by S. E. Lund
"Okay, sister," he said and met my eyes. "Thanks for coming by. Let me know if anything happens on the case."
"I will."
I left the hospital and James took me to the dorm so I could see Amy. I'd gotten a text from her and wanted to spend some time with her before going to Aunt Diane's. When I arrived, I felt a pang of regret that I was no longer living in my room. Although I liked being with Hunter – when I was with him – I also liked my independence and being on my own. Amy was just down the hallway and we’d spent a lot of time together, so I missed the old connection we had. I missed sitting with her in the dining hall for our meals and spending time in each other's rooms, watching movies or Netflix, drinking beer.
I missed my old life – the one not filled with Russian mafia bosses, loan sharks, and gangsters. The one before Sean Saint was killed, before Graham lost all our inheritances, and before Hunter was in custody.
I wanted Hunter, but like this?
I finally got an email from Hunter's lawyer about a time to meet Hunter. I'd go for the last visiting time of the day, from seven to eight forty-five in the evening. James agreed to take me, and I was nervous as we drove to Alexandria.
Hi, Celia -- Make sure you get there about an hour early. There are only so many rooms and if they're filled up, you won't be able to see him. Oh, and don't wear any jewelry or any t-shirts with political messages. They're strict about what visitors can wear.
I sent him an email in reply that I'd be there an hour early, thanking him for letting me know about the whole process. Although I was in first year law, I had no idea how the real system worked on a day-to-day basis.
Since my visit was scheduled for seven, I made sure James dropped me off at the facility at five forty-five, just to be on the safe side. When I arrived, there were already people waiting in line in front of a metal detector. We were made to remove all outerwear and jewelry other than wedding rings and medical alert bracelets. Everything went into a lockers and we were then each given a key to our locker. After that, I had to fill out a visitor's form and wait while my ID was put through a computer search. I was then given a lanyard with a printed card with the floor and room number where I would go to meet Hunter. The other visitors seemed more familiar with everything and were ready, scribbling down their info on the visitor's forms and lining up to go through the metal detector. Once the clock struck six, we were shuttled through the detector and our hands stamped. After that, we went through a set of doors and had our stamped hands checked under a UV light. Finally, we took the elevator to our respective floors and then to a special room for visitors. It was tiny, with a desk, a metal stool, and a glass partition dividing the room in half. There were holes in the glass so you could supposedly hear the person you were visiting.
It was horrible.
After I was seated, the door opened and in walked Hunter, wearing a jumpsuit.
He looked haggard, his hair a mess, his skin pale.
He sat on the stool and faced me, smiling sadly.
"You came," he said, and I was shocked that he felt that way.
"Of course I came," I said, and leaned closer, because it was difficult to hear him. "How are you holding up?"
He shrugged. "I've been worse. Frankly, cells are better than some of the places I've slept."
I smiled, but I didn't know what else to say.
"Aren't you going to ask me if I did it?" he said, his eyebrows raised.
"Did you do it?"
"Do you think I did?"
I shook my head. "You were angry when you saw what he did."
"I was," he replied. "I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t."
"Who did?"
"Sergei."
"You know that?"
He nodded. "Yeah, he set me up. I'll tell you all about it when I get out."
"When do you think that will happen?" I said and leaned closer. "I miss you."
He smiled softly. "I miss you. I feel like I just found you and now here I am."
"If you're innocent, they'll drop the charges."
He shook his head, his expression dark. "So trusting," he said. "I don’t have the same faith in the justice system that you do. Not after what happened to Sean."
"If you didn’t do it, they'll find evidence and let you go."
"Unless they want me for it. My family isn't exactly liked by the FBI or the local police. I thought they liked me, personally, but now I wonder…"
"Tell me what happened. Why were you in Alexandria?"
For the next hour and a half, Hunter told me about his trip to Alexandria. He explained about his meeting with the FBI's Child Sex Crimes unit about Spencer's ties to a child prostitution ring using Russian and Eastern European girls who were hoping to come to the USA and become models.
"They have to know you didn’t kill him, Hunter. Why else would they work with you if they didn’t trust you?"
He shrugged. "It all comes down to timing. My prints were on the weapon. If it was possible for me to have killed him because of his time of death, they'll indict me and I'll go to trial."
"So his time of death is important," I said, nodding in understanding.
"It depends on what the coroner finds. If there was any chance that I did it, I'm afraid I'm going down for it, even though I didn’t do it. Sometimes, the police start down one line of investigation and can't see any other options."
"When will the coroner come out with his final decision on time of death?"
He folded his hands on the table. "Should be soon. I can only hope there's no overlap in time."
"Me, too." I leaned in closer. "I wish I could kiss you."
He smiled at that, his eyes soft. "Me, too. Believe me, if and when I get out, I'm going to be doing a lot more than kissing you. You owe me." Then he cracked a grin – that old familiar Hunter Saint grin that made my heart squeeze.
"I do owe you, don't I?" I smiled back, narrowing my eyes. "I have a lot of debt to pay off."
"You do."
