabs from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her eyelids slapped shut against the brightness of the room. “Oww…” She struggled to reach the source of her pain, instinctively wanting to rub out the ache with her bound hands.
“Now, now, Miss Dixon. The pain will be gone soon.”
The fourth voice chilled her blood. Cole Vasil. Georgie’s friend. Watershed’s newest senior financial analyst. He was a Yuri. One sent to infiltrate. How had she been so blind? Bridget and Cole working together? “How could you?” Charlotte asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Georgie trusted you.”
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