Maybe this disaster could be contained, he thought. If not, heads would roll. Starting with his own.
“Let’s run through it again, Chloe,” Lieutenant Bill Kelly said gently. When Mike tensed by her side, Chloe put a hand on his forearm. Normally hard as steel anyway, he was so tense she could see the individual muscles in his arm.
“It’s okay, Mike.” His jaw muscles were so clenched it was surprising enamel wasn’t shooting out his ears. He almost quivered with stress under her hand.
She’d been pampered, been plied with endless cups of tea, had received hugs and kisses from Merry and Gracie, who had only been told that Aunt Chloe had a headache. Ellen and Nicole had all but rubbed her feet for her.
No one had thought to comfort Mike, who’d been in battle, had killed a man for her.
“She’s freaked. She’s scared. She’s been through hell,” Mike told the lieutenant, biting off each word. “She’s gone over this a thousand times.”
“I understand that. But we need for Chloe to remember everything, because the guy we’ve got in custody isn’t talking. I think he’s considering himself some kind of political prisoner. So our only clue is Chloe.”
Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Did you do what I said?”
Lieutenant Kelly must have the patience of a saint because he didn’t roll his eyes or bristle at Mike’s tone. “Yes. The body in the morgue is under a different name and the guy in the hospital isn’t registered at all. We took out the footage at the shelter. If those guys were sent by someone, the guy running the op won’t have a clue what happened to them. He won’t even know if they made it to the shelter.”
“The vehicle they came in?”
The lieutenant sighed. “Rental. Paid for by corporate credit card made out to Joseph Merck. Who doesn’t exist. The corporation is a shell. We’re still investigating. Now can I continue talking to Chloe?”
Mike nodded jerkily.
The lieutenant opened his notebook and gave her a kind look. “So, Chloe, let’s run through it just one more time, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Chloe tried to smile for him. She’d gotten to know him well in the six months since that terrible night Mike had been accused of assaulting a woman.
He was almost a member of the family, someone who dropped by unannounced to watch a ball game with Harry and Sam and Mike and stayed for dinner. He was tough, kind under his cynical cop veneer, overworked. A good guy.
It was clear to Chloe that he was interrogating her here in Harry’s apartment, and not in police headquarters, as a courtesy to her and to Mike, who’d been a colleague and was a friend. As were Harry and Sam.
“You don’t have any more information about the two men?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. The dead man—” He fixed Mike with a hard stare and Mike stared right back. If there was one thing about Mike she knew, it was that he couldn’t be intimidated. “The dead man had nothing on his person that could identify him. No wallet, no cell phone, no ID at all. The tags had been cut off his clothes. I was told informally by the coroner’s assistant that he had gold fillings that weren’t done in this country, but that’s about it. AFIS results show his fingerprints not on file anywhere in the U.S. We’re still waiting for IAEG results.”
“International fingerprint database,” Mike explained.
“But Russia’s not a party to IAEG.” The lieutenant huffed out an exasperated breath. “So if they are Russian, he won’t be in their system, either. I heard that the other guy’s cell rang. Turns out the caller is untraceable. We’re still figuring out how that can happen. So, Chloe. Starting from the beginning. How did they know where you were?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said slowly, starting to feel woozy. Mike’s hand covered hers, warm and strong and safe. She definitely wanted to answer questions but delayed shock was catching up with her. “I was in the supply room, which not many people know about. The door they came in isn’t used much, either. Most people enter the room by the door all of you used, which opens onto a small terrace and then out onto the parking lot. You’d have to be familiar with the shelter’s layout to know to use that door.”
Bill looked up. “Are the blueprints on file anywhere?”
Chloe’s mind went blank. She had no idea.
“We can check that,” said Mike. “I’ve got a friend in the Land Registry Office. I’ll text him now.”
“So. You’re in this supply room.”
Chloe nodded. “Folding clothes.”
“Is that something you do normally?”
