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

by John W. Mefford

  Another “whoop” from behind me, and I turned to see Nancy dancing…with her drink. “Hey Zahera, when are the strippers showing up?” She yelled above the thumping music, suddenly blaring twice as loud.

  “Strippers?” I whirled around and asked Zahera. “Remember, we have a seventeen-year-old in the back bedroom.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nancy doesn’t know when to stop. She was that HR problem I was telling you about. Never knows when to shut her trap.” Zahera moved in and took Nancy by the shoulders.

  “What?” She hiccupped, then cackled at herself as Zahera guided her to the couch. “I still got plenty left in me. Who’s up for a game of charades?”

  I tuned her out, but was thankful that something had drawn Zahera’s attention away from my text messaging with Nick. The thought of her seeing Nick’s original text, especially the last part—I’ll let u know if and what she can share about Zeke—it made me wince.

  I sipped my martini until the glass was mostly empty, then grabbed a plate and loaded it with something from every offering: shrimp cocktail, nachos, even a cucumber sandwich. I found a can of Coke in an ice bucket and said, “Excuse me,” about a dozen times on my way to the guest bedroom. I pushed the door open, and Cristina startled from my abrupt entry, putting a hand to her chest.

  “You scared the shit out of me.” She was on her knees next to a brown satchel and dozens of folded papers.

  “What is this?” I motioned at the mess on the floor. “What are you doing?”

  All color had left her face. “You won’t believe the shit I just read.”

  “Read? Are those personal letters, Cristina?”

  She held one up in the air. “You have to read this letter.”

  “Why? That’s none of your business, or my business.”

  “Ivy, this is about Zahera’s dad.”

  I put down the food and Coke and locked the door.

  21

  Before I could get two words out, Cristina jabbed her finger into a piece of paper while holding it inches from my face.

  “Who wrote it?” I asked.

  “Zahera’s mom. Did you know her name was Simone?”

  “She’s French or French Canadian like Armand. This is just wrong, Cristina.” But I found myself taking hold of the letter and scanning the handwritten note. “You’re acting like this is something scandalous.”

  “Second to last paragraph from the bottom.”

  I ran my finger down the page until I found the paragraph and read it to myself: How on earth do you expect me to respond to this news you sent me through a written note? You didn’t even show me the respect of telling me in person.

  I lifted my eyes for a second. “Does she ever share this news she’s talking about?”

  “Keep reading.”

  I did just that. I’m sure you want to know what I’m thinking or feeling as I sit and write you this note. Maybe you are eagerly awaiting my response from your army bunk at Camp Ederle. But perhaps you are outside staring at the majestic hills of Vicenza, Italy, your arm wrapped around the woman who stole you from my heart.

  I stopped, reflexively grabbing at Cristina’s arm. “No. This can’t be.”

  “It is. It happens all the time, Ivy. Can’t trust men. Well, I think I can trust Leo.”

  I did a double-take. “You’re seeing the Hollywood actor? What’s up with you not sharing things with me?”

  “We see each other when he comes into town to check on his sister, Nikki. He’s cool, and I’m cool with him. Nothing to share.”

  For now, I couldn’t focus on her dating games. With my stomach in knots, I went back to the letter. If you see splotches on this letter, know it’s simply my tears. My heart is broken and I am not sure it will ever mend.

  I glanced up at Cristina, as random thoughts rattled in my mind. But they came at me so fast, it was impossible to make sense of anything.

  “What are you thinking? Where do you think Zahera got these letters?” Cristina asked.

  I answered her question with one of my own. “Do we know when this was sent?” I flipped the pages, looking for a date.

  “Pulled it out of this envelope. It’s a little blurred, but I can make out the month and the year. May of 1990.”

  I looked off as air emptied from my lungs. Cristina was right; this type of stuff happened every day. But for some reason, I’d viewed Armand as someone who would not be tempted by another woman. And I’d made that assessment, even though I’d never met Zahera’s mom. Integrity and commitment were at the top of his attribute list, or so I’d convinced myself.

  “I feel kind of bad for snooping and all…” Cristina said. “I read a couple of other letters too. The first one was real sweet; Simone was sharing how much she missed her husband and how she dreamed of them being a whole family again.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment.

  “Are you okay? I mean, I guess Zahera knows, right?”

  “How did you find these letters?”

  “They were in this satchel; one stack had a rubber band around it, and then there was this other stack that was wrapped up in a plastic bag.”

  I spotted an empty plastic bag under her knee. “Where are the letters?”

  Her head seemed to sink into her shoulders. “They’re all around us. I picked up the bag and they all fell out. I’d already taken the rubber band off the other stack. I know I shouldn’t have done it, Ivy. I’m sorry for snooping. What should we do?”

  Flapping the letter in my hand, I said, “I wonder how Zahera came to have these letters. Maybe she got them after her mom died, maybe before?” I shrugged in answer to my own questions. “But there were two different stacks. I’m just wondering if this was in one pile, and maybe some of the other letters, the sweet ones you mentioned, were from the other pile.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. Or it could be divided by date, or by who sent them.”

