CHAPTER TEN
Jane was busy over the next few weeks doing background work on Addison’s case and putting together a list of suspects. She enjoyed the quiet no-nonsense woman’s company and had invited her to the office a few times to interview and go over the information Jane had gathered. Claudia only rarely accompanied Addison, and when she did she usually rushed off to go shopping and run her club. Jane found the woman a little high maintenance and exhausting, but likeable enough.
Jane had also come across few leads in her investigation of Vladimir Sitnikov. On that front, she was frustrated. Jane had never been known on the force for her subtlety. When she was investigating she moved like a bulldozer with the charm of a pit bull, but she always got results. Now, she had to cultivate the art of investigating a Russian mob boss without his knowing about it. He had given her time to adjust to the realities of her new life, but she was under no illusions that he was gone from her life completely. The last thing she wanted to do was draw his notice. Unfortunately, that clashed with the first thing she wanted to do, which was find enough dirt on him to nail his ass to the wall and have him arrested.
After their encounter in her apartment she was even more determined to find a way to get the man out of her life permanently. He was far too disturbing for her to allow him free reign in the city, never knowing when her time would run out and he would come for her.
Once more Jane pulled out a thick folder full of pictures of her quarry. She scanned them carefully, laying each one to the side as she tried to determine if there was evidence embedded within. She studied each one with renewed intensity, picking them up one at a time. He rarely spent much time on the street. His security detail would escort him wherever he went – often one of his restaurants or lounges – and then returned him with professional ease to the relative safety of a waiting vehicle.
There were few pictures of his face for her to study. His expression was always neutral and he kept his head tilted down as he crossed the pavement. He wore expensive suits, tailored with impeccable skill to enhance his lean form. She knew from personal experience that the muscles hinted at beneath the fabric were very real. He might look like any other wealthy businessman except for the dead look in his eyes whenever the camera captured his expression, and the tattoos covering his neck and hands, proudly proclaiming his Russian heritage.
She was about to move onto another set of pictures when something, or rather someone, caught her eye. She squinted hard at the figures in the picture. Sitnikov was standing in his usual pose, head turned away from the camera, body erect and proud. Only, in this picture, his head was turned toward someone. The figure was mostly blocked out by Sitnikov and one of his enforcers, but there was something about the breadth of the shoulders and the shoes that triggered an alarm in her brain. He was familiar.
Jane flicked through the other pictures in that series, staring hard at each one, trying to see the face of the other man. His face was never revealed and though familiar, there wasn’t enough of him visible for identification, but with a gasp she realized there was something being passed from one of Sitnikov’s men to the mystery guy. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but suspected an envelope. Sitnokov had drawn her attention completely when she was sitting low in her car, on the corner, snapping picture after picture. Sitnikov’s body language was one of casual disinterest, as though nothing of significance or out of the ordinary were happening.
Jane sighed, dropped the photos and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. She just couldn’t make out enough of the image to get a solid lead from it. She would have to go back to the same spot next week and see if there was another meet set up. Maybe see if she could ID the other guy. Besides, right now it was his image that burned behind her eyelids, distracting her. She didn’t need pictures to see him.
Since the moment they had met, they’d engaged in a strange dance, obsessed with each other. He lusted, while she hated. Or she wanted to hate him. She knew what a sick bastard he was. He was a killer. Yet she couldn’t forget the way he had touched her. His hard, demanding hands bringing her body to life in a way she’d never before experienced. In a way she thought she was incapable of. Except for the few orgasms she experienced through masturbation, as a release more than anything, she thought she was pretty much frigid. The few guys she’d taken to bed weren’t much help in convincing her otherwise. She had given up even trying to discover passion a few years ago. Again, the image of one breathtakingly sexy and terrifying mob boss flashed through her mind.
Jane leaned sideways, still tilting precariously in her chair and pulled out the top drawer of her desk. She reached in and picked up a full bottle of cherry whisky. Having it there made her feel like a real PI, even though she barely touched it. She hated the taste of strong liquor. But tonight she needed it to dull the image of a certain ruthless criminal from her brain. Even the pictures, most of which were images of the side of his body, his head turned from the cameras lens as though he knew it were there, were enough to make her heart beat a little harder and ignite an ache low in her belly.
She unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle to her lips, but before she could take a sip, her phone buzzed. Jane sat up straight, her booted feet hitting the linoleum floor with a hard thump. A little whisky spilled out onto her hand. Absently, she set the bottle down on the desk and picked her cell phone up to check the text message.
Unknown number: heard ur looking for dirt on the boss. have what you want. meet me tonight.
Jane frowned down at her phone skeptically and sighed. Nice, she thought sarcastically. The text combined with the untouched bottle of Whisky and the pictures scattered across her desk were the beginning of a very bad movie.
Okay, she was desperate enough to play.
Jane: Who are you? I’m not biting without a reason.
Unknown number: Ima friend. want to see boss go down as much as you do. maybe more. but can’t do it alone. need you.
Excitement flooded her. If this source turned out to be legit maybe she would finally get her hands on some real evidence. Fuck Sitnikov, she wasn’t out of the game yet and she wasn’t giving up.
