Mallory's Hunt

by Jory Strong

  Nightgowns fell to their feet, leaving them standing naked.

  Linden's heart beat too fast to go unnoticed for long in the pulse of his throat.

  "Perhaps your client has certain requirements?" Vadim asked and the icy fear that had plagued Linden with the Russian's overture at the party returned, suppressing the physical reaction to the girl who was now the perfect choice, the only true choice, and making him grateful for the fear though he reined it in.

  Korotkin couldn't know. That wasn't what had prompted his command to the girls. He was just a peddler in flesh, a man used to displaying his merchandise, a man who understood that a wide variety of appetites existed.

  "The girl on the right," Linden, said, turning away from them though he continued to envision his choice, budding breasts but free of the light blonde pubic hair her sister was starting to grow.

  Korotkin locked the door behind them. "Your client will take receipt tonight?"

  "Yes. I'll need to make the delivery in person."

  "Of course." Korotkin clapped him on the back again. "Pyotr will return you to your office. When you arrive, he will tell you where you can pick up the girl."

  The enormity of what he was about to do had sweat gathering beneath his arms and on the back of his neck. It was too late to turn from this, and he didn't want to. But he was no monster to rape and terrorize. Far from it. The thought of either, of needing to engage in either, was abhorrent.

  "I don't want her high when I deliver her to my client, but it would be safer and easier to transport her if she were heavily sedated."

  "She will be good. She understands what will happen if she is not. But why take unnecessary chances, yes? She will sleep. Where you will find her, she will be alone, like a runaway hiding and taking a nap."

  Linden nodded. He wondered if this was somehow a trap intended to catch him in a compromising position, then dismissed the thought. No, it was far more likely a precaution, protection for Korotkin, especially given the girl's age.

  "I rely on your expertise in this," he said, silently laughing as Korotkin's chest thrust outward like a strutting pigeon spotting discarded food.

  "We work well together. Yes?"

  The amusement disappeared beneath a coat of oily slime. He changed his agenda to include a long soak in the tub instead of a hasty shower when he got home. "I will contact you after I've read the scripts and had a chance to contemplate them."

  "I look forward to it."

  At the sedan they shook hands.

  "We will speak soon," Korotkin said. "My apologies again, for the necessity of the hood. But it protects both of us, yes?"

  "Yes."

  Unlike the direct route they'd taken to the warehouse, the one back to his office was meant to shake any sense of direction and give Korotkin time to drug and transport the girl.

  Angel. Hardly a name he'd allow her to keep. In fact, he would insist on knowing and using her real name.

  Surely she would appreciate his rescue and be grateful for the comfort he provided. She would come to trust him, and as a result of it, play the part he needed her to play—until it was time for her to play the part of sacrifice.

  In the dark protection of the hood, he smiled at having the foresight to arrange for the rental car to avoid being followed.

  The call finally came. The driver said, "The hood is not needed."

  Linden tugged it off, guessing with the sight of his office building that they had been circling the block repeatedly.

  The driver stopped at the curb, naming a Russian bakery and the cross streets closest to it. "You'll find the package behind the dumpster."

  Linden exited the sedan and it glided away like some dark predator, leaving him feeling exposed. Caution prevailed over paranoia. He retrieved the rental car, and though he didn't waste magic to mask his appearance, he took a circuitous route to the bakery.

  The parking lot behind the building was small, meant primarily for employees. A graffiti painted wall of cinderblock shielded two sides of the lot from street view while the bakery itself blocked off a third.

  He stopped close to the dumpster, angling the rental car to provide cover, though the blanket the girl had been rolled in was thick enough to hide what it contained. He knelt, slid his hand inside it, encountering warm skin and the up-and-down movement of a small feminine chest before lifting the bundle and quickly placing it on his back seat.

  He hurried to put distance between himself and the bakery, assuming there were watchers in place, to ensure that the transfer was safely made.

  Worry and fear fell away with each mile, with each minute that passed, as his surety grew that he had not been followed. He felt like laughing, like pounding his hands against the steering wheel as a surge of exhilaration swept through him. He'd done it! He'd dealt with the Russian. And he would be able to do it again.

  Possibility blossomed, a sudden explosion of rich promise. Maybe this girl could last beyond the six months that some of them had lasted, maybe he could stretch out his enjoyment of her for a year by taking receipt of a woman from Korotkin, drugged and easy to immediately sacrifice to feed the spell that kept him healthy. Perhaps the Russian could be used to dispose of the body. He'd have to think on it.

  Routine and the plan he had created for this approach to the house took over. He used just enough of the stored magic to change his features to pass as a black man, the full disguise not required given that he drove a different vehicle.

  He used the remote to open the garage door. A whimper sounded from the backseat as it closed behind them, quickening his heartbeat.

  He hurried to get her inside. Then punched in the code to get into the bedroom. It was the date he'd lost his virginity to a girl about the same age as the one he now placed on the bed.

  He peeled the blanket back to see her face. Beautiful. Innocent and vulnerable in a way it hadn't been when she was in the Russian's possession.

