by Elle Casey
“I don’t know.” He’s flustered.
I’ve heard enough. He’s feeling pressured and stressed and it isn’t fair. He and I both know that he’s not going to come into a witness protection program with me. We’ve only known each other for a few days. It wouldn’t be right of me to expect that of him, even though I think what we’ve started between us is something pretty damn special.
I walk over and pick up the baby. “Hello there, little angel. Are you hungry?” I sit down on the edge of the bed and start unzipping my jacket. This situation has gotten out of hand. I need to rein it in, and the only way I know how to do that right now is to pull out a boob.
“Let’s talk about this later,” Thibault says, stepping to the side and blocking Ozzie’s view of what I’m doing.
“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” I say, lacing my voice with as much false cheer as I can muster.
“We’ll be waiting in the car,” Ozzie says, turning toward the door and heading across the room. Part of me wants to hate that man, but I can’t. He’s being a great friend and a smart business partner. I would be doing the same thing if it were me.
I try to pack up the diaper bag while also holding Tee.
Thibault comes over. “Let me help you,” he says.
I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I got it,” I say. “Just go. I’ll be right there.”
“We’ll catch up,” Jenny says, nodding at me.
“Can we talk about this?” he asks gently.
The baby won’t latch on. He’s too tired. I shake my head and stand up. “Let’s just go.”
I zip myself up and walk out the door ahead of him with Jenny as he gathers our things. I feel like I’m leaving my best possible future behind in that motel room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We park behind the back door of the diner and split up into two groups, Thibault with me and the baby, and Ozzie and Jenny together. Ozzie and Jenny enter the restaurant first, sending Thibault a text to let us know it’s all clear, and then we follow. I’m beyond nervous, droplets of sweat gathering at my temples. I feel sick.
“Don’t worry, Mika,” Thibault says as we walk slowly around the side of the restaurant. He doesn’t have his crutches, so he’s limping pretty badly. “You’ve got us here with you. You’re not alone.”
“Yeah, but this is the FBI. This is way more than I bargained for.” When someone works with the FBI in the movies, it never ends well.
“They’re nothing special. Just federal-level cops. The only difference between them and the NOPD cops you see every day on the street is the feds wear suits. That’s it.”
“I’m feeling really out of my element.”
“Your element is with me, and I’m right here.” He opens the door and waits for me to go inside, taking the baby seat from my hand as I walk by.
I really wish that were true. I want to be with him, in his element, starting a new and exciting life by his side. Too bad it’s not in the cards for us.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks.
I nod, even though I’m not. “Let’s do it.”
We make our way over to a round table in the corner of the diner where Ozzie and Jenny are sitting with two men—only one of them is wearing a suit. There are two empty chairs.
When we arrive at the edge of the table, the two FBI agents stand. Ozzie and the agents have their backs to the wall. Thibault gestures for me to take the seat next to Jenny, which I’m happy to do because it means that Jenny and Thibault are on either side of me, sheltering me from direct contact with the agents. It gives me a mental boost to have them there. Jenny cares very much for Thibault, and he respects the heck out of her, so I feel like I can trust her too. I put the baby seat on the floor right next to my chair, well out of the way of floor traffic.
The agent in the suit holds out his hand. “Ms. Cleary, I assume?”
I shake his hand. “That’s me.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Special Agent Vanderwahl. Thanks for coming so early in the morning.”
I nod and shake the other guy’s hand. “Special Agent Booker,” he says.
Agent Vanderwahl smiles and holds his tie against his stomach as he sits. “We’re working a case that involves someone I think you know.” He gestures at my chair. “Go ahead and sit down. And feel free to order breakfast, too. Our treat.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking my seat, “but I’m not really hungry.”
Thibault leans in close to me and talks softly in my ear. “Can I get you some juice? You really need to put something in your stomach.”
I nod. “Thanks.” I reach under the table and squeeze his hand, letting him know I appreciate his thoughtfulness. I may be entering into a deal with the FBI to turn in a murderer, but he’s going to make sure I still get my vitamins. He’s such a sweet guy; it breaks my heart that I’m going to have to leave him behind.
Thibault signals for the waitress and takes care of ordering himself some coffee, me some juice, and both of us some toast. He also throws in an order of fruit and cottage cheese, which I’m guessing is for me too. I might even try to eat some of it just to make him feel better, although I don’t know how I’m even going to swallow anything, since I feel like I’m going to vomit at any moment.
Once everybody has their orders in, most of it beverages, the agents put their forearms on the table and lean in. Agent Vanderwahl’s jacket bunches up at his shoulders.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” he says. “You’ve got some information about an individual we’ve been trying to nail down for a long time. We’d like to know what it is you have exactly, and then once we know whether it’s something we can use, perhaps we can make you an offer that will make this easier for you.”
I’m instantly suspicious. “Make what easier for me?”
Thibault slides his foot over and slowly taps mine with it. I do the same back. It feels so good to have his support.