We leaned closer, inches from each other with the glass between us. Then, just as we were staring into each other's eyes, there came a knock at the door to Hunter's room and it was time to leave.
"If you're still in here next week, I'll be back," I said, feeling a bit teary-eyed that I had to leave him.
"I hope I'm not still here next week, though. If I'm not, I'll either be transferred to prison to wait for trial or I'll be home in bed with you."
I kissed my fingers and blew him a kiss. Then a guard opened Hunter's door, impatient for him to leave the room. I stood, caught his eye one last time, and then he was gone.
Over the next few days, I divided my time between my classes, seeing Graham at the hospital and visiting my mom at Aunt Diane's. I asked George what he'd heard about Hunter and checked my mail in hopes that I'd receive another email from Hunter’s lawyer, but there was nothing new.
The grand jury was coming up on Wednesday, almost a week since Hunter was taken in, due to the weekend. He was doing well enough in custody, according to George, who went to see him in the morning.
According to George, there was a very brief time of overlap when Hunter could have killed Spencer, although it was next to impossible given the location of the murder scene and where Hunter was at the time, so they were keeping him in custody, presenting the evidence to the grand jury to decide.
We finished the last of the plans for the memorial service, and wrote up obituaries for various papers. James agreed to pick Graham up, since he had a huge SUV.
It was held in a funeral home in town, and the casket was closed, given the nature of Spencer's death. From what the police told us, the bullet had gone through the front of his skull and exited out the back. He'd been shot in the chest as well, almost perfectly through his heart. Whoever did it was an expert marksman. He was dead in seconds.
Considering what Hunter had told me about his sordid past, I thought it wasn’t good enough justice. I would have liked to have seen him publicly shamed and forced to f
ace his crimes, standing trial and going to jail. That he died quickly, and probably without knowing what happened, was so unfair. The only good thing was that I would never have to see him again. Our last encounter could have killed me, if my mom hadn't come down and called him off.
You don't always get exactly what you want, but he was gone and that was almost good enough.
Chapter 7
Celia
The funeral home was packed, every chair taken, with overflow in the room next to the one we chose. I’d had no idea how many colleagues and friends Spencer had. We ran out of printed handouts and our assistant from the funeral home had to quickly print off more. Luckily, they had a color printer in the office or there would have been a lot of people leaving without a memorial flyer. A few of Spencer's colleagues spoke – about his work as a ADA and then DA, how he was dedicated to fighting organized crime and bringing criminals to justice.
I had a hard time not laughing out loud when the colleague said that, because standing at the back while the eulogies were being read, wearing dark glasses, was Sergei Romanov himself. When I glanced back and caught sight of him, I had to do a double take. He caught me watching and removed his glasses, smiling at me.
That smile made me shiver.
I turned back to watch the Assistant DA while he finished his eulogy and felt a sense of doom. Hunter was in jail. I wasn't entirely sure Hunter wasn't guilty. I was still in danger because the Romanov brothers knew me and knew I was a way to get to Hunter.
After the memorial was over and we had shaken hands with those colleagues who wanted to give us their condolences, we packed up the wheelchair and drove to my Aunt Diane's for a small family gathering.
It was very small, just my mother – who was exhausted and immediately took her morphine and lay on the sofa – my Aunt Diane and her husband Mike, their kids, Graham, and me. We talked about the good times, and they were few. Trips we had taken to Florida before Mom got really bad. Time spent at the beach. Family barbecues.
When it was time to take Graham back to the hospital, I went with him and got him settled back into his hospital room. I spent the rest of the evening with him, having a late snack from the cafeteria vending machines instead of dinner.
We sat in his hospital room and talked quietly about Hunter and whether he was guilty and what would happen if he was.
"He told me he wasn't guilty. He didn’t kill Spencer but his prints were on the weapon. It makes him look guilty. He says he was set up by Sergei Romanov."
"I hope he's not guilty," Graham said, his eyes distant. "We were friends once. So Romanov did it because of the sex ring connection?"
I nodded my head. "There must be some connection and Spencer was silenced when the connection was in danger of being exposed."
"Hunter said he'd kill Spencer if he ever hurt you again. Spencer hurt you again, remember? I'm not so sure he didn’t do it. He had a motive."
"He didn’t mean he'd really kill Spencer. That was just something he said in anger."
"Hunter was a soldier. He killed people in Iraq and Afghanistan."
"He was a soldier," I said firmly. "He isn’t one now. He didn't do it."
I said it, but of course, I wasn't entirely sure myself. I only knew I wanted him to be released and to come back to the warehouse and stay with me.
I said goodbye, kissing Graham on the cheek, and went to find James waiting besides the SUV. He opened the door for me and squeezed my arm softly as he helped me in.
"How are you?" James asked, glancing at me as he drove off.
"Tired. Any news on the Hunter front?"
"I got a text from George. Nothing new. Grand jury meets on Wednesday. I guess we'll have to wait for them to hear the evidence."
As we drove through the quiet backstreets to the warehouse, I leaned my head back and hoped against hope that Hunter was innocent, and that the grand jury would send him home and back to me.
I slept most of the next day, rising only to have a shower.