Jane: I’ll bite. What do you have?
Unknown number: records, the ones you didn’t find. proof that boss is into more than restaurants and construction.
Jane frowned. It sounded too good to be true. She had known there would be something to vindicate her accusations, but hadn’t a clue how to get her hands on it.
Jane: Show me.
She held her breath wondering what her mysterious texter would do. Either they’d send her the proof and blow their only leverage or they’d refuse and demand she meet them to discuss details. Her phone beeped and an image filled the screen. She grinned as her eyes took in every detail. Smart bastard, whoever they were. They had sent her an image of what looked like the manifest for a shipment of illegal arms. The top of the page was cut off at the edge of the picture.
She barely dared to breath, her fingers shook as she replied.
Jane: Tell me his name is on there.
Unknown number: next best thing. a numbered company that can be traced back to his holdings.
“Oh my god!” she said out loud and grinned. “Please, guy, whoever you are, you have to give it to me.”
Jane: What do you want for it?
Unknown number: nothing. justice. meet me and I’ll give it to u.
Jane bit her lip. Everything in her was ready to leap to her feet and tear out of there in pursuit of the one promising lead she finally managed to get in all these months of searching. But she had been a cop once upon a time. And she knew better than to go meet some faceless person without a little reassurance. At the same time, she really didn’t want to lose out on what this person was offering.
Jane: Justice for who? I won’t meet you without knowing more. I don’t trust someone I can’t see.
Unknown number: justice for u. u can trust me.
Jane: Who are you?
Unk
nown number: a friend.
Jane was getting annoyed. She frowned down at her phone, before typing: Goes to show you aren’t a friend. If you were then you would know I have no friends.
Unknown number: haha. u have one.
Jane: Prove it.
She sat impatiently watching the screen of her phone, waiting for their next move. She tapped her manicured fingernail anxiously against the scarred wood of the old desk. Tense seconds passed before a message finally flashed across the screen.
Unknown number: do ya feel lucky?
Jane jumped to her feet and laughed out loud. Gripping her phone tightly she reached for her leather coat and texted back: Well, do ya, punk?
Unknown number: meet me Jane?
Jane: Where?
An address flashed across the screen and she recognized it immediately as one of Sitnikov’s places, down by river. She wondered if there was something there her ‘friend’ wanted her to see. Relief and happiness were her chief emotions. She knew he hadn’t deserted her completely. With a little help, she was finally going to get her hands on the evidence she needed to bury the man that obsessed her thoughts.
Jane: I’ll be there in a half hour. Don’t be late!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Sitnikov.”
Vlad looked up from his place at the table where he had been sitting for the past twenty minutes. He didn’t like waiting. It was an insult. Insults made Boris twitchy. Vlad was sincerely hoping he wouldn’t have to kill the younger man, sent to check out the Bratva’s American interests. It could cause problems back in Russia.
He watched the blond soldier’s approach with barely concealed impatience, annoyed that this was the person who would be reporting on him. He lit a cigar and let the fragrant smoke linger in his mouth. The act relaxed him somewhat and created a fine haze across the table. The homeland bosses knew better than to annoy Sitnikov. Or they used to, before they decided to send children into his organization.
“You’re late.”
The quietly spoken words were said with enough menace that Anton Petrov knew instantly he had made a mistake in baiting the Boss. He eyed the scar that ran down Vlad’s head and across his jaw. No doubt wondering if the rumours were true. That his face had been sliced open at the age of sixteen by his father’s own hand just before Vlad had gutted the old bastard and taken over the family business.
Petrov squared his shoulders, clearly trying to remember he had earned his own place in the organization and sat in the chair opposite Vlad. “I was unavoidably detained.”
Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I have heard of your fondness for American whores.”
Petrov flushed angrily and denied the accusation, “I was on the phone with my father.”
Vlad smiled chillingly. “And how is the old man?”
“Wondering why you have ignored several areas of trade that could be lucrative,” he shot back. “You appear to be concentrating much of your efforts on construction and investment while ignoring the skin trade completely.”
Vlad paused before speaking, deliberately increasing the tense silence. He wondered if Petrov the elder still had use of this son. It seemed a risk sending him into Vlad’s territory to toss around careless insults. “I was not aware it was anyone’s business but mine what interests I seek in my city. If I must, I will speak to your father and let him know my position on this issue.”
Petrov quickly caught on to the deadly note in Vlad’s voice and glanced around him quickly. He was probably wondering if he would make it out of Vlad’s dockside warehouse alive. It would make more of a statement toward Vlad’s feelings on Petrov’s interference if his head made it back to Russia before his body.
“It was not my intent to insult you, Vladimir,” Petrov said pleadingly, understanding he made a very big mistake. Vladimir Sitnikov was one cold motherfucker. There was no use in trying to go head to head with the man if a guy wanted to keep his head.
“Then I suggest you stay out of my business. Complete your visit in the manner in which it was meant, as a connection to my mother country, and stop trying to make threats on behalf of your old man,” Vlad said sneeringly. “Trust me, the Alexandr Petrov I know will not thank you for your interference.”
