It hit her, then, that the guy who had disarmed Zaretsky was Jonathan Hampstead. She dove into the crowd in the direction Zaretsky and Hampstead went. Zaretsky would most likely try to exit out the back, so she broke free of the dance floor and beelined for the door by the DJ booth.
“Ellie,” Sue called.
A flash of white flitted at the edge of her peripheral vision. Sue, but she didn’t have time to brief her. The door was just closing when Ellie got there, and she grabbed it and slipped through into the room beyond, which smelled of old beer, cigarettes, and Polo. She untucked her blouse and retrieved her gun.
A dim light overhead showed a narrow hallway, concrete floor, cheap paneling walls, and two doors on the right that were closed. Straight ahead, however, was another door, slowly closing. Ellie ran full-speed toward it and jerked it open to find ten or so steps that led to street level. The metal trapdoors were flung open. She scrabbled up the steps and hit her shin on one as she went to the sidewalk. A couple of people walked past, gave her a look, but continued on. No sign of Zaretsky or Daddy Hampstead—wait. Two guys running down the block, away from her.
She took off after them, ignoring the pain in her shin, glad she had flat-soled shoes because she was gaining on them. Zaretsky was in front, and Hampstead was a few steps behind him. Not bad for an older guy. She turned on another burst of speed and barreled between a couple of cars whose drivers honked and yelled at her.
In the streetlight a half-block up, Zaretsky threw himself into a dark panel van. Hampstead dropped into a shooter’s pose, aiming at the van as it took off, tires squealing. Hampstead didn’t fire. Instead, he straightened, shoved the gun into his pants, and stared after the van.
Ellie ducked into a doorway, panting. Hampstead might recognize her from the club. Please keep going, she silently pleaded with him. She returned her gun to its pocket and retucked her shirt. After a few beats, she took her jacket off and strolled out of the doorway, looking at her phone. She didn’t hear anybody behind her, and she stopped.
Hampstead was gone, so she returned to the club and called Rick on the way.
“What the hell?” he said when he answered.
“Zaretsky just tried to stab Koslov on the dance floor.”
“Jesus—”
“Jonathan Hampstead stopped him, and they both took off out the back. Zaretsky got into a dark van about three blocks from the bar, and Hampstead was armed. He didn’t fire, but I had to take evasive measures. Lost him.”
“Shit. What’s your location?”
She jogged to the corner and gave him the streets.
“Can you get back into the club from the back?”
“I think so.”
“Do it. Check on Marya. We’ll canvass for Zaretsky and Jonathan.”
“Got it.” She hung up and put the phone back in her pocket. Her shin throbbed, and she carefully pulled her pants leg up. No bleeding, but it would have a nice bruise. She’d better wear trousers at work for the next few days.
“You okay?” Sue was waiting for her at the top of the steps at Lucky, looking like she was about to emerge from the underground.
“I’ll live.” She put her jacket back on.
“What happened?” Sue carefully backed down the steps to give her room.
Ellie gave her a brief rundown.
“Fucking hell.”
“Yep. That sums it up.” She closed the heavy steel interior door, making sure it clicked shut. At least nobody would be able to get in. Even back here, the thump of the dance music seemed to vibrate the walls. They were almost to the door that would take them back to the dance floor when one of the other doors in the hallway opened. Hell. Ellie didn’t want to answer questions.
She grabbed Sue and pulled her into a kiss, much to Sue’s shock, but she went with it, and her lips were soft and warm. A nice kiss, with a bit of heat, but it didn’t move Ellie at all. Not even a little bit. No, apparently the only woman capable of making her feel anything from the waist down these days was an ice queen fashion mogul.
“Hey—” said a male voice.
Ellie pulled away and smiled at the guy, who she recognized as one of the bouncers from the front door. He had to be ex-military, and maybe fresh from that gig, because he still wore his hair like some of Rick’s active Army buddies. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry. Just getting some air.” She gestured with her head at Sue, and the guy kind of smiled. Sue smiled at him, too.
“Can you blame me?” Sue said to him, hands on Ellie’s shoulders.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” he said, like he was trying to scold them, but maybe Ellie’s charms and Sue’s comment worked on him, because he was still smiling a little.