“Donations of clothes are made in various points in the city and are collected and brought to the shelter on Wednesday afternoons. So, yes, in answer to your question, I’m often folding and sorting clothes on Wednesday afternoons.”
“And who knows this?”
Chloe lifted her shoulders. “Almost everyone at the shelter, I should think. It’s not a secret.”
“So the men came in through the door and what? What did you think?”
“I tried to talk myself out of it, but I was instantly terrified,” Chloe confessed. “There was something about the way they moved, something in their eyes . . .” She shivered.
“Here, honey.” Mike reached behind them for a small blanket Ellen kept on the couch in case Gracie got cold. He wrapped it around her shoulders, kissed her temple.
Absolutely no one reacted. Not Harry or Sam or Ellen or Nicole. Not even Bill Kelly. It was as if Mike hugging her and kissing her had become the new norm.
“I told you they moved like soldiers.” Mike’s jaw tightened. “Possibly Russian soldiers. The Russian Federation treats its soldiers brutally and the soldiers are brutal in return.”
Bill nodded, mouth downturned. “What did they say to you, Chloe?”
She rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Well, that’s the thing. They didn’t say much at all, really. Just that I was supposed to pay attention to them. They said that over and over. And pulled out a long black knife to sort of drive that concept home. They put the knife under my eye.”
Mike turned his head slowly. His eyes met Bill’s. “Keep that guy under lock and key.” He made a noise in his throat that sounded scarily like a growl.
“Yeah. He’s not going anywhere and you’re not coming near him. We picked the knife up. It’s a Kizlyar. You pegged it, Mike.”
“Russian combat knife. Used by their Army and Special Forces. Christ.” Harry rubbed his forehead.
A Russian combat knife. Chloe tucked that away among the many terrifying and absolutely puzzling details of what had happened today.
Bill wrote something in his notebook. “So, Chloe. You were supposed to pay attention. To what?”
“They never said. They got . . . sidetracked.”
By attempted rape. The words quivered in the air. Mike’s breathing was audible, as if he were pushing some great weight.
“Is there any reason why two men, possibly soldiers, possibly Russian, would want to target you?”
She’d barely thought of anything else on the ride to the hospital and the ride back home. “I’ve thought and thought, but I pull a complete blank.”
“No enemies?”
“No. I sometimes help RBK with—um—some special projects.” Chloe looked at Mike and Harry and Sam, not knowing how much she could say.
“He knows,” Mike interjected. “Several cops know what we do.”
“Could this be revenge? From some bozo whose wife you helped get away?” Bill asked.
Chloe thought about it carefully. “In theory. But the last woman who came to us at RBK, her husband killed himself a week after she escaped. The kind of man you’re talking about has impulse-control issues. He’s going to want his revenge right away. He’s not going to wait and coolly plan it.”
Bill nodded his agreement. “And in the shelter? Those women come from volatile situations. Violent situations. The shelter offers them protection. Surely you’ve made some enemies?”
Chloe sighed. “I’m
just a volunteer. I don’t have any administrative responsibilities. I’m not in any way the official face of the shelter and my name isn’t anywhere as a staff member. I just give a hand three times a week. Lately, we’ve started a very mild form of group therapy. Quite a few women come by occasionally, drop-ins from the street, we talk, and it seems to help them. But the women living there, almost by definition, have made a decision to leave their spouses. I didn’t convince anyone to run away, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“And the Russian connection, if there is one?” He looked at Mike, then Sam and Harry. “Do you have any Russian connections? Any reason why Russians, or men who’d trained in Eastern Europe, might be after you? Have you protected any Russian women lately?”
“No.” Chloe opened her hands helplessly. “I have no idea why Russian men would attack me.”
She shuddered, something deep inside her icy cold and scared. The attack had plunged her straight into nightmares she thought were behind her, straight into a hell beyond her conscious memories. The world she’d trod so lightly on, afraid to leave any kind of imprint, had suddenly cracked beneath her feet. An abyss had opened up, inside a yawning, cruel darkness.
