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

by John W. Mefford

  “He is her fiancé, Ivy.” She held my gaze for a second, then went back to picking up trash. “Apparently, her parents lived near Toronto years ago. Anyway, she was on cloud nine. She scooped up her things and left—of course, not before asking me to take charge of cleaning up.”

  Oxygen flooded my brain as I tried to rationalize what I’d just heard. One day, Armand is asking me to investigate Zeke’s ties to an international drug leader. The next day, Zeke is taking Zahera out of the country. Was it just a coincidence?

  I remembered that Zeke had recently been in Toronto. Then in Mexico earlier today. And now, no more than a few hours after arriving home from Mexico, he wants to take Zahera to Toronto? And she goes? Without saying goodbye? Just like that?

  Strange, strange, strange.

  “This is nuts,” I said, tugging on my ponytail. “I mean, this borders on being irresponsible.”

  “Believe me,” Kelly said, continuing to load the trash bag with anything that wasn’t currently being used. “I know it’s inconvenient. I’ve got to reschedule appointments, find a backup for her, and keep the office staff working efficiently. Everything falls on me. Always does,” she said with a loud sigh.

  I looked up to find Cristina staring at me. I felt like she was reading my mind. She knew something was up. I pulled my phone from my purse, then spotted Nancy marching through the room, her arms swaying back and forth. She had a sort of frustrated grimace on her face. Maybe she was nothing more than a mean drunk. Or maybe there was something else going on with her.

  My eyes on Nancy, I leaned toward Kelly and said, “Sorry about the load Z put on you. But hopefully you’ll get some help around the office.”

  Kelly caught me looking at Nancy. Her voice low, she said, “That girl is on an emotional roller coaster. I can’t rely on her to do anything, but Zahera is always wanting to give her another chance.”

  “Surprises me that Z would hand out so many extra opportunities. I thought she ran a pretty tight ship.”

  “I just think Nancy has her fooled. The girl might be bipolar. One moment, she’s bouncing around like she was just asked out on a date by the Prince of Wales; next, she’s seething with anger.” She took a breath. “This last time, I don’t know how Zahera didn’t fire her.”

  I raised a brow, waiting for more info.

  “We found evidence that she’d been trying to sell information about our patients to a pediatric group, giving them the opportunity to put the hard sell on these families.”

  I felt a sharp prick at the base of my skull. “And you didn’t fire her?”

  “Believe me, I wanted to. Selling confidential patient data is against the law. I think Zahera was about to fire her, but after she met with Nancy personally, she decided against it.”

  “Do you know what changed her mind?”

  Kelly swatted a hand in front of her face. “She gave her some sob story about her family. On top of that, she said something about how she never actually took money from this pediatric group. She even told Zahera that she’d let her take a look at her bank account statement. It was all nonsense. She lies constantly.”

  As if the police had just raided the place, ladies stampeded out of the condo the moment Kelly asked for more help. I looked around for Nancy, but she was long gone.

  Cristina tugged on my arm until we reached the dining room. “Something’s not right, and I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Actually, I just learned something rather disturbing. Not sure it’s directly related to our fake-kidnapping investigation, but this gives me an idea of where we should focus our time in trying to find the common thread among the victims.”

  “That’s cool, but there’s something else going on, Ivy.”

  “What?” I tried to blow her off. “Let’s help Kelly clean up, and then decide if we’re going to call Z or wait until she’s back in town. Actually, I forgot to ask Kelly when Z is expected back.” I tried to turn around, but Cristina took hold of my wrist.

  “First, you tell me why you’re so paranoid about Z’s safety.”

  Dammit, she must have overheard me talking to Kelly. I know I’d sounded upset about Zahera taking off with Zeke.

  I put on my best performance and gave her a bewildered look. “I think you’re watching too many teenage soaps. She’s my friend and I was surprised she took off for another country without telling me. Just not like her.”

  She moved so close to my face I could see a few extra hairs between her eyes. “You know you need to do some plucking, right?”

  She gritted her teeth. “No more delays, Ivy. You’re hiding something from me, and it’s big. You can’t get out of this until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  She had me cornered. I had to tell her everything.

  24

  What or who was in Toronto? That question kept me awake a good part of the night. Well, the first half of the night was taken up by Cristina berating me for not telling her about the investigation I’d taken on from Armand. While I tried to convince her it was to protect her from a dangerous drug lord, she scoffed at it, saying, “You’re trying to protect me from the risk of being hurt. On top of that, this guy is in Ukraine, and he doesn’t give two shits about me anyway. We agreed to run this ECHO business together, not just together when you feel like it.”

  I told her she’d made a valid point, and then I held up two fingers and gave her a make-believe Girl Scout oath, promising I would tell the truth going forward. She rolled her eyes, which was her way of accepting my apology.

  It was just after morning rush hour, and I walked into the ECHO office following an early-morning workout with Stan. We’d jogged a solid mile without stopping, and then he did twenty sit-ups. While he wrenched his body with each surge upward, pausing at least a few seconds between the last five sit-ups, he persevered with only minor grumbles and complaints.

  Progress.