  I put a hand on her knee. “You found letters from Armand?”

  “Yeah, a few.” She picked up a pile of disorganized letters and let them fall through her fingers. “They’re somewhere around here.”

  I heard some giggling outside the door, and I stopped moving. It didn’t sound like Zahera, but the last thing we wanted was for her to walk in on us right now. “This is nuts, Cristina,” I whispered, then paused another second. The giggling ladies must have walked to the bathroom. “I know you meant no harm, but we are really prying into an area that is none of our business.”

  I started stuffing the letters back into the bag. Then I stopped. Without the letters being put in the two proper stacks—separated by whatever method, which we did not know—she’d still know that someone riffled through her stuff. I rubbed my temple.

  “I’ve got to stop doing this. I need to tell her the truth.”

  “Hold up.” Cristina’s lips moved for a second as she read another letter. Then, as if my words had just registered, she jerked her head up to look at me. “What did you say?”

  I’d said more than I should have. Armand had entrusted me with the task of learning more about Zeke. The less Cristina knew, the better, if for no other reason than it seemed the betrayal was less extreme if fewer people knew about it. “It’s nothing, I’m just pissed at myself for being interested in this—”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “That was your opening line when I walked in here. I’m not falling for it again.” I opened the satchel. “Let’s just throw all of the letters in here, and then after all the girls leave, we’ll both tell Zahera what we did. She might get upset, but it will be out in the open, and we’ll all get over it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. This…this letter is…” She let it fall out of her hand as if it were on fire.

  I snatched it from the floor. “I refuse to read this, Cristina.” I pushed it into the bag.

  Cristina countered that move, quickly pulling it back out. “This is different, Ivy. Much different. Read it.” Her eyes were wide, unblinking.
>
  Without saying a word, I took it from her hand. “Where?”

  “Start at the top. It doesn’t take long.”

  I took in a breath, and after three words, I could feel an extra weight on my chest. I have cheated.

  22

  I looked at Cristina, who said, “Keep going. It’s… I don’t know.” She ran her fingers through her hair as I went back to reading the note:

  I thought those words would never apply to me. I have thought about you every day that I’ve been gone, over eleven months, on this tour. Every thought has been filled with love and adoration. I have missed our late-night talks and our early-morning walks. You are the light of my life. You, along with Zahera, fill my heart with goodness and hope.

  I realize you may not want to hear this, and you may not even believe it, but I was set up. A man who befriended me at a local bar in Venice, just twenty kilometers away from our base, has betrayed me. I know, you are probably thinking I did the same to you. I did. But he is the reason why. How did this happen? I visited his bar, both with colleagues and by myself several times. We talked about life, sports, and even some world politics. One night he introduced me to a young lady and told me I could have her if I defected to the Soviet Union. I laughed in his face; I knew he was joking.

  But he wasn’t. He was a Soviet spy. KGB. He drugged my drink, and when I awoke I was without clothes, lying in bed next to this woman. He showed me pictures of us doing things. And he said he would tell everyone, including you and my superiors, unless I defected to the Soviet Union.

  I gazed at Cristina, my heart no less than a drum roll against my chest. She shook her head, and I read more of the note.

  I am telling you now so that we will not have this hanging over our marriage. My guilt is immense, but to perpetuate the lie would be selfish. I tell you the truth, hoping that you will forgive me.

  He went on to say he was sorry a hundred different ways, and I skipped to the last paragraph.

  And finally, I want you to know that I would never betray our country. I told that to this man as I punched in his face and ripped up his pictures. I found his Soviet ID card and his name is Anton Kovalchick. I’m only telling you this in case something happens to me. If it does, it was probably fate, for somehow allowing myself to be unfaithful to the woman I love. Please know that you will always hold the dearest place in my heart.

  Forever yours,

  Armand

  Cristina started yapping immediately. I nodded, not really listening as I tried to align my thoughts on what, if anything, all of this meant. Armand had come to me, asking me to look into a possible connection between Zeke and an international drug lord. Do the letters change any of that? Technically not, I told myself.

  Armand, like any parent, was worried about the safety and well-being of his child, albeit one who is thirty-two years old and not exactly a slacker. He’d been framed. At least that was his claim. Was this Anton fellow even real? Could Armand have made up the whole story after the fact, to justify his cheating? Guilt could seize control of even the most disciplined mind and guide it to do some strange things.

  I pushed out a breath—it felt like the weight on my chest had doubled in size. Why was I still feeling like there was something in those letters that would change my dealings with Armand?

  I felt my body shake. I looked down to see Cristina tugging on my arm. “Houston, are you with us?”

  “Yes, sorry. I’m just thinking everything through.” The last thing I wanted was to bring Cristina into this potentially dangerous mess…well, further into this mess.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Can you repeat it one more time?”

  A loud sigh. “These letters. What do we do? Should we share this with Zahera like you were thinking earlier, or try to cover our tracks?”

  More giggles from outside the room.

  “Just throw them in the bag for now,” I said, suddenly nervous someone might walk in on us.

