The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Can I make you some eggs and bacon?” Bev asked, a well-worn, cast-iron skillet in hand.

  Nick hopped from his seat. “Beverly, you are so kind. But I stopped at the organic store on the way in from the airport and got some basic things to get us started on our new training regimen.”

  Stan glanced at his wife, then shifted his sights to Nick. “A diet. It’s called a diet, Nick.”

  “Diets are temporary. What’s needed is a life change.”

  Stan held up his nub. “I’ve already had one of those, dude. Do I really need another?”

  “What’s your last name?” Nick said.

  “Radowski, asshat. Same as yours.”

  I couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. No one smiled, so I kept my mouth shut and let the two cousins fight it out. I was pulling for Nick, but I had to act neutral.

  Nick pointed a finger at his larger cousin. “Radowskis don’t just throw in the towel. We don’t let outside things dictate how we live our lives. Remember your great-grandparents that came over from Poland?”

  “Yes,” Stan said, grudgingly.

  “They preached to their kids that to live a better life, you had to make a better life.”

  “You think I’m throwing in the towel?” Stan said, a quiver in his voice. “I get up and go to work every day. I figure out how to get shit done with one good arm and a club attached to the other one.” He smacked a hand to his nub.

  Bev sniffled. “You know I’m so proud of you, Stan, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do, sweetie. No one else seems to have any compassion, that’s all.”

  “Dude, you know I support you,” I said.

  “Well, okay. That’s true, I guess.”

  “Stan…” Nick stared at his cousin.

  Stan adjusted his jaw, his eyes scanning the Formica tabletop. There was silence for more than just a few seconds. I could feel the tension, and I wondered if my questions for Nick should wait until later in the day.

  A second before I was about to push up from my seat, Nick came at him again. “Stan, I know you were dealt a bad deck of cards. Getting your arm amputated sucks. But I understand it’s healed, and you’ve done well in your occupational therapy. So, it’s now time to focus on living a long life, to see Ethan grow up, to maybe look ahead and do some traveling with Bev. Life goes on, my man, and it’s time to fucking step up.”

  “Oh yeah?” Stan turned and looked at his cousin, his eyes on fire. Worried that the cousins might start a fistfight, I was on edge, prepared to move quickly.

  Stan nodded his head a few times. Was he wondering how many shots he could get in with his one arm, or simply trying to calm himself down so he wouldn’t create a scene?

  Finally, Stan said, “You’re right, Nick.”

  I smacked my hands on the table. Everyone looked at me, but I didn’t say a word.

  “Yep, I said Nick was right. I’m a grown man. I can admit when I need to be knocked upside the head, figuratively speaking, of course.”

  Bev gave her husband a smooch on the cheek. “Okay, how can I help?” she asked.

  “You’re the key to making this work, Bev,” Nick said, pulling out three sacks from the fridge. “We need to purge this house of all the crap food that’s in here. Everything. I can give you a grocery list to restock with the right stuff.”

  She put her hand on the counter. The idea seemed to fluster her.

  “It’ll be okay. Promise you,” Nick said.

  He quickly divided up the contents of the bags into four bowls and handed them out.

  “Granola, blueberries, and raspberries,” Stan said, feigning enthusiasm. “Yummy.”

  Beverly took in a spoonful. “Not bad. Good taste. I could stand to lose a few pounds. Would you like to see me in a bikini again, Stan?”

  Everyone laughed. Well, everyone except Stan, who said, “Come on, Bev. That’s private stuff. Besides, I like you just the way you are.”

  “You’re sweet, but if Nick is going to show us how to do this, then I’m going to do my best to follow the program. I could use more energy, and haven’t we talked about taking one of these walking vacations through Ireland?”

  Bev hugged Stan’s shoulders, his shirt still a darker shade from his sweat-fest.

  “I don’t know. That might be pretty fun.” Stan took a bite of his fruit and didn’t grimace. Then, when Bev left the kitchen, he quickly changed the subject to Zahera’s fiancé. He winked, which was the signal for me to query Nick about the alleged drug kingpin and Zeke.

  I paused, unsure how to raise the topic without immediately getting shut down. Nick was cool, but he definitely wasn’t into breaking FBI rules. I just hoped I could get him to bend a little.

  “What’s on your mind, Ivy?” Nick began to riffle through the fridge, tossing every fattening item he found into the trash.

  I took in a full breath. In that moment I decided that full transparency was the only logical path if I expected any help from the federal agent. Nick knew both Zahera and Zeke, at least a little bit, and he certainly understood my desire to keep Zahera out of harm’s way. I told him the story from the moment Armand had entered the ECHO office until the time I’d read the name of the possible international drug leader on the business card.

  “And so, even though I know Zeke, I don’t really know him. I just need to figure out if there’s any way he could be connected to this—”

  “What did you say his name was again?” With the fridge door still open, he stood upright, facing me.

  “Petro Udovenko. Like I said, it’s only a name. I did some research last night and not much came up. Looks like he used to be in the Red Army. But who knows? It may not even be the same guy.”