“Really sorry. Won’t happen again.” Ellie interlaced her fingers with Sue’s and pulled her toward the dance floor.
The bouncer watched her, hands on his hips, and he practically filled the hallway, like the Hulk might. She pushed carefully through the door and pulled Sue inside.
“I’m going to check on Marya,” she said near Sue’s ear.
“Okay. I’ll check the floor.” She motioned at the dancers, and Ellie let go of her hand and worked her way back through the club to where she’d last seen Marya. And sure enough, Marya was still there with her posse and a whole bunch of new people.
She checked the time on her phone. Nearly one-thirty, and she was willing to bet that Marya would not be in the office tomorrow morning. She texted Rick and let him know that nothing had changed with Marya. A few seconds later he texted back that Koslov was still dancing, and it was time for her and Sue to pack it in. She texted an acknowledgement then let Sue know she’d meet her in the front room.
A few minutes later, Sue showed up, and they left together, Ellie with her arm around Sue’s shoulders. “Where to?” she asked.
“Keep walking,” she said. “Rick’s sending a car to get us a couple of blocks up.”
“Can the driver please bring pizza or something? I’m freaking starving.” Ellie let go of her, and Sue immediately shoulder-bumped her.
“You got some mad lip skills too, O’Donnell.” She gave her a sly grin.
“Sorry about that. Wasn’t sure what else to do, given the circumstances.”
“It worked. And damn, I have a whole new understanding of this lesbian thing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still not going to be your next field trip.” She shoulder-bumped her back. “Though you are kind of hot. But I know I can’t compete with Manny. His woman’s safe from me.”
She laughed, and they walked in silence for a few moments until she spoke again. “What the fuck with Zaretsky?”
“I don’t know. First he’s after Hampstead. Then Koslov. And why didn’t he go after Hampstead? He was right there. Speaking of, when did Hampstead get to the club?” Ellie ran various scenarios through her head and nothing added up.
“Did Marya know her dad was in the house?”
Ellie stopped abruptly. Sue had taken a few paces beyond before she realized it.
“What?” Sue asked, waiting.
“That’s a good question about Marya. I didn’t see Jonathan on the dance floor. At least not near her. And he wasn’t hanging out in fashion corner after she stopped dancing.” She started walking again, still thinking.
“That’s just fuckin’ weird. Your dad’s suddenly in town and he doesn’t let you know?”
“And another question,” Ellie said as they crossed a street. “How does an international businessman effectively disarm a Russian gangster like Zaretsky and then chase him out of a nightclub?” That was another weird aspect to this whole evening, and she thought back a couple of weeks ago, when she saw Daddy Hampstead checking reflections in the windows at the Fashion Forward building before she interrupted the Russians trailing him. Then he shows up at a nightclub and prevents, at the very least, a stabbing. At the most, a murder. Plus, he handled that gun like a boss.
Marya had seemed oblivious. And at last check, Daddy Hampstead was at a
business expo in Chicago. Or at least, he’d left a trail to suggest such. Who the hell was this guy?
“Ride’s here,” Sue said as a sleek gray Town Car pulled to the curb.
“Since when did the department upgrade?” she asked as Sue opened the back door.
“Contract for when we have to do shit like this.”
“You mean drive hot women around?”
“You complaining?”
“Only if there’s no pizza.”
Sue smacked her on the arm before she got in. Ellie waited for her to get settled, and then she got in and closed the door.
“Thanks,” she said to the driver. “Any chance you could have a pizza waiting for me wherever we’re going?”
“Not really my job description,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb.
“Figures.” She texted Rick, asked for a pizza, then sat back and stared at the pale gray of the car’s ceiling as Sue checked messages on her phone. What was she missing? What the hell was the deal with Jonathan Hampstead? And why would a Petrov associate suddenly want to stab Lyev Koslov? This was bad. Very bad.
She turned her head and stared out the window, still thinking, only now it was about Marya Hampstead on the dance floor, moving like foreplay, like she knew exactly what Ellie wanted and she would deliver it, but it would be so much hotter than she could even imagine.