“Let me start over.” Vanderwahl gives me a cheesy smile and continues. “The individual we’re looking at is Pavel Baranovsky. He’s originally from Moscow and moved here as a teenager. He began participating in the local drug trade at the age of nineteen and then quickly graduated to managing large swathes of several downtown districts in New Orleans and also certain areas of Baton Rouge. We now believe his operations extend into forty states and six foreign countries.”
I press my lips together but say nothing. I worry that I don’t have everything they want, because as far as I know, he’s entirely based in Louisiana.
“All we have are rumors, though. We have no hard data. It came to our attention not long ago, however, that he was using a local girl to do his books for him.”
The two agents look at each other and smile. The second one, Booker, joins in. “Imagine that. A Russian guy, whose entire network is made up of other Russian guys, hires a girl from New Orleans to keep track of all his money.” They both keep smiling and shrugging their shoulders at each other.
Vanderwahl looks back at me. “Can you explain that?”
I feel like I’m being accused of something, but I have no idea what. “No, I can’t explain that.”
Thibault puts his hand on mine. “Are you guys trying to say something about Mika or Pavel? Because it sounds like you’re accusing her of something.”
He heard the insinuation, too. I wasn’t imagining it. Relief floods through me, knowing he has my back.
Booker tries to look innocent, shrugging his shoulders. “No, not at all. We’re just wondering how something like that happens.”
They stare intently at me, and they don’t exactly look friendly.
Thibault turns to look at me, speaking softly directly into my ear so no one else will hear him. “Can you tell them how you ended up in that position?”
I shake my head. How I got there is none of their damn business. And I don’t want to have the conversation in front of Thibault’s friends, either.
“I want them to be on your side,” he wh
ispers. “You need to say something.”
I look at him, my eyes filling up with tears. I feel like I’m being stripped down and exposed to everyone in the restaurant. I speak from behind closed teeth. “I don’t want to.”
“It’s up to you,” he says.
I see such kindness in his eyes. And zero judgment. Thibault doesn’t hold it against me that I sold my body to survive. So why should I care? None of these other people matter to me. I look down at my baby’s innocent face, and my life becomes very clear to me all of a sudden. I only care about three people at this table: my baby, myself, and the man who’s sworn to protect me, Thibault. No one else matters.
“I wasn’t always keeping his books,” I say, looking up at the agents. “In the beginning, I was one of the girls who was working for him in another capacity.”
The two men are trying to figure out what I’m saying. Then the lightbulb seems to go on above the suit.
“Are you saying you’re a prostitute?”
The word hits me like a slap. Thibault puts his hand on top of mine.
“No. I’m saying I was a prostitute.”
“Oh.” The two agents share a look.
“Is that a problem?”
Vanderwahl answers. “No, I wouldn’t say it’s a problem, but we do need to make a determination as to how reliable your information is.”
“So, what . . . You’re saying that because I used to sell my body for sex, I’m now an unreliable person, and you can’t believe anything I say? You think all prostitutes are liars?”
Thibault squeezes my hand. Jenny glares at the agent. Ozzie’s face is impassive, no emotion or thoughts readable there.
“Nobody said that. Not exactly.” Vanderwahl looks to Booker, but Booker just shrugs.
“You sell yourself every day, but you don’t admit it. At least I’m honest about it.”
Booker’s chin backs up into his neck. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure it does.” I give him a lazy smile. “What did you have to do to get that job you got?”
“I went to school.” He’s looking at me with a very judgmental expression on his face.
“Oh really? So you never sucked up to anybody? You never put your values or your judgments to the side and substituted somebody else’s for your own?” I pause and wait for him to think about that for a little while. His expression isn’t quite as cocky as it was in the beginning. “You never made a decision to get that job that hurt your wife or your kids . . . Or you never sacrificed the happiness of somebody in your family for your own goals, your own ego, your own need to feel important?”
I look at Thibault. “Cops . . . they’re all the same. They think they’re better than those girls out on the streets, but they’re prostitutes too.” I look at Booker. “Everybody sells a piece of themselves sometime. Even you.”
“I heard that,” Jenny says under her breath.
Ozzie gives me the very slightest of nods.
I feel for just a moment as if I’m on their team. It’s pretty heady stuff, knowing they’re the good guys.
Vanderwahl clears his throat. “I think we’re getting a little off track here. And I apologize if either one of us gave the impression that we didn’t respect you for the choices you’ve made in your life.”
Thibault’s smiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his white teeth glowing. But I keep my gaze locked on Booker. He’s my problem. He’s the one that’ll cause something bad to happen to me. If he doesn’t get with the program and get on my team, I’m done with these guys. I don’t ask for a whole lot, but I at least deserve some respect. I’m sacrificing everything to be here. They’re sacrificing nothing.
“So why are we here?” Ozzie asks. “How about we start there.”
“That’s easy,” I say, looking at everyone around the table. “I have information, and these guys want it. But then what happens to me when I hand it over? Because I can promise you the minute Pavel finds out I gave you information that’s going to hurt him, he’s going to come after me. And believe me, he will find me, and then I’ll be dead.” My blood turns to ice in my veins. This is not an idle threat; it’s fact.