  Linden allowed himself to stroke a cheek, as he'd wanted to from the first instant he'd seen her in the photograph. The softness of her skin had his chest swelling with hope and a touch of infatuation.

  Perfect. She was perfect.

  He wanted to get rid of the blanket and the cheap nightgown she was no doubt wearing beneath it. Both only served as a reminder of where she'd come from. But he thought it best to leave her as she was. Trust had to begin somewhere, and waking unmolested in a protective cocoon, in a comfortable room containing everything she would need, seemed the best means of conveying to her that she'd been made safe.

  He turned away from the bed, going to the dresser and removing the panties. He would replace them tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after. He couldn't be certain when he'd return. Or rather, when it would be wise to return.

  She had everything she needed. Food. Water. Entertainment. Shower and toilet and tub. Security.

  With a final look at her, he left the room, though not the house. He wouldn't stay long, but he wanted to make sure she came out of the sedation.

  Going to the television, he turned it on, changing the input setting with an unobtrusive switch that activated the camera in the bedroom. His reaction to her was visceral, the scenes playing out in his mind bringing with them a near painful longing to begin their relationship.

  His gaze skittered to the schoolgirl uniform draped over the back of a chair. Soon. Soon. But not until she was willing.

  He settled in to wait. Watched as her thumb went to her mouth and she began sucking, pity moving him so he had to fight the urge to go to her.

  Mama.

  The cry never stopped being inside her. She wanted Mama, but Mama was gone forever.

  A sob broke through into the silence, and in that silence, she heard the sound of the evil man's fists hitting Mama over and over again while his men laughed and she and Kseniya screamed and screamed and screamed.

  She wasn't strong like Mama had been. Like Kseniya was.

  There was a boy in their apartment building in Moscow. A sad, sad
boy who'd gone to the roof and jumped off.

  It did not seem like such a terrible act now.

  She could pretend to sleep, but eventually the man who'd taken her away from Kseniya would come back. He would do the things the other men had done. He would make her do the things they had made her do.

  Over and over and over, and it would never stop.

  She would rather be dead like Mama.

  And if she was gone, then there would be nothing to keep Kseniya from escaping if she could.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 20

  Hayden delivered them to the front door of the Brides' office in the Jeep, eyes glinting red when he turned toward her. "Make it fast, Mal. And lose him afterward."

  She got out of the car and entered the building with Mikhail, leaving Dane outside, hidden by the night.

  Matthew was going through the far desk. He glanced up. "Both of the computers are password protected. Most of what I'm seeing in the drawers is Cyrillic."

  "Let Mikhail take the desks."

  Matthew surrendered them, moving to the bank of file cabinets.

  He jingled a ring of small keys and went down the row, unlocking one cabinet after another until getting to the end. "I'll start here. Meet you in the middle."

  Mallory went straight to the Bs. There was no Kent Beck.

  Her throat burned at knowing the file had probably been destroyed after Iosif's visit, at knowing there probably wouldn't be any evidence of Viktoriya or the girls here.

  Look anyway. Something here will lead to them.

  She abandoned the Bs for the beginning of the As.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  They could spend hours on the files alone.

  They didn't have hours.

  Without days of surveillance to establish schedules, every minute risked getting caught.

  She pressed on.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  "I've got something," Matthew said.

  She paused her own search to meet him in the middle. He held a thick, opened file.

  A picture was stapled to the left side of the folder, a handsome blond with the look of a successful businessman. Beneath it were his details.

  The first photograph in a stack of them was one of the women Hayden had pulled from the porn.

  Matthew flipped the picture. On the back were several dates along with dollar amounts and something that looked like a coded identification.

  The next photograph was a different woman.

  There were notations on the back of her picture too. Different dates, different dollar amounts, different coding.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  Stop.

  Another face she recognized.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  Flip.

  A third.

  She doubted any of the women had joined the ranks of those on the wall with a happy ending.

  Matthew snapped the folder shut and dropped it on the desk. "Our best bet is going to be to grab the thick files."

  She nodded and returned to her spot. A drawer later she added a file to the one on the desk. Another drawer and she found Mark Horowitz, only it was the same picture Iosif had of Kent Beck.

  "Matthew."

  He dropped three more folders onto the pile. "I just found the first guy again as Stuart Palmer."

  Mikhail slammed a drawer shut with a deep growl of frustration. Mallory half-turned to find him unhooking the tower, freeing it from its power and monitor cord moorings.

  His eyes glinted red. His lips curled in a show of teeth. They'd fight if she tried to stop him, but taking the computers meant there'd be no hiding the break-in, no real point in photographing the contents of the files, not when leaving them risked their being destroyed.

  "Take both of them," she told Mikhail. "I'll call Hayden to pick you up."

  Mikhail untethered the second computer.

  She made the call and Mikhail left.

  Minutes later she met Matthew at the Ls.

  They went through them together, their bodies touching in a transference of heat, a reawakening of need that was deepened by the danger, the rush of doing something righteous that was also illegal.

  He scored one last file, added it to the others.

  She called Hayden then took possession of the stack. "Ready?"