  I got up, walked over, and put my ear to the door. I heard the giggles dissipate and turned to see Cristina stuff the last of the letters into the bag. She didn’t appear to be trying to keep them organized. “Seriously?”

  “What? I’m nervous someone will walk in.”

  I rolled my eyes, while my head still spun with this new information.

  “By the way, I actually studied the data of the kidnapping victims.”

  Finally, we had some hope on at least one front. When focused, Cristina was quite sharp. “Cool, what did you figure out?”

  “Nada.”

  “What? I thought you said you figured it out?”

  She stood up and took another quick glance at her laptop. “I only said I studied the data. I can’t piece together a pattern if I don’t have enough information.”

  “True.” My eyes drifted to the detailed crown molding as I thought about our options.

  “So, is the data fairy going to leave it under our pillows tonight? I’m stuck if we don’t get something more.”

  “I think we need to do a deep dive on each victim,” I said. “Find out where each parent works, ages of each kid, where they go to school or preschool. If possible, we need to try to find out where they shop, whether they’re part of the same tennis club or poker group. I know it will be doubly difficult, but knowing health history would be invaluable.”

  “Why their health history?”

  “If it’s ultimately about how the hackers got their personal data, maybe they’ve all been to the same hospital or same doctors’ group. Or heck, even the same pharmacy…anything else we can think of. Some of this might be really tough to find, but if we can somehow capture this kind of data, then we can see where the overlaps are between families. Hopefully.”

  “Okay. I’ll start the process. Might take a while to figure all of that out for each of the fourteen families. And in the end, we still may not find what we want. Megan will be all down your throat by tomorrow at the latest.”

  I could picture it in a nanosecond. “Let’s split them up. Can you get started tonight?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t want to take part in this spa stuff anyway.”

  “You’re right, dammit. I’m sorry for ignoring your desire to participate. Let’s get you all dolled up.” I reached for her hand, but she quickly backed up a step.

  “Can’t you tell when I’m serious? I’d rather have my legs broken than hang out with the girly-girl squad.”

  I realized then that I was reading everything wrong. “Geez, okay. My mind is just a blur right now.”

  Cristina put her computer in her bag, then hoisted the strap over her shoulder. “I’d rather get to my place and start work on the research. And given what you think is needed, it might require me to make phone calls during the business day. So, I’ll need at least through tomorrow, maybe longer. Maybe much longer.”

  “Thanks for being so diligent, Cristina. Let me know where you are in the morning. Now, let’s make a quick appearance, and then we can get out of here.”

  I opened the door and saw Nancy jump. She’d been eavesdropping.

  23

  While part of me wanted to rip into her, I stayed nonchalant. “What’s going on, Nancy?” Wasn’t she shitfaced about fifteen minutes earlier?

  She swallowed once, her face and neck completely pink. “Uh, I was just wanting to see the rest of Zahera’s place. I like to see how the rich folks live.”

  Her eyes shifted from me to Cristina.

  “Well,” I said, extending my arm, “The room is all yours.”

  She peeked inside and nodded. “I can see from here.” I noticed her usual perky, jovial expression had gone away, then I turned back to see the brown satchel just sitting on the floor next to the desk, partially ajar. It was an open invitation for someone to start snooping, just as we had. But at least we cared about Zahera and wouldn’t use anything we learned against her or needlessly spread gossip. I walked over and casually picked up the bag. Cristina’s eyes watched me, but tha
nkfully she didn’t draw attention to what I was doing.

  “Zahera is one lucky lady,” Nancy said, as we walked past her. The comment had a bite to it, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning around.

  “Z’s worked her tail off to get where she’s at. She’s a great role model for young girls, for not letting society determine what is or isn’t possible. She’s unique, but very self-made.”

  “I don’t disagree. But to have this kind of wealth, on top of her good health—she’s fortunate, let me put it that way.”

  The seed of jealousy seemed to have taken root in one of Zahera’s employees. I knew to move on. “We need to get out of here, so we’re going to go say goodbye. Talk to you later.”

  Just as we entered the large living area, Kelly approached us. The music was strangely muted, the party less raucous. “Is Zahera back in the kitchen?” I asked, already moving in that direction.

  “She left.”

  I stopped so quickly that Cristina ran into my back.

  “Sorry,” she said, stumbling to the side.

  I twirled around, gazing at Kelly, who’d started picking up cups, plates, and bottles and throwing them in a trash bag. “Where did she go?”

  “Off to Toronto,” she said with the swat of her hand. “I’ll clean up everyone’s mess, just like I always do.”

  Toronto? I expected to hear she’d gone to the grocery store or something. I caught up to Kelly. “She’s leaving the country…without telling me?”

  The moment the words left my mouth I knew they sounded like I was her mother. Kelly didn’t seem to notice or care. In fact, she seemed annoyed.

  She shrugged, pressing her lips together. “I had no idea this was going to happen, and it didn’t look like she did either. Zeke just swooped in here and said he wanted to take her away on a surprise trip to Canada.”

  I moved right in front of her to stop her movement. “Zeke?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “I don’t know. But for him to take her without telling anyone, that’s just—”