Mike looked at her narrow-eyed, perceiving something. It was reassuring and also frightening that he saw her so clearly. Reassuring because she was no longer invisible. Frightening because a curtain had been pulled back on a world in which she had no defenses at all.
Chloe shrugged helplessly. “Sorry I can’t be of more assistance.”
Bill looked down at his notebook, flipped it closed, heaved a huge sigh and rose. He was almost as tall as Sam. Chloe had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “Okay then. Well, we’ll try to interrogate this guy as soon as he can talk some, or at least write down info.” He shot Mike a hard-eyed look, which Mike shot right back. “But I told you I’m not holding out hope. If we’re talking Russian Mafiya, he’ll be as hard as nails. He’ll never talk because whatever we do to him will be less terrifying than what his bosses will do to him. In the meantime, keep an eye on Chloe.”
“On it.” Mike squeezed her shoulders again as Harry and Sam muttered, “Oh yeah.”
“And Chloe, keep your eyes peeled and if you remember anything, anything at all, call me. We don’t know whether they wanted to intimidate you, kidnap you or, eventually, kill you. So be careful. And be careful who you’re with.”
It occurred to Chloe for the first time that though she wasn’t alone in facing the danger, she was dragging not only Harry and Sam into her problems, but Ellen and Nicole. And, worse, Gracie and Merry.
She loved those two little girls with all her heart. If anything happened to them because of her . . .
“We’ll see you out, Bill,” Ellen said, with a nod to Nicole. Nicole stood up a little awkwardly, with the help of her husband’s huge hand. They were walking Bill out, but they were also leaving the men to make their arrangements.
“She’s with me,” Mike said in a hard voice to his two brothers. “I hope I made that clear. And I’ll be on it 24/7.”
“You have to work, Mike,” Chloe said gently. She was touched to the core by his willingness to put his life completely on the line. Whatever those two men—Russian or not—were, whatever they wanted, they represented a nebulous threat that had no ending in sight. “You can’t put your whole life on hold.”
“I can,” he said fiercely. “And I will. If you have to go out and I absolutely can’t be with you, I’m seconding Barney. He’s good. No one’s going to get past him.”
Barney had Harry and Sam’s approval. They both nodded. Then they got into a long, involved discussion of shifts and vehicle inspection rotations, carjacking deterrents . . . Chloe tuned out. She was exhausted. Her arm hurt and she had bruises all over.
Nothing to be hospitalized over, but the pain that had been like a background noise suddenly pinged to life.
Right in the middle of the discussions, Mike rose, went into Harry’s kitchen and came back out with a glass of water and two pills in his huge hand.
“Here, honey.”
He continued where he’d left off with his brothers.
Chloe gratefully took the pills. Fifteen minutes later, the pain had eased off and she was in a mild haze that felt just great. The men’s deep voices were a far-off hum.
“Okay.” Mike clapped his hands and her eyes popped open. An hour had passed. “We’re clear. Harry’s going to brief Barney. Bill’s going to continue trying to trace the vehicle the two men left and will keep us in the loop. Chloe, honey? Time to go.”
Mike took her hand, stood and helped her up.
Chloe stood, too, and looked at her brother and at Sam. Sam kept his face expressionless. Harry looked at her with love and worry in his eyes. “Chloe? Sweetheart?”
Mike was steamrolling her, no doubt about that. His stance was aggressive as he faced his two brothers, arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.
He was clearly perfectly prepared to fight to be the one who was her prime protector. Harry and Sam were there, willing and able, but Mike was right. They had other responsibilities, to their wives, to their children. Sam’s wife was going to give birth any day now. Her previous delivery had been hard and she’d bled a lot. He wouldn’t want to leave her side.
Quite right.
Chloe shook a little. However it had happened, she’d re-entered the dark world of male violence once again.
She had no doubt that she needed a protector. Pretending otherwise was foolish beyond words. She had no tools and no weapons against men like those who had come after her.