That night, I finally felt like getting up. My stomach grumbled – I had barely eaten anything, wondering about Hunter and when he'd be released. I rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. George was at the door when I finished.
"You're feeling better?"
I nodded. "I'm hungry. Have you heard anything about Hunter?"
"Nothing. Come, I get you some food." George went to the kitchen and waved me to the island. "Lawyer will call tomorrow after grand jury."
I sat at the kitchen island and watched as George opened the fridge and looked through the items inside.
"I bought some borscht. Maybe you like, heated up with some good black bread."
"Whatever you fix will be fine."
George poured the container of borsht into a pot and put it on the stove. Next, he took a round loaf of black bread – caraway pumpernickel – and started slicing it up.
Suddenly I heard an explosion of automatic gunfire outside the apartment door.
"What was that?"
George stopped what he was doing and drew his gun. He motioned to me. "Go hide in bedroom under bed."
I complied, watching as George slid along the wall to the doorway. I hurried to the bedroom and turned to watch as George peered at the video feed. "Go!" he said, waving his gun at me. But before I could, the door exploded open and several men in SWAT uniforms entered, throwing in a grenade of some kind.
"Hide!" George shouted. He fired his weapon and leapt behind the desk. I turned away, but was unable to go far. A blast knocked me off my feet and into the wall. As I lay on the ground, sparkles of light dancing before my eyes and my hearing dulled, I wondered if I'd die.
My vision cleared and I watched as a dark figure entered. One of the uniformed men grabbed the gun from George’s hand and knocked him in the head, and then in the neck. George collapsed once more to the ground.
One of the black-uniformed men ran to me and knelt. Before I could say anything, he pulled out a roll of duct tape and covered my mouth. Next, he pulled out a black hood and covered my head, then he fastened my hands behind my back with plastic ties.
"You're coming with me."
Ivan had treated me with respect when he brought me to his club, but Sergei Romanov was completely different. His men were rough, handling me like I was nothing, throwing me into the back of a van, where I lay on my side, my face pressed against a filthy carpet on the van's floor. Every bump in the road jarred me, knocking me around. My arms ached from the position I was in and I felt my lip swell from where I'd hit it when I fell.
We drove for what felt like an hour, but I heard traffic all around us when we stopped at lights and so I wondered if we were driving around Boston. Maybe throwing someone – Hunter's people? – off the track.
Finally, we stopped, the tires screeching, and I was roughly dragged out of the back of the van. I was thrown over someone's shoulder and carried up a flight of stairs. In all the confusion, I tried to take note of the smells and sounds of my location in case I survived and was questioned by police. I hoped I would survive. Even that thought sent my pulse racing, so I shut it down. I shut off my worry and just went with what was happening, not trying to second guess or predict what they would do to me.
When I was finally thrown down onto a sofa and my blindfold taken off, I found myself in a large warehouse, the walls brick, the ceiling lined with ductwork, and the floors hardwood. The place looked like it was used for storage, and there was plastic sheeting hanging, like the place was being renovated.
A man came to where I lay, and I glanced up at him in fear.
Sergei Romanov.
I recognized him from news reports of his crime family and he'd been to Spencer's memorial service. His beefy face was bearded and he wore his longish dark hair slicked back. A large gold chain hung around his neck. He wore a cream sweater and dark jeans, and looked to be in his forties with a touch of grey in his hair.
"What am I going to do with you?"
His voice, rough-sound
ing, had a thick Russian accent.
"What do you want?"
"I want Hunter. That's what I want."
"He's in jail."
"Not anymore."
That made my heart rate increase. "He was let out?"
I heard the man snicker.
"So, what will I do with you? You're a pretty thing, and Hunter needs to be taught a lesson."
Adrenaline surged through me, and I wondered what that meant. Would they kill me to punish Hunter?
There was nothing I could say.
"Please don't hurt me."
"Leave," he said to someone else behind me.
I tensed when I heard footsteps and a door close. Then silence.
Sergei walked over to where I lay. The look in his eyes said everything I needed to know. When he grabbed his belt and began to unfasten it, I closed my eyes and tried to shut off.
Shut everything off.
Chapter 8
Hunter
My stay in the local jail in Alexandria was turning out to be much more difficult than I anticipated. I'd been in so many bad places in my life that one might think I’d be inured to the local lockup, but I wasn’t.
I'd been in dozens of hellholes around the world: bullet-ridden mud-brick houses in Basra, half-destroyed palace rooms in Baghdad, two-bit fleabag hotels in Amman, flop houses in Syria, opium dens and dens of iniquity in Indonesia, straw huts in far-flung war torn tin-pot dictatorships in Africa.
Timbuktu, for fuck's sake.
I'd been used to being busy from the start of the day to the end, and being in cells meant an endless monotony from which I could not escape. It reminded me of when I was in Afghanistan – the long calm before a battle, when I'd lie under our armored vehicle and wait for the fighting to begin. We hated that wait because we knew a battle would come eventually, and would rather get it over and go back to base than sit in the darkness and wait. It was better to be doing rather than waiting. Battle was scary as hell, but it was also an adrenaline rush.