“To be specific, Ukrainian.”
My neck felt stiff, and I started to rub it. Not surprisingly, it didn’t help alleviate the strain. “If you know all of this, what do you want me to do?”
“The intel has a fifty-percent chance of being correct. They talk in those terms. I need to know one hundred percent either way before I speak to Zahera. Anything less, and she’ll laugh me out of the room.”
“You know your daughter well.”
“Indeed.”
“Look, if Zeke is mixed up in something illegal, I want to know. I want to keep Zahera out of harm’s way. Two things don’t make sense to me though. First, if you have your own little intelligence-gathering posse, why not just let them finish the job? Second, I’m not a covert spy, or whatever would be required to get the information you want.”
He looked off for a second. Then he turned back to me and said, “Bart suffered a heart attack last week. He’s in ICU and he may not make it. I don’t know the name of his contact at the FBI. Even if I did, I doubt he’d return my calls. That group is rather tight-lipped to outsiders.”
I nodded. “Which takes us to the second point. I want to help, Armand, but I’m not trained to do this. Don’t you have other friends from your military days who would be better suited—”
He shook me off. “They’re all off playing golf or traveling with their wives. They are far removed from their former lives.”
I got up, walked into the breakroom, and grabbed my own water. I had taken a large chug by the time I reached the table. “A Ukrainian drug ring. It just sounds too bizarre.”
“Does it? As you know, Zeke hasn’t always played by the rules.”
He was referring to the event where Zahera and I had first crossed paths with Zeke. He was running security for a wealthy entrepreneur named Dillon Burchfield, who was acting like he’d been set up on a sexual assault charge, all while hiding behind his adorable little girl and his contrived persona of being someone who raised millions to fight drug addiction. Dillon even went so far as to hire an old high school buddy to shoot him in the shoulder for no other reason than to evoke public sympathy. Zeke, convinced that his client was innocent, played along with the charade. Dillon was guilty on that charge, however, and a hell of a lot more. Zeke came clean on his part, saying he felt remorse for believing him. Beyond that, Zeke seemed like a stand-up guy. But I didn’t know much about him.
“You have questions about Zeke, as I do,” Armand said.
“But this whole fifty-percent thing. I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means his name was found in a communication.”
“A communication.” Talk about vague. “I need to see it, in whatever form that might be.”
A smile finally appeared. “I don’t have it; I’ve never seen it. Bart just told me about it. But I do have a name I can share with you. Someone who was in the same communication and is the one tied to the drug ring.” With the ease of a blackjack dealer, he slid a card across the table, but he didn’t remove his hand. “Once I give this to you, we have a deal, yes?”
He was teasing me. At the same time, he was pushing me into a corner. I liked neither. “No.”
He began to slide the card back to his side of the table. “I can’t play games, Ivy. I guess I’ll start searching for someone who will do it for the right price. They may not be as careful with the information, and it will be difficult to trust them. But I can’t stop until I know for certain. I hope you understand.”
The poker game was on. I had to call his bluff, but not in a way that would embarrass him.
“Stop, Armand.”
The card started moving in my direction again.
“No, stop all of this.” I glanced out the window at the water cascading over the sides of the stone fountain, contemplating how I could take this case and not tell Zahera. Then again, even if I didn’t take this case, Armand had planted a seed of doubt. Zeke and an international drug ring? If I went to Zahera with what I knew right now, she’d rip me a new one for believing her dad. And then what? She’d marry Zeke, if for no other reason than to spite her father. I’d be in the middle, trying to convince her that she or someone needed to find out the truth.
She and Zeke had talked a great deal about traveling. In fact, they’d taken a quick trip to Montreal a few weeks ago. Surely, that wasn’t connected to any of Armand’s insinuations. Or was it?
“You are a thinker, Ivy. And that is why I’m glad you are Zahera’s friend. She acts too irrationally, too emotionally. You think through the consequences.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Right, and then I make stupid decisions. Please, don’t patronize me.”
“My apologies.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I scanned the room—my neck feeling like I had a metal plate screwed to my spine. In reality, I was searching for some sort of sign that would point me in the right direction. Right for Zahera’s safety and well-being. Right for my conscience. Were the two goals even achievable?
A popping sound followed by a crash jolted me from my seat. I turned toward the front room and heard someone yell, “Motherfucker!”
It was Cristina.
6
Cristina was on her backside, moaning, when I swung open the front door. I saw blood trickling down her forehead. But it was the black Mercedes sitting on top of a bent street sign that had me most surprised. Its front wheels were still spinning.
“Are you okay, Cristina?” I moved to her side and noticed Armand’s black boots rush out the door.
“What happened? How badly is she injured?”
“I’m…fine.” Her voice sounded like a creaking door. With her eyes squinted shut, she turned on her side, ran her hand up to her back. “That bitch in the fancy car better run for cover. I’m gonna kick her ass as soon as I can walk.”
“Don’t move, Cristina. Let me call the paramedics.”
“I’m already there,” Armand said, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen.