  Nick shut the fridge door and sat down at the table, his hands clasped in front of him. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, which seemed to add a good five years to his age. “If anyone you know is mixed up with Petro Udovenko, then the sphere of danger for a lot of people, not just Zahera, is real.”

  I poured myself more water.

  17

  Nick munched on granola, his eyes peering into the ceiling. “So Armand was a career military guy and knows someone named Bart, who knows someone in the Bureau.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  Stan arched an eyebrow. “Sounds a little too much like Deep Throat.”

  We both turned to look at him.

  “You know,” he said, sitting straighter in his chair. “The code name for the secret source for Woodward and Bernstein in their Watergate investigation.”

  “We know,” I said.

  Nick jumped in. “Stan, this Udovenko guy is bad news.”

  “Why isn’t more coming up on him, then?” I asked.

  “Because, as much as he can control, he chooses it not to be there. He apparently likes to live in the shadows. And as a result, his drug network is vast. But he didn’t get there by holding bridge parties. He’s as coldblooded as any cartel leader from Latin America. In fact, he’s known to be far more ruthless than the Russian mafia. They pretty much steer clear of the guy.”

  I felt a dry patch in the back of my throat. I gulped down some water. “How do you know about him?”

  He traded glances with Stan, then looked at me. “I’m sharing this because I trust you won’t go running to the media or the bad guys.”

  “It’s just us sitting here, dickwad,” Stan said, popping a blueberry into his mouth.

  Nick rolled his eyes. “In Boston, we’ve found evidence of his heroin on the streets.”

  “How do you know it’s his heroin?”

  “Good question. Many times the big traffickers are so bold that they put a logo on the baggies sold on the street. They see the users as a customer, just as any business would. What better marketing tool than to include a graphical representation on the bag? It’s obvious but subtle at the same time. People have an amazing high, then wake up and see the empty baggie. They want more, so they go find the dealer who gave th
em that brand of heroin.”

  “What’s his logo?”

  “A bear holding a red sickle. So, it’s kind of a cross between the old Communist hammer and sickle and a Russian bear.”

  “If you ask me,” Stan said, his spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl, “it sounds like it has a double meaning. It’s brand awareness for the drug users, but it’s also a warning to any other drug traffickers, or maybe even law enforcement, that he’ll strike back if they try to stop him.”

  Nick nodded. “It very well could be, Stan.” Nick’s eyes went to Stan’s bowl. “Your body must have been craving real fruit.”

  Stan set his spoon on the table. “Okay, so tell me that was just the first course of the meal. Are you going to make some pancakes, or maybe get fancy on me and make some Eggs Benedict?” He licked his lips like he was Scooby. “Add plenty of hollandaise sauce, now.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Nick said. “We just went through what would have to be called an intervention and here you are ten minutes later thinking you’re going to get Eggs Benedict. Do you know how many calories are in hollandaise sauce?”

  Stan’s face went blank. “Dude, I was joking. Man, you’re gullible.” Stan laughed so hard his belly jiggled. Then he grabbed a pinch around his waist and laughed some more. “Oh, damn, I crack myself up.”

  Stan’s laughter filled my heart. It had been a while since I’d seen him so relaxed. He and Nick could bicker like siblings, but he also trusted his cousin. And it appeared that Nick’s presence calmed his nerves, made him believe that he didn’t always have to be the strong, tough guy.

  The laughter ended. Each of us were looking away, as if something more pressing had fought its way to the top of our minds. For me, I knew exactly where I needed to go. “So, Nick, any thoughts on how we can verify if Zeke is connected to this guy?”

  “No idea what we would learn, but I certainly know where to go.”

  “Cool. I’m all ears.”

  “The thing is, I’m not sure if she’ll play ball,” he scratched his chin. It looked like the guy had just started shaving.

  “Who is…she?”

  “My partner, Alex. She’s running lead on this investigation by herself, at least in the FBI house, because she was out a while and I’m carrying a huge caseload. Too much detail for you, I know. But I think she’ll share my opinion that to keep the public safe, we—those of us around this table—need to know some of the details.”

  “Won’t it help that you know Zahera, and that your own cousin, a detective with the SAPD, knows Zahera?”

  “It won’t hurt. I’ll put in a call here in a bit, and then I can let you know.”

  “Then where do we go?” I asked.

  “One step at a time,” he said.

  “But don’t we need to figure out where this Petro guy’s home base is and then determine a way to bring him out of the shadows and try to catch him? You know, cut the head off the snake?”

  Nick pointed a thumb at me, while turning to look at Stan. “Does she ever stop moving?”

  Stan shook his head. “She’s got more energy, more drive, than ten detectives.”

  “You’re not thinking like a PI who’s simply trying to help keep your friend safe. You’ve got the mindset of a federal agent, as if you’re on a mission to bring down bastards like this Udovenko fellow.”

  Stan popped him on the arm. “Don’t you remember me telling you when you were here a few months ago? She needs to get her ass into the police academy.”

  “Why stop there?” Nick said, turning to me. “Why not aspire to work for an agency where you could have the most impact?”

  I felt my face flush. I’d never put a single thought into doing what Nick suggested. Bigger stage, bigger impact? Hmmm. But it would also be a much bigger bureaucratic machine. No words came to mind. I flipped my hands to the ceiling.