Mike was right when he said he didn’t have divided loyalties. But there was something else. He’d defended her without hesitation, without any sense of danger to himself. He’d faced two deadly men head-on. He’d risked his life for her.
In the most primordial way possible, he’d fought for her, and in the most primitive way possible, she was his. There was also one more factor in this, one she kept close to her heart.
She loved him.
Chloe reached up to squeeze Mike’s hand and looked at her brother Harry and at Sam. “I’m with Mike,” she said.
Chapter 12
The Meteor Club
The man grunted heavily, fingers digging painfully into her hips, and slumped on top of her. Consuelo didn’t dare push at his shoulders to get him off her—he’d paid for it, after all—trying to pull in breath even though her lungs were compressed.
Please, God, don’t let him fall asleep.
After a few minutes, when Consuelo started seeing spots in front of her eyes, the man groaned, pulled out of her and rolled away onto his back, forearms across his eyes.
From this moment on, she was invisible. As they said, this was what prostitutes were paid to do. Leave.
She got out of bed quietly, breathing shallowly. He’d imprinted her skin with the smell of his rancid sweat with an overlay of Armani for Men. Her groin smelled of his semen. Sex without a condom paid much better, and under the new Russian management, whatever paid better was definitely preferred.
Some of the older women were given to men who liked to hurt. There were special soundproofed rooms in the other wing for that. The Russian made it clear that there was no limits to what could be done, as long as the men paid enough.
Two women had disappeared in the last month.
Consuelo looked down at the man who’d hurt her, trying to push away the spurt of red-hot rage that raced through her.
“John,” he’d said his name was, and she refrained from smiling at the name that was also a description. Yeah. John.
His real name was Larry Cameron and he ran a huge used car dealership in Chula Vista. His face was all over late-night TV.
Consuelo didn’t care. She didn’t care about much, actually. More and more lately, while the men grunted over her, using her body, she’d fly right out of it. She’d come reluctantly back in the middle of it this time because “John” had been hurting her so much it ha
d been impossible to ignore. Ramming into her, digging his fingers hard into her hips, biting her breasts.
Before, Franklin would have had a quiet word with him. Between gentlemen, of course. Care for the merchandise and all. But since the arrival of the Russians, many of the customers had sniffed the new regime, like animals scenting freedom, and become violent, out of control. The girls started sporting bruises that took more and more makeup to cover up. A couple had needed medical care.
It was as if a new, evil spirit roamed the club. The Russians had come and somehow their rough presence had unleashed something. Something bad.
In Consuelo’s opinion, men were very close to the animal kingdom. Like horses could sense the appearance of a lion among them and grow agitated, so the customers had sensed the appearance of a crueler race of man among them, a presence that lifted inhibitions, gave the men silent permission to let themselves give in to their darker impulses.
Because, after all, they’d paid for it and who was going to complain?
Consuelo could see in their eyes if they’d been infected with this new plague. Sometimes she flew out of her body the instant the door closed behind them and she was ordered to strip, because she could sense that they’d been infected. Even the many blue-eyes—their eyes grew cold and dark. She was sweaty and smelly and bruised.
Each luxurious room had its own bathroom, but she couldn’t stand the thought of showering naked while the man was passed out on the bed. She had her own room in a separate annex with the other girls and longed for the quiet of her room, longed to take an hour-long shower under the hottest spray she could stand, knowing it wouldn’t wash away anything.
Consuelo picked up her clothes, noting without interest the ripped panties and torn bra. “John” was one of those who got very excited for sex two seconds after the door closed behind them and they were alone in the room.
The panties and bra had been pretty, she mused. Pale lavender silk with lace around the edges. They were ruined now.
Consuelo-outside-Consuelo looked down from the ceiling as the young woman below her slid the silky, torn underwear through her hands. The young woman let the panties drift lightly to the floor and fisted her hands in the ends of the bra and pulled tight.
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