by Beck, Keira
He pushed open the door and she ducked under his arm. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it seems redundant.”
She frowned and took a deep breath.
“Sorry.” Declan gestured to the sofa in the living room. “Have a seat. Let’s talk.”
Alana chose an overstuffed recliner, perching on the edge rather than sitting comfortably.
Probably ready to make a run for it.
Declan sat on the sofa, closest to her. “I owe you an apology.”
She shook her head. “No. I came to apologize to you.”
“What for? I was an ass. I have a lot of baggage, and sometimes I forget not to try and make other people carry it.”
“And I took my frustration out on you. I know you’re doing everything you can. And giving up your vacation time to do it. I lashed out.”
“Why don’t we put it behind us and move on?”
She’d been sitting with rigid posture until that moment. Her body melted into a more comfortable position on the chair, and she sighed. “Agreed.”
“Great.” They sat in an awkward silence. He never struggled to talk to people, but this particular woman left him tongue-tied and brain-dead.
Alana cleared her throat. “So, have you made any progress on the case today?”
He shrugged. “It’s not good news. I’m waiting on confirmation, but it looks like Scott was strangled before going in the water.”
Her spine straightened, and her chin jutted out. “And you think Adam did it?”
“Geez, relax.” Declan rested his head on the back of the sofa. His temples were beginning to pound. “No, I don’t. But I do think someone is framing him. I need to find out why.”
“You mean who.”
“If I can figure out why, I’ll know who.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to find out who, then come up with motive?”
“And how do you propose we figure out who it was without knowing their motivation?”
“You said we.”
“What?”
“We. Not you. You’re including me.”
Declan glanced at her. A soft smile spread across her face, reached her eyes. He was happy to see it, happier to be the cause. He didn’t know when he had started to think of her as part of his team, but it fit. At least, for the time being.
“Yeah, I said we. You’ve been helpful.” That was harder to admit than he cared for. “But this is still my case. I’ll let you come with me until it gets dangerous. Then you have to listen to me and step back. If you can’t promise that, the deal’s off. I’ll shut you out.”
She had a wicked gleam in her eye, a wickeder grin on her face. “You’re not in a good bargaining position, Mr. Flynn. You just told me everything you know. But I have information you don’t currently possess.”
He scoffed. “And you think that gives you leverage?”
“I know it does.” Alana sat back in her seat, like a regent on a throne.
“Hate to burst your bubble, kid, but you’re gambling with someone else’s dough.”
“What?”
“If you don’t share, you’re only hurting yourself. Or more accurately, your brother.”
Her face fell. “Fine. But I’m not promising anything.”
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
“My cousin Mason was one of the groomsmen. He’s been at the man—I mean, at my parents’ house. He was keeping an eye on Kristina’s house because he wanted to check on her, but he hasn’t seen her. So he stopped at Samovar.”
“Was she there?”
“Oh, I’ll say. And she’s spinning quite the sob story. Mason left before she saw him, but he got an earful first.”
Declan leaned forward. “Tell me. Don’t leave anything out.”
“A lot of the squad was there. I don’t know if they were breaking the bad news or just there for moral support. Kristina was wailing and carrying on. Mason felt really bad for her. At first.”
He spun his hand in a circle, urging her on.
“At first, she was pumping them for information on the case. Started saying things like she’d get no insurance payout if Scott’s death was ruled a suicide, and his buddies were assuring her that wouldn’t be the case. They said they’d all help take care of her, but insurance wouldn’t be an issue. It kind of disturbed Mason, her worrying about the insurance before mourning, but sometimes people have to be practical, so he didn’t dwell on it. He sat there, listening to it all and waiting for the cops to leave so he could express his condolences one-on-one. But then…”
“What?”
“I think—Mason thinks—she went too far. She said she’d taken her engagement ring to the pawn shop because she couldn’t afford the funeral, but the ring was a fake and the guy wouldn’t give her enough for it. Cops all assured her they’d help, and there was the expected ‘we take care of our own’ crap.”
“Wait. She went to the pawn shop for money for the funeral before she knew her husband was dead?”
“Well, like I said, Mason isn’t sure when she heard the news. If they just broke the news to her, then she gave herself away. But even if she’d heard earlier in the day? The timing is still fishy. Whose first response is to go to a pawn shop when she hears her husband is dead?”
“What happened next?”
“She said Scott told her something that she wasn’t sure she should share.”
“Why wouldn’t she want to share information that could help them solve the case?”
Alana scoffed. “She said Scott told her what Adam said to him. Claimed it could have been said in anger, so she hated to point fingers, but if it was Adam who killed her husband, she wanted him to pay for it.”
“So she ratted Adam out.” Declan sighed. “Well, at least Adam isn’t the last person to have seen Scott. Not if Kristina said they talked afterward.”
“Yeah, but no one believes she threw him overboard.”
“Your cousin overhear anything else?”
“The cops promising justice. Threats against Adam. What you’d expect. That’s when he got out of there.”