  Matthew speared his fingers through her hair, pulled her in. The heady scent of desire was mixed with the adrenaline pumping through his system.

  "Jesus, I love working with you."

  His lips covered hers. His tongue plunged into her mouth, the taste of danger adding to the heat pulsing between them.

  She wanted to wallow in the moment. Luxuriate in it. Extend it.

  Felt his reluctance to end it in the second before he pulled away, breathing fast.

  "We need to get out of here," Matthew said. "Clock is ticking."

  They left the office. The Jeep was already there, the back door open.

  Dane emerged from the alley and jumped in. She slid in after him, watching Matthew disappear around the corner, going to his Harley.

  Hitting the gas, Hayden asked, "Anything solid in the files?"

  "Nothing easy. The computers are the better bet."

  They had until morning until the break-in was discovered. Maybe. They had until then to find a possible location for Viktoriya and the girls.

  After that there was a good chance they'd be moved. If they hadn't already been made to disappear after Iosif appeared with a picture of Kent Beck and the knowledge that the address for him was false.

  Whoever was behind Brides From Russia knew Iosif had been looking for his family. Now they'd know someone was still looking.

  Her heart spasmed at wondering if Iosif had told the man who'd killed him about coming to her. Her breathing shallowed thinking about her mother and Austin and Sorcha.

  Protecting them would mean making Phillip aware of the potential threat. But doing that, when Phillip had already threatened to take them away from L.A.—

  "Stop it," Hayden growled. "Whatever's going on with you, stop. You sound like fucking prey. You smell like prey."

  She bared her teeth but worked at managing the fear. By morning she would know for sure what Iosif had revealed, though regret gripped her and her heart ached. There was no summoning without also trapping the dead, at least not for her, and no avoiding calling Iosif to find out what he knew about his killer.

  Her hands clenched and unclenched on the stack of folders in her lap. Time was running out.

  In the side-view mirror, the Harley closed the distance.

  "I told you to lose him, Mal."

  "Let me worry about Matthew."

  "Yeah, I'll do that. Why not take him to the morgue with you? He's already a dead man walking."

  The knife was in her hand and she had no memory of pulling it.

  Hayden laughed. "Going to try and make me take it back?"

  "Enough," Mikhail growled, and it felt as if the Jeep had become a balloon, the magic pouring off him expanding, driving out the air until both she and Hayden were gasping.

  "Truce," Hayden said.

  "Truce."

  She pocketed the knife, suppressed the shudder that tried to take her, at having displayed a Hound's instinctive answer to threat with the offer of violence.

  * * * * *

  Caleb rode close, the Harley nearly kissing the Jeep's bumper. They'd try and cut him out now but he wasn't going to let that happen.

  His gut burned. How many women had there been in the files they found? Sixty? Eighty? More than a hundred? He'd get justice for those women even if he never found them, even if it took the rest of his FBI career.

  In the Brass Ring parking lot he stopped just a little over a door's width from the Rubicon's passenger side. "Just so you know," Mallory said, getting out. "Dane will bite you if you put a dent in the Jeep."

  Only a hint of amusem
ent made it into her eyes, but he had to fight the urge to grab her and pull her to him.

  "That so?"

  Her nostrils flared. Her arms tightened on the files hugged to her chest. Her dark eyes became molten tar, a trap ensnaring them both until the dog pushed between them with a low growl and a ripple of muscle.

  Caleb stayed loose, acted like he fully expected to go into the back room with them.

  The dog got there first, jumping and slamming a paw against the palm plate.

  The flash of reflected light from the laptop was a beacon that had Caleb's mind clearing and sharpening. It was a risky move, grabbing a look at the screen, but he dared it, needing leverage, needing to make sure they didn't shut him out of their hunt.

  "There's a hit on a pedophile," he said. "Convicted of possession of child porn, first offense, sentenced to five years, out in two-and-a-half. Wayne Cleary, former teacher, drives a 2009 black Subaru."

  A charge of electricity went through the room, so visceral it jerked his head up.

  "Get him out of here, Mal," Hayden said, violence edging his voice, and if looks could kill, Caleb knew he'd be a dead man.

  He yielded the spot in front of the laptop and didn't waste his breath acknowledging just how good Hayden was at getting information. He had to have hacked traffic and retail cameras, snagging relevant details and comparing them to DMV records and criminal records to have isolated a suspect.

  How long had he been working on it? A day? Five? Ten?

  All that talent to end up jailed for murder. It was a fucking waste.

  Mikhail set the stolen towers down on the desk. Mallory dropped the folders next to them. The junkie started pawing through the pictures of the women who'd been victimized, whimpering softly, the sound of it stirring pity at the same time it made the skin at the back of Caleb's neck tight.

  "What's the pedophile's address?" she asked Hayden.

  Caleb answered before Hayden could so they'd know he was in, all the way in.

  "Matthew and I will check Cleary out," she said, ending any chance of staying with the files and the towers.

  The dog stood as if he knew they were getting ready to leave.

  The junkie reached out and touched Dane's nape.