Vanderwahl responds. “If the information you give us is deemed valuable enough by a prosecutor, and will result in the prosecution of Pavel and his associates, we’ll be willing to offer you a place in our witness protection program.”
Ozzie shakes his head. “No. It’s Pavel or his associates, not and.”
I’m glad he spoke up, because I missed that little detail.
Booker scowls at Ozzie. “Who are you? Her lawyer?”
“I’m a friend. That’s all you need to know.”
The two agents exchange a look I can’t read.
“We can negotiate those points later,” Vanderwahl says. “The question now remains: What is it exactly that you have?”
“How about if we start with me telling you what I want?” I sit up straight and put my hands on the table in front of me, folding them together.
“If that’s what you prefer.” Vanderwahl sits back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. “Go ahead. We’re listening.”
“First of all, I need protection. I need to know that my baby and I are safe.” Before Booker can interrupt, I hold up a finger. “And . . . I need you to find somebody for me.”
The two agents exchange a look and then turn to face me. “Find someone?” Vanderwahl asks.
“Yes. I have a friend who’s a relative of Pavel’s. He disappeared, and I need you to find him. He’s innocent in all this garbage. He’s not a criminal.”
“If we can find him, we will, but we can’t guarantee anything,” Booker says.
I shrug and sit back. “As soon as you find him, I’ll give you what you want . . . whatever you need to put Pavel in prison. But until then, I’ve got nothing to say.”
Jenny holds up a finger. “I think I can help you out on this.”
Everybody switches their focus to her. Jenny looks up and gives us a nervous smile before pulling out her laptop computer from a case by her chair and opening it up. “I just have some notes right here . . . give me a minute.”
Our group goes silent. The sounds of the cooks in the kitchen banging pots and pans around and silverware hitting plates mingle with the murmur of other diners’ voices, but everyone sitting at our table just stares at Jenny.
She’s totally focused on her screen as she talks. “We got some information about Alexei earlier, so I did some searching and found a few things.”
I sit up straight and lean toward Jenny, my pulse picking up. “Did you find him?”
“I might have.” She glances up at us and shares a little smile before going back to her computer.
“Alexei Baranovsky, born July 8, 1995. Last known location: New Orleans, Louisiana.”
I reach under the table and take Thibault’s hand in mine. My palms are clammy, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He holds me, stroking my wrist slowly. It helps to calm me.
“He has a bank account funded by deposits that come in once a month from an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. This appears to be his main source of financial support. There have been several ATM transactions on this account, two as recently as yesterday.”
“How are you accessing that information?” Booker asks.
Jenny glances up at him but then goes back to her computer screen. “All the withdrawals were taken from the same machine, which is located at Chase Bank on Jefferson Highway.”
I frown at her. “That’s over by the west side of town. That’s nowhere near my apartment or where he stays with Pavel.”
“What else do you have?” Thibault asks.
She looks up and closes the lid on her computer. “That’s it. I don’t have access to the surveillance at that ATM. I could probably get it eventually, but I didn’t have time.”
“Are you conducting illegal searches and accessing servers without permission or warrants?” Booker asks.
She
points delicately at her chest. “Who, me? No.” She shakes her head. “I would never do that.”
Hope strikes me like a lightning bolt right in my heart. She can find Alexei. If she can do this in such a short period of time, and tap into the things she shouldn’t have access to like I know she did, I have no doubt. I feel almost dizzy. She just needs more time.
Ozzie breaks in. “Point is, I think we can find Alexei or at least the person who’s accessing his accounts.” He looks over at me. “Is that enough for now?”
Everybody is staring at me. The table goes quiet again.
The waitress comes over just at that moment to deliver the food, coffee, and juices, effectively breaking the tension. Booker turns to Vanderwahl and says, “I thought that woman, Son—”
Vanderwahl cuts him off, glaring. “Later. We’ll look into it later.”
My body goes stiff. Booker almost said Sonia! I know he did. I dig my nails into Thibault’s hand hard enough to make him flinch. If Sonia is talking to the FBI, what the hell does that mean? Only one thing as far as I can see: she’s still trying to sell me out. And why would she be doing that with these two guys unless they were against me? Sonia told Pavel where I was so he could come get me and the baby. If she’d succeeded, I’d probably be dead now, and my baby would be all alone with that monster. No . . . Sonia working with Booker and Vanderwahl can’t mean anything good. I don’t like this at all. I don’t trust them.
“Do they have any popcorn on the menu here?” I blurt out.
Jenny looks at me and frowns. “Popcorn? I don’t know. I didn’t see any.” She looks at Ozzie. “Did you?”
Ozzie looks over at me with exaggerated patience. “Popcorn?”
I nod my head vigorously. “It’s a craving. I get them from time to time.” I look down at Tee and then at everyone else. “I think it’s a post-pregnancy thing, maybe?”
Thibault detaches his arm from my clawed hand and stands, pulling his chair out while balancing on one leg. “I think we need to go change the baby’s diaper. He stinks. We can order popcorn later.”