  Nick had every intention of joining us, but was forced to go into the San Antonio FBI office for a confidential meeting. He promised he’d head straight over to my office afterward, and by then, he should have heard back from his partner, Alex.

  I grabbed a water and stood in our conference room, staring out the large window. A couple of birds were washing up in the fountain as the eastern sun glistened off their wings. Seemed like a good way for a couple of friends to cool off.

  That thought sent me right back to my best friend, Zahera, and what was going on in Toronto. I strolled into the front room and removed my phone from my purse. I saw one brief text from Cristina saying she’d be in the office mid-morning, but no messages or calls from Zahera.

  Was that really surprising, Ivy? Zahera’s on a romantic getaway with her future husband in a bustling city where she has some roots.

  Those roots, of course, were her parents. The same two people about which I’d read intimate details of their lives last night at Zahera’s place. Twelve hours had since passed, yet I still felt this odd sense of betrayal from Armand. Of course, he didn’t have to share the scandalous information with me. Still, I felt like there was some connection, with no real basis for that feeling. An affair by Armand twenty years ago—big deal. It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with Armand’s concerns that Zeke was involved in some bad stuff. Two separate subjects: one which was my business, because it was a case, and one which really wasn’t. But at the same time, both felt painfully personal.

  I wondered if Zahera was aware of her father’s infidelity. Had she read the letters?

  Armand mentioned that this KGB spy, Anton Kovalchick, was the one who’d set him up in an effort to coerce him to defect to the Soviet Union. More questions pinged my mind. What information or skills did Armand have that made him a target to defect? I think I recalled Zahera saying his area of focus in the army was communications. That seemed vague, at least to me. My investigative instincts wanted to find out what he did for the Army…specifically.

  I reminded myself one more time: it shouldn’t matter,
if the whole scandal had no connection to this drug lord or Zeke.

  Another moment later, I found myself wondering how Simone must have felt, half a world away from her husband, reading about how he’d cheated on her. My sympathy turned to anger. Anger at Armand for cheating on his wife, to being even angrier at him for creating this conspiracy story involving the evil empire.

  I looked off as I recalled one part of the letter. He said one of the reasons he’d told his wife Anton’s name was in case something happened to him. As if he almost expected it would. By rejecting their attempt to lure him into the Soviet web, perhaps he was fearful of a reprisal from the Soviet Union or their intelligence agency, the KGB. Or perhaps he was concerned about how this incident would be viewed within the army ranks. This Anton guy supposedly was going to use these pictures to get Armand to defect. Had he followed through on his threat after Armand had assaulted him? Surely he had other prints, or at least the negatives. Weren’t film cameras more popular in the late 1980s?

  I had so many questions I wanted to ask Armand. Maybe I would. I wondered if some of the answers might be buried within the trove of letters. We had ended up walking out of the condo last night with the satchel full of letters, not wanting Nancy Klein or anyone else to stumble upon the personal information.

  The anxiety of the entire ordeal made my eyes hurt. I could actually feel a tiny throb behind them. I chugged some more water then lifted the phone, willing it to somehow let me know that Zahera was safe and having fun. Of course, I could just send her a text myself. Check in. If something happened to her and I hadn’t tried to reach out, I’d never live with myself.

  Of course, even if she answered, there’s no way to know if she was the one really typing the text.

  Dammit, Ivy, you’ve been watching too many spy movies.

  Then again, Zeke did have that James Bond appeal. Given his role as the owner of a private security firm, he could easily have a fascination for living on the edge, putting himself in a position where he came perilously close to felons. Some people skydived for an exhilarating thrill; maybe Zeke got the same high by cavorting with a known drug kingpin.

  I’d just talked myself out of and then back into being bat-shit worried about Zahera. I squeezed the frame of my phone until my knuckles turned white.

  Metal scraped concrete. The sound was all too familiar—the front door had just opened—but I still sucked in a quick breath and jerked my eyes upward. It was Nick.

  “Need to fix that door, don’t you?” he said.

  “That can wait.” I pointed at the empty chair across from my desk. “Let’s talk.”

  25

  Nick was dressed in a conservative, if not boring, suit. Shades of gray, from the coat and pants to the drab tie. And a bland, white dress shirt. As he placed his computer bag on the floor, I caught a glimpse of something green under his coat.

  “Are those suspenders?” I put down my phone.

  “Yep. Got them from—” He suddenly clamped up. “Just a friend.”

  That was awkward. Could be an ex involved, so I steered clear of that topic. He removed his coat, draped it over the back of the chair, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt.

  “Comfortable?”

  He took a seat and paused. “Almost.” He unbuttoned the buttons on his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. “Damn, I’ll never get used to this Texas heat. Even in September, it’s a beast. Glad I’m in decent shape, or I’d feel like, I don’t know…”

  “Stan?”

  He smiled then pushed out a breath, resting his elbows on the edge of my desk as if he were waiting to be served the first course of a meal.

  “Now, are you ready?”

  He patted his front pocket and saw that it was empty. “What time do you have?”

  I looked at my laptop. “Close to eight thirty.”

  “How close?”

  “Six minutes. Why?”