“Wise choice.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that not a single officer there noticed a problem with her actions? With the timeline?”
“They’re all emotionally-compromised. Right now, it’s all raw. But someone at some point will notice.”
“Unless they’re in on it.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if Scott was a dirty cop, and the good ones needed to get rid of him so their reputation stayed clean? You’ve seen all the riots because of police brutality.” She rose and began to wander around the room, her pace increasing with her excitement. “Or maybe he was the clean cop, and the dirty ones tried to silence him!”
“Were there any cops on the ship? Other than Scott, that is?”
Her face fell, and she stopped mid-stride. “No.”
“Then that’s unlikely.”
Alana dropped down beside him on the sofa. “So what do we do now?”
“Now I ask my boss to dig into her financials. And I pay a visit to Samovar.”
“We. We go to Samovar.”
“You’ll be recognized there. It’s not a good idea.”
“Someone tried to drown you, remember? Pretty sure if anyone there is dangerous, they’ll recognize you, too.”
“You’re determined to put yourself in harm’s way, aren’t you?”
“I’m determined to help my brother.”
“Then, can I buy you dinner? There’s an Eastern European restaurant near here I’ve been dying to try.”
She smiled. “I recommend the stroganoff. And a booth by the kitchen.”
Chapter Ten
Declan went into his room to change clothes. While he was getting ready, he sent Danny a text, looking for any update. He also requested background information on Kristina Volkov-Bruno.
He wasn’t even done brushing his teeth when his phone dinged with a reply.
Danny:
Is she related to Yuri Kovalev?
Declan: Don’t know. Who’s YK?
Danny: Bookmaker for Anton Medved.
Declan: Bratva? In Erie?
His phone rang. Declan answered on the first ring. “What the fuck, Dan? Bratva?”
“Our intel suggests they’ve moved out of the huge metropolitan areas. But Erie is a great location. It’s on water. It’s near Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Detroit. Can easily get to the Eastern seaboard, the Midwest, or even Canada from there.”
“And Kristina—a cop’s wife—has ties to them?”
“I’m no hacker, but I started to trace the family tree. Yuri Kovalev has four siblings. One of them is a sister, Nina. She married Alexander Volkov. I can’t find a record of kids. Yet. But with Kristina’s maiden name being Volkov, it’s a good bet she’s related somehow. If not their daughter, maybe a niece or cousin.”
“So it’s a distant relation?”
“I can’t prove any relation, but that’s my guess.”
“She works at a restaurant here. Samovar. See if you can find out who owns it. I’m headed there now. I’m feeling a little peckish.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.” Declan ended the call and left the bedroom. Alana wasn’t in the living room, so he went to the kitchen.
She was drying a glass. “Took you long enough. I got bored, so I did your dishes.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“No problem. I had nervous energy to burn. You ready?”
“About that. The nervous part.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What about it?”
“I suspect Samovar is more dangerous than we originally thought. I don’t think you should go.”
“So, somewhere between your shirt and your pants, you got cold feet? Put on socks.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why you changed your mind while you were changing your clothes, but I’m going.”
“I heard from my boss. This isn’t a simple case of corrupt police.”
“What’s simple about that?”
“Well, nothing. But this is a lot worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“Bratva.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Bratva. Russian crime syndicate.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Their version of the mafia.”
“Oh.” She put the last glass away and hung the dishtowel over the handle of the oven.
“That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
“What did you want me to do? Shake in my sandals and burst into tears?”
“You do understand how dangerous they are, right?”
“I’ve been going to Samovar for years, and I’ve never even gotten heartburn. It’s perfectly safe. I’m going.”
“You’re stubborn.”
Alana shrugged. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
He studied her. She wore a filmy peach sundress bearing a muted olive leaf pattern and strappy metallic rose gold sandals with a short heel. Her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders. She was the picture of understated elegance.
Then he looked down at his clothes. Dark jeans, white golf shirt, boat shoes—scuffed, but they were the last pair he had since he lost his others in the lake. “Not dressy enough? It’s a beach town. I didn’t bring formal wear. I can put on a button-down shirt.” Ugh. Long sleeves again. In the summer heat. That would suck.
“It’s fine. You look… great.”
He had a feeling that wasn’t the first word that popped into her head.
“I just meant, are you finally ready? You took longer than most girls I know.”
“I was on the phone.”
Alana patted him on the cheek as she walked past him. “Don’t worry. You look pretty. It was worth the wait.”
He growled his frustration, but as soon as she was in the hallway, he chuckled. If nothing else, the night should be entertaining.
* * *
Declan questioned her proclamation that Samovar’s food was top-notch. The parking lot was nearly full with high-end cars when he’d pulled in—the only empty spots were a reserved one near the front and a tight one beside a thorn bush in the back which he’d grudgingly taken. But when they went inside, the place was completely empty. All the dinner-goers must have been at the other restaurant using the shared lot. That didn’t bode well for his meal, but he was there on a job.