Petrov looked angry for a second, as though he would argue and then remembered where he was. He held his tongue and said stiffly, “Da, I will remember this going forward.”
Vlad sighed heavily and cracked his neck, loosening stiff shoulders. He looked across the table at the younger man, his cigar held loosely between his fingers. “Take some advice Petrov.”
Petrov nodded shortly, knowing he would have no choice but to listen to the older, more experienced man.
“You are in a trusted position or your father would not have sent you here to my country. You are here to learn and perhaps take some knowledge home and apply it to your own organization.” Vlad leaned back in his chair and took a deep draw of his cigar. “Your father mentored me for two years when you were a young boy. Though our paths have become distant, that tie has not grown cold. Out of respect for him I will not kill you today. Try not to annoy me and perhaps you will take home some of the knowledge he hopes to gain.”
Blue eyes clashed with obsidian. Finally Petrov jerked his head in a nod. “My father will appreciate any… ”
A shot rang out, cutting Petrov off mid sentence and startling the already tense men in the warehouse. Boris was in front of Vlad before anyone had time to react. Seconds later another gunshot shattered the silence. Vlad dropped his cigar and pulled his weapon at the same time as his man. He stared malevolently at Petrov, whose fingers were twitching toward his own weapon. The few men Petrov had brought with him were far less organized than Sitnikov’s. Petrov knew he was surrounded and not likely to make it out alive if he made any stupid moves.
"Do you have anything you wish to say to me, Petrov?" Vlad asked silkily in his deadly calm voice. "I have no men out there, as per our agreement. Tell me why I hear weapons fire during what is supposed to be a peaceful meeting between two countrymen?"
Petrov tried to brazen his way out of the tense situation. "What are you implying, Sitnikov? I have come to you in good faith with my father’s blessing. This is your warehouse, I don't know who is out there."
Vlad studied him, his dark soulless eyes taking in the other man's nervous wariness. "As neither of us have men out there and we both agree whatever has happened is nothing to do with our negotiation then shall we go check it together?"
Petrov looked nervous and hung his head for a moment while he tried to decide if Vlad was tricking him. He finally gave a sharp nod. Sitnikov was ruthless and deadly, but he was fair. It was not in his reputation to play head games with his business associates. Petrov pulled his own weapon out slowly, held it down toward the floor and followed Sitnikov. Boris stepped behind Petrov effectively cutting him off from his men.
Petrov despised working with men like Sitnikov. The money was damn good, but the risk involved in messing with the American connection wasn't worth it. No doubt he would be having words with his father, head of the family, when he returned to his hotel. A father that was very firmly in Vlad’s pocket with a blood debt that remained to be paid. The old man would play nice or suffer the consequences.
They swiftly exited the building into the alley beyond. The humidity coming off the river made the air feel thick and oppressive. Petrov used his sleeve to wipe a trickle of sweat from his forehead. He scanned the alley along with Vlad and Boris. "I see nothing," he said.
Vlad stood silently, his body tense and alert. Boris stood to the back of him ready to cover and defend the Boss if anything should happen. The night remained silent. They searched up and down the narrow alley, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Vlad relaxed his stance somewhat and lowered his gun arm. He jerked his head toward the door they had exited from, indicating to the others that they should go back inside. Just before the door could slam shut behind them an audible moan reached their ears. It was undeniably
feminine.
Boris immediately drew his weapon and pointed it into the shadows where the moan had come from. Petrov held his own gun tightly, ready to shoot whatever might materialize.
The voice was a whisper to their ears. "Vlad..."
Sitnikov waved at the men to put their weapons away and lunged toward the shadows, "Jane, is that you?"
He crouched over a shadowy figure on the ground and let out a savage growl, "Fuck, Boris, its her. She's bleeding everywhere. I think she’s been shot. Get me the goddam car!"
He didn’t bother to check that Boris would do as he said, his enforcer wouldn’t think twice. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Vlad was able to see Jane more clearly. Her pale, delicate face was twisted in agony. Tears of pain escaped her tightly scrunched eyes and made wet paths down her cheeks. She reached for him and clutched his arm in a pathetically weak grip. Though he could see and feel the pool of blood beneath her, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Her black jeans and leather coat camouflaged the source.
“Jane, malysh,” Vlad said as calmly as he could, “Where are you hurt? I can’t tell where the bleeding is coming from.”
“Arm,” she whispered.
Vlad had to lean close to hear her.
“I need to get your coat off, baby, to see what damage has been inflicted. This will hurt.”
He gritted his teeth and ran the zipper down her front. She let out a scream of agony. Assuming he must have jostled her arm, Vlad cursed the darkness. Ignoring her pitiful whimpers of pain he swiftly finished unzipping the coat and peeled it off of her. The stiff fabric clung to her where it was soaked in her blood. He was starting to suspect a second wound from the amount of blood, but couldn’t immediately find it.
“Ahhh…” she moaned, arching her spine in an attempt to escape the pain he was inflicting as he tugged the coat off her injured arm.
“Shhhh, malysh, baby girl. It will be fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
Savage Vendetta (Fire & Vice Book 4) Page 8