“I don’t have insurance,” she said, opening her eyes. “Wait, are you Zahera’s dad?”
“I am,” he said, then walked toward the curb while glancing at the car. I heard him say, “Yes, there has been a crash at…” and then his voice dissipated.
I began to pull my eyes back to Cristina when the front door of the Mercedes flew open, smacking Armand in the face, launching his phone into the air. He stumbled backward.
“I want to speak to Ivy Nash. Now.” A woman crawled out of the car. Her twisted skirt was hiked up to her thighs, and her smeared makeup made her look like she was a walking, talking impressionist painting.
“You just ran into my friend, dammit. You could have killed her.” I stood up and met her eye to eye. I was nearly knocked back by the booze on her breath.
“Actually, she didn’t hit me.” Cristina was sitting up, her arms folded over her knees. “She scared the crap out of me, and because I might have been moving a little too quickly on my skateboard, I lost control and rammed into the fire hydrant.” I followed her finger pointing over my shoulder.
“Seriously?” I jammed my fist on the side of my hip.
Cristina climbed to her feet as the woman straightened out her skirt.
“Anyone see my phone?” Armand asked.
“No,” I said without turning around.
“Cristina, you should be wearing a helmet. I’ve told you a dozen times.”
She held up a finger, grimacing as she tried to twist her torso. “More like a hundred times. But you know me, I’ve got a thick skull.”
“That’s for sure. And what about your kidney? If you damage it again, you might lose it.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said before Cristina could respond. Resting a hand against the side of her car, it appeared she was using it to keep from tipping over.
Cristina waved a hand in front of her face. “Whoa, lady. It’s obvious the sun didn’t just get in your face. You’ve been hitting the sauce a little early in the day.�
�
“I…” The woman looked off. She didn’t even make an attempt to fix her hair or makeup. I noticed one of her heels had snapped off.
“Are the cops and paramedics on their way?” I asked Armand.
“They will be as soon as I find my…”
I turned to see Armand on the street looking into a sewage drain. He glanced up at me and shook his head. “You might want to make the call.”
“Are you Ivy?”
I turned to see a single tear rolling down the woman’s face. It created a new trench of smeared mascara. Her eyes were filled with sadness, and almost instantly my impression of her switched from rich, privileged lush to a woman who was desperately trying to keep it together. I raised my hand. “That’s me.”
“Please don’t sing us this sad song because you’ve got a drinking problem,” Cristina said.
I turned and gave her the eye.
“Okay, okay, I’ll back off.” She threw her hands in the air. Armand walked over to Cristina. “Let me take a look at that head wound.”
I was slightly shocked to see this side of Armand. But maybe he had more in common with his doctor-daughter than I’d thought possible.
“Ouch,” Cristina said as Armand gripped her head.
They began to talk quietly, and I took a step toward the woman, extending my hand. Her grip was firm, as if she was used to holding her own in a handshake contest. “I’m Megan. Megan Espinoza. I understand you—” She clipped her mouth shut. For some reason, she couldn’t get the words out.
She took a long swallow and appeared to fight back more emotion. I didn’t know if that was the booze rearing its ugly head or if there was something really there. I noticed a sizable diamond on her ring finger. “Can I call your husband or friend to come pick you up? Well, unless the cops turn up. Then they might need to pick you up from the police station.”
She crossed her arms, her eyes staring off into the distance. I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.
“Megan, this is serious. You destroyed property, banged up your nice car, and caused my friend to crash.” I looked over my shoulder to see Armand walking from the office, holding wet paper towels, Neosporin, and bandages.
“You found the first aid kit. Thanks, Armand.”
“No worries. I think she’ll be fine. Not sure about the kidney though. She might need to go the hospital to get it checked out.”
“I’m fine, Colonel. Just let it be and get me cleaned up,” Cristina said with her usual attitude. I gave her the eye again, and then she said in a much nicer tone. “Please.”
I flipped around to Megan, who pulled out a crumpled picture and held it inches from my face. It was an adorable little girl cuddled up with a teddy bear. It had to be Megan’s daughter. She had cute ringlets framing her round face.
“She’s darling,” I said, my body growing tense. Questions pinged my mind, and all were concerning the safety of her daughter.
Her arm began to tremble. Then she quickly covered her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sobbing.
I touched her elbow. “Megan.”
She didn’t respond. She looked straight ahead, as if I wasn’t there.
“Megan,” I said, louder.
I could sense Cristina and Armand pulling up near me. “Is she having a nervous breakdown?” Armand asked.
Megan held up the picture again, allowing Armand and Cristina to also look at it.
“Who is that?” Cristina asked.
A quick shake of my head. I wasn’t sure Megan could hear anything, but I didn’t want to upset her further. Something had happened to the little girl. And that had to be why she’d shown up at the ECHO office. Her drunken, reckless state also added to my concern that the child might have been harmed. Or worse.
“It’s my daughter, Annie.” She swiped at her nose and tried to control her breathing. All three of us nodded without saying a word. A grieving mother was on the verge of going somewhere none of us could imagine.