  “Kind of reminds me of someone I know,” Nick said, scratching his chin again.

  “Who’s that?” Stan asked.

  “Uh, no one you know. It’s just uncanny.”

  “Guys, hello. I’m right here.”

  “You should be flattered,” Stan said.

  “Thank you for talking about me in front of me. How’s that?”

  “I get your point,” Nick said.

  I lifted from my seat, found my bag, and pulled out my phone. Nick and I traded phone numbers.

  “Where are you off to in such a rush?” Stan asked, as I walked toward the back door.

  “To talk to Cristina so we can prepare to start research on the names you’re going to send us.” I winked.

  “Right. I guess that means I need to get off my fat ass and get to work.” Stan pushed up from the table. He froze the moment he stood up, grabbing at his hamstring, his eyes bulging out.

  “Oh crap. Did you pull a muscle?” I asked.

  A slight pause, his face now turning red. I took a step back toward him. “Stan?”

  Nick leaned over and shoved his cousin, forcing him to use his legs to regain his balance. “You’re full of shit, Stan Radowski. You’re just trying to get out of the new training program.”

  Stan sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “I saw you do the same thing when you were nine years old, trying to fake being sick in order to get out of going to Mass.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Nick smiled. “You’re going to be a fun student.”

  They started to laugh, but I quickly shut them down. “Can you get me those names within the hour?”

  “I’ll do my best, Ivy. The contest is on, I guess.”

  “I already have a theory, so you might want to get moving.”

  “You shitting me?”

  I winked again and walked out the door.

  18

  I clicked refresh on my browser and went back to the hard copy I’d just printed. It was the list of names that Stan had emailed of those who’d been victimized by fake kidnappings, purportedly just as Megan Espinoza had experienced yesterday.

  “I’ve never heard of some of these Podunk towns,” Cristina said from the other side of my desk at the ECHO office.

  “They’re all here in Texas. Let’s create a map to give us a visual, and then assign each a number based upon the chronological date of when the crimes took place.”

  “I’m all over it. Just give me a couple of minutes,” she said, hunkering behind the new laptop I’d bought her.

  “Is it strange working with a fifteen-inch screen as opposed to your phone?”

  She used her forefingers to jab a few keys. It probably felt foreign to not use her thumbs as she would on her phone. I decided not to bring up the fact that if she would learn how to type—the old-fashioned way—she could probably crank out seventy or eighty words a minute.

  “Eh, not really,” she said. “I have to use one in my animation class at school.”

  Of course, this delighted me to no end—her going back to school to get her diploma. A few more credits this semester, and she’d have her degree by Christmas.

  With her eyes still focused on her laptop screen, she said, “I see you smiling.”

  “Who, me?” I put my hand up to my mouth to cover my grin.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I could quit any day.”

  She was only trying to draw me into a debate. “That would be the right move. Quit just a couple of months before you can get your degree.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Oh, I know. Just saying,” I said in a mocking voice.

  “You’re getting too good at that.”

  “Learning from the best, sweetie.”

  Cristina’s round, dark eyes peered above the lip of the laptop. She said something, but my sights were already glued to my computer screen. A message in red text had finally appeared: Currently, neither of your birth parents have submitted the proper forms to show their desire to meet you.

  I could feel my heart flutter. Closing my eyes for a moment, I filled my lung
s with air, trying to maintain my composure.

  You should have gone with your instincts, Ivy. Protect yourself, first, foremost, forever. If your parents gave a damn about you, they would have never given you up.

  I opened my eyes and found more text on the screen in a smaller font.

  Please do not be alarmed or upset. Oftentimes, parents who give up their kids for adoption feel embarrassed or ashamed by it. As a matter of policy, we will try to communicate to them your desire to meet. We cannot promise this status will change, but we do encourage you to continue checking back for status updates.

  Best wishes,

  State of Texas Central Adoption Agency.

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Cristina said.

  “Huh? Sorry. I was just distracted.” I anchored my chin in the palm of my hand, but I could still feel a quake deep inside me. “You were saying?”

  Cristina turned her head. “I saw your lips moving. What are you reading that’s so important?” She got up, moved around the desk. I tried covering the screen, but she moved my hand and read the message.

  “Oh…Ivy. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. You’re not my birth parent.” I picked up a pen, wiggled it between two fingers and studied the victims’ names on the paper again. What did I expect to find, a misspelling? I couldn’t deny that I simply wanted to crawl into a ball and cry my eyes out.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey…it’s me, Cristina,” she said in her most comforting voice. “It’s okay to be open with me. I’ve seen and felt all sorts of crazy shit. You’re disappointed, right?”

  I swallowed back emotion while searching for some perspective. “I’m sure they just went on with their lives. It’s been twenty-eight years. Why would I think they’d hold some type of everlasting bond with someone they never knew? It’s unrealistic. I think I need to get out of la-la land and get back to the work in front of us. I have a feeling Megan is going to be asking for an update very soon.”

  Cristina stood there, her arms crossed against her chest, as I shuffled papers to organize my desk.