When they stepped inside, they waited at the door. He blinked, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Before approaching the hostess station, he whispered in Alana’s ear, “Do you recognize her?”
She shook her head and murmured, “Must be new.”
Declan plastered a smile on his face, put his hand on Alana’s back, and guided her toward the podium.
“Welcome to Samovar.” The hostess smiled. “Booth or table?”
He took Alana’s advice and requested the booth by the kitchen. When the hostess raised her eyebrows, he gave her a sheepish grin. “It’s our anniversary. That’s the seat we had on our first date.”
The woman smiled. “Ah. So sweet you remember that.”
Alana’s cheeks were red, but she didn’t comment.
After they were seated, the hostess handed them menus and promised a server would be right out.
“So, honey, happy anniversary.”
He shrugged. “What did you want me to say? We prefer the noise by the kitchen? Or maybe I should have been honest?”
“I wasn’t criticizing.” She sat back and smiled. “I was just wondering what my gift was.”
“Gift?”
“If it’s our anniversary, I’m assuming you bought me a gift.”
“Method acting. I get it. Sorry, babe. Dinner’s your gift.”
She nodded. “Maybe you’ll think of something later.”
Was that a proposition? Or was she secretly referring to them learning something useful? God, she had him so off his game. And he couldn’t afford the distraction.
Declan looked around the restaurant. The kitchen door was essentially behind him, and the bar was right across from their table. Booths lined the perimeter of the establishment and tables filled up the rest of the space, all of which were covered in crisp white linens anchored with tea lights in ornate iron holders. The walls were oxblood and held sconces that matched the candleholders. Classical music played from a hidden sound system, and unless he missed his guess, it was by Russian composers. The mood was one of understated elegance, and despite Alana’s earlier efforts to set his mind at ease, he felt underdressed.
A waiter came out with an ornate teapot. He placed it, two cups, and two glasses of water on the table. “Do you need a few minutes?”
“Please,” Declan said.
“Very well.” He walked away.
Declan heard him complaining to his counterparts in the kitchen. At least, he thought it was complaining. He only knew about five Russian phrases, almost all of which weren’t restaurant-appropriate. “I could use a drink.”
“They have some really good cocktails on the menu. And of course, the vodka is top notch.”
“Probably shouldn’t while I’m working.”
“I thought we were celebrating.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Here.” She picked up the pot and poured. “Have some tea. It’s delicious.”
“Do they always bring tea without asking?”
“Russians actually drink a lot of tea. But here? It’s their thing.” Alana gestured to the pot. “This is a samovar.”
“Ah. I get it.” He sipped the tea while he looked over the menu. “You know what you want? So much of it sounds good.”
“I always say I’m going to try something else, but I always get the stroganoff. It melts in your mouth.”
“Never had the knishes?”
“I’ve thought about it, but no.”
“Want to split?”
“How romantic, dear. I’d love to.”
H
e put down his menu and shook his head.
She grinned and placed her menu on top of his.
The waiter returned. “Can I answer any questions? Or would you like to hear the specials?”
“No, thank you,” Declan said. “We’ll start with the khachapuri. The lady will have the stroganoff, and I’ll have the knishes.”
“Very well. Your appetizer will be right out.” He returned to the kitchen.
“Wow. You must be hungry. I did tell you the portions were huge here, right?”
“No, but I’m starving, so that’s okay.”
Two middle-aged men exited the kitchen and sat at the bar, not far from their table. A server followed with a tray of food and placed their selections in front of them. The bartender approached, poured vodka into shot glasses, then left the bottle behind. The duo clinked their glasses together and said in unison, “Za tvajo zdarovje.”
“To health,” Alana said in a quiet tone.
The one closest to the kitchen refilled their glasses. They tapped them together and said, “Za vstrechu.”
Declan raised his eyebrows.
She whispered, “To our meeting.”
A third refill and toast, and the men said, “Za nashu druzjbu.”
Softer still, she said, “To our friendship.”
Declan raised his tea cup and she did the same, but she wouldn’t toast him. “You only clink glasses if you’re drinking alcohol.”
He nodded and sipped his tea. “You know a lot about this stuff.”
“I’m pretty much at my limit at this point. Those first three toasts are common, but after that, anything goes.”
The men offered a fourth toast. Declan looked at her, but she shrugged.
Then the waiter returned with their appetizer and two plates. “Your khachapuri.”
The delicate pastry was shaped like a flat football and held a mixture of bubbly cheeses. An egg sat on top, the whites only just cooked, the yolk ready to burst.
Alana pointed to it. “Do the honors.”
He punctured the yellow dome with his fork, and the rich liquid ran over the cheese and pastry, seeping into it. “That was more satisfying than it should have been.”
She laughed. “Wait until you taste it.”
Declan tore a corner of the dough.
She placed her hand over his. “Give it a moment to cool, or you’ll burn your tongue.”