“Tell us, Megan. Why are you here? Is your daughter okay?”
“Through luck or the grace of God, Annie is okay,” she said.
“Good.” I took a breath; my shoulders dipped a couple of inches. “Now, can we get to why you’re looking for me?”
“Because the monsters that took my little girl—or should I say pretended to take my little girl—they need to rot in hell. I want you to find them. And I want you to kill them. Whatever it takes. Kill those bastards.”
We moved the discussion into the office.
7
A uniformed officer showed up at the scene. I walked outside and talked to him while Cristina and Armand got Megan comfortable in the ECHO meeting room with a non-alcoholic beverage.
“What the hell happened here?” He snapped off his mirrored sunglasses while eyeing the Mercedes.
Ten minutes earlier, I would have gladly asked the cops to cart Megan off. But given what she’d shared—someone had apparently faked her daughter’s kidnapping—I knew her mental stability couldn’t take any additional stress. I was willing to fudge the truth to give me a few minutes alone with her. I figured that if after further assessment I could see that she was lying or delusional, then I would sever any ties with her and make sure she got home without operating a vehicle.
“It’s one of my clients, Officer.”
He leaned around me, looking to the front door that had the name of the firm, ECHO, painted on it in white. Under that was our new tagline: Where kids always come first.
“I don’t understand,” he said, twirling his glasses.
“She’s very emotional. Something happened to her daughter and—”
“That’s why she needs to work with the police, not some amateur private eye. No offense, mind you.”
Offense taken, but I rolled with it. “I believe she has spoken to the police.” She hadn’t told me that, but if she hadn’t, I’d make sure she did once I got back inside. “She really needs someone to talk to right now.”
“Are you some kind of shrink too?” He arched an eyebrow.
“On some days, I guess I play that role. You probably have some of those days as well, where sometimes people can’t take any more bad news and they just need to talk.”
He nodded once, but I could see that he didn’t want to be associated with the likes of me, so I quickly got past it. “We’ve called a tow truck and any bill for replacing the sign can be sent to my office. I’ll make sure she pays for it.”
“Well, I guess that would save me some paperwork. When will the tow truck get here, so we can make sure no one else gets hurt?”
“Within fifteen minutes.” Another fudge, but I’d get Cristina on it right away.
He nodded. “I’ll put in a call to the city roads crew and make sure they replace this sign within the next day.” He slid his glasses back on his head. “My shift ends in a few minutes, then I’m headed to Ernesto’s to meet my boys for a couple of beers. I can already taste the beer. It’s been a long, hot day.”
I gave him an approving smile, then we parted ways. As I opened the door to the building, I spotted a business card. I leaned down, picked it up.
“Petro Udovenko. That’s how you pronounce his name,” Armand said, just stepping to the threshold of the door.
“How’s Megan?”
“She has calmed down. Cristina is talking to her.” He glanced at the business card, then back to me while patting his front shirt pocket. “The card must have fallen out while I looked for my phone. I guess this means you’re taking the case.”
“I never—”
“You’ll ensure that Zahera isn’t about to marry a ruthless, lying piece of scum?”
He was stubborn, but I shifted gears. “What if somehow I find something that proves Zeke is mixed up in this Ukrainian drug ring? Are you going to talk to her, or do you expect me to do that as well?”
He touched his hand to his chest. “If you do this, I will be forever in your debt. And, as her father, I will have to be the one who s
hares the news. Trust me, it’s not something I look forward to.”
“Trust.” I flapped the card against my hand while glancing up the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of people gawking at the Mercedes. “Now I’m starting to feel another wave of guilt.”
“Ivy, there is no other way. I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours a night since I learned this news. As distasteful as it might be, this is the only way. Could you live with yourself if six months down the line Zahera is either injured or caught up in an international investigation of her husband’s so-called business dealings? She could end up in prison in some Third World country.”
I turned back to Armand. “I don’t want to lose her as a friend.”
“She might get angry at first, but she will thank you. Or, if you find nothing, she’ll never know.”
“That doesn’t help me with the guilt factor.”
“Forget I said that.”
His ability to flip his moral switch surprised me. Mr. Black and White? I was beginning to have my doubts. But I knew that didn’t change the facts: Zahera might very well be walking into a marriage that could get her arrested, or even killed. I loved her too much not to try to find out more information.
“I might have more questions for you,” I said.
“Anything. You’re the professional. I’ll give you anything, as long as it helps get to the bottom of this and keeps my Zahera safe. And I will pay you the top rate.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but for now I agreed, just to be able to move on. We shook hands, and he thanked me six times before marching off.
Still muttering the name Petro Udovenko over and over, I walked to the opening of the meeting room. Cristina, with two bandages on her forehead, was flipping through a magazine with her legs on the table while Megan was face down on the table.
“Is she…?” I pointed at the woman, who was a hot mess.
Then I heard a loud snore.
“I went to the can, got out, and she was sound asleep.” Cristina held up the magazine. “Did you know that parenting magazines are clueless about how kids really are?”
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 28