  He leaned over and riffled through his computer bag. “Can you get me a water? My tongue feels like it’s been baked in an oven.”

  “No problem.” I walked around the desk and back to the breakroom. When I opened the fridge door, he yelled out, “Can you make it two?”

  I got three, knowing I’d need another one myself. I walked out and set his two bottles on the desk. Hovering over his phone that was sitting on the desk, he used his two pointer fingers to type something.

  “Is that a text to Alex?”

  “No, something back in Boston that’s unrelated. But I am expecting her at any moment.”

  I gave him a minute to take his first swig of water.

  “What has she shared with you so far?”

  His lips went straight. “Uh, not much.”

  I blew out a disgusted breath.

  “Hold on. It’s all very reasonable.” He paused a moment, looking to the front door, then toward the back of the office. “We’re all alone?”

  “There might be a couple of mice roaming around. But we’re the only humans, yes.”

  “As I mentioned, Alex is in Lyon.” He paused for a second, then said, “Lyon, France, is the headquarters, or the General Secretariat, for INTERPOL.” Another pause. “INTERPOL is the—”

  “International Police Organization, blah, blah, blah. I get it.”

  “They also have seven regional offices across the world, as well as an office at the UN in New York and the European Union in Brussels. Their reach is far and wide, with a major focus on crime and corruption.”

  I nodded. “So if Alex was sent to INTERPOL, this means that Petro Udovenko is drawing major attention around the globe.”

  “He sure is, with the heaviest focus in Europe. But as I mentioned, he appears to have already found a foothold in the northeast with his heroin. Haven’t been able to nail down his trafficking path. Not yet, at least.”

  “Is that one of the goals for Alex in Lyon…to collaborate on a plan to take down Udovenko’s drug cartel?”

  “Look, there’s only so much we can share, even with Stan’s blessing and the fact that I trust you.”

  I clasped my hands. “So after all this, you’re going to go mute on me? You came over here just to tell me that you’re going to hide behind the great FBI shield?” I shook my head and looked out the front windows.

  “Just give me a second, will ya?”

  “I’m listening,” I said, my gaze focused outside, where a mom was struggling to convince her son to hop into the car seat. Two red faces, and their mouths were moving nonstop. It looked very intense. I swung around to face Nick. “And?”

  “I had to provide that caveat, because we…I mean, Alex, can’t provide details of operations in play. We do that and people could get killed.”

  “But what can you tell me?”

  His phone buzzed. He looked down.

  “Is that your partner?” I knew I sounded impatient. I was.

  “Yeah. Alex. She was hoping she could call me, but she’s stuck in meetings, so she’ll have to text.”

  “I’m confused. I thought you’d have information about Zeke and his possible ties to Udovenko.”

  “Early this morning I only had time for a quick conversation with Alex, to let her know what we’re asking and why. She’s the sole representative from the FBI. I should probably be over there with her. We had no idea she’d be this immersed in…in…”

  “Bureaucratic bullshit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I can relate. I’m all too familiar with it through my former job at CPS.”

  “I’ve learned to deal with it. Alex, not as much. But she’s having meetings with police, military, and intelligence officials from something like nine different countries. Many of them don’t speak great English, so there are interpreters involved in every conversation. She said it’s tiring as hell, and it just slows down the process of sharing information and collaborating on next steps.”

  “Well, I’m glad she’s over there and I’m sitting in my little San Antonio office.�
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  Nick wasn’t paying me any attention. With his phone still flat on the table, he was typing a text, using his two forefingers again. He looked like a toddler pecking away on a keyboard.

  I strummed my fingers on the desk.

  He tapped the send button, then looked up. “I told Alex that I’m at your office and wondered if she’d been able to find any data tying Zeke Moffett to Petro Udovenko.”

  “You punched all of that into a text? I thought you typed about ten letters.”

  He smirked. “I did. She just knows what I’m thinking.”

  His phone buzzed. I tried to read the response, but it was too small and upside down.

  He twisted his lips.

  “What now?”

  “She said it’s complicated.”

  I sighed. “What the hell does it take to get a straight answer out of this woman?”

  “Stan was right.”

  I could feel my eyebrow arch. “Right about what?”

  “That you had a fiery side, especially if it was something you were passionate about. Other than that, you were pretty laid back,” he said with a Brooklyn-laced chuckle.

  I couldn’t help but crack a smile, although it was brief. “Back to Miss Complicated.”

  He was already typing. Stan with just his one hand could type faster. Without taking my eyes off of Nick and his phone, I cracked the seal on my water and drained about half of it. He was still pecking away, so then I strummed my fingers on the table again.

  “There,” he said, tapping send.

  “And?”

  “I asked her if she needed more information or if she needed more time. Give her a minute. She hates texting as much as I do.”

  “Good gosh,” I said, looking out the front window again. “Where’s Cristina? Her thumbs move a hundred miles an hour. She could act like our court reporter and bang out these messages in two or three seconds.”

  Nick shrugged, then took a moment to drink more of his water. His phone buzzed. “Okay, she’s saying that she personally found Zeke’s name in two different confidential memos.”