A flush raced up her spine, which only got worse when she remembered how Marya had grabbed her and pulled her close and told her she liked her look. Was that flirting? Because it felt like it. Especially the grabbing part. Marya didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to do or say anything like that to her. She could have just ignored Ellie the intern or just given her a polite smile and acknowledgement and that would’ve been that.
But she didn’t.
And Ellie wondered what it would’ve felt like if Marya had kept pulling her close, until her lips made talking impossible. The flush spread all over her body and made a whole lot of things tingle, and made her think of other things. Like the fact that Marya liked a little bit of butch on a woman. And hold on, maybe a little bit of woman, too? That raised all kinds of interesting possibilities, since Marya had never been linked to women sexually. Not even in the gossip rags. If she had a thing for the ladies too, she kept it on hermetically sealed lockdown.
Another angle to think about, but not until she’d had something to eat, followed by some sleep. She closed her eyes and let herself appreciate the quiet of the car, and please, for the love of God, she hoped Rick had a pizza waiting for her.
CHAPTER 8
“So nobody saw Daddy Hampstead go into the club?” Ellie asked, but it sounded more like “So body raw Ded Hamp go inna club” because she was chewing on a huge bite of pizza.
“That’s disgusting. Didn’t your mama tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” Rick gave her a long-suffering stare.
She swallowed. “Whatever. Answer the question.”
“We’re going back through security footage. Did he have a hat on or anything?”
She thought for a bit. “No. Dark shirt. Dark pants. But he could have had one on when he went in.” She finished her third piece of pizza and reached for another.
Rick stared at her fourth slice, wide-eyed.
“What? I told you I was hungry.”
“What about a salad every now and then?”
“Not tonight.” She took a bite. “Mmm. So good.” She chewed for a bit and swallowed. “Something’s not right about Hampstead.”
“No shit.” Rick glanced over at Wes, the other guy running recon on this shift. “Anything?” Rick asked him.
“Nada, bro. I’ve got a couple of other people on it, too, running the surveillance videos super-slow, to see if we can pick him out.”
“Dude, seriously,” Ellie said. “Hampstead isn’t just a businessman. The guy knew he was being tailed two weeks ago when I blendered Laskin’s knee, and he disarmed Zaretsky, no big deal, on a crowded dance floor. And you should’ve seen his stance when he pulled the gun after Zaretsky got into the van. He’s got to have training in that sort of thing. But there’s no record of military service in his background.”
“Black ops,” Wes said, his gaze locked onto the computer screen. “If he was doing that shit, it wouldn’t show up in his record.”
“But if he had any military experience, that should show up, right?” She looked at Rick. “I mean, there would be a record of military service, and it would be all benign if he was black opping.”
“Maybe,” Rick said. He frowned. “I’ve got a military buddy in London. I’ll ask him if they do that over there.”
She finished the piece of pizza and washed it down with bottled water, her concession tonight to Rick’s plea for her to eat better. “So let’s pretend he’s got some kind of training. He retires from the military and goes into business, but he knows all kinds of people from his military days. The kinds of people in illegal arms. So he does that on the side. If he’s responsible for taking out those Petrov guys overseas, maybe he did them himself.”
Rick grunted and took a swig of water from his own bottle. “What about Marya and Lyev? Just hanging out?”
“Yep. Looked like a celebrity night out, basically. And then she hung out in a corner with a bunch of worshippers while Koslov was dancing his ass off.”
“He could’ve passed her something,” Rick said. “A note. A wad of cash. A flash drive.”
“Well, he picked a good place to do it.” She leaned back in her chair and put her feet on her desk. It was almost three in the damn morning, and here she was at the office.
“Boys and girls, we have a winner. Check this out.”
She groaned as she got up with Rick. She’d just gotten comfortable.
“See this?” Wes pointed at the screen, and Rick and Ellie leaned in. “Daddy Hampstead. Black shirt, black pants, black fedora.”
“Classy. Kind of a Michael Jackson thing. Does he have a glove on?” Ellie leaned close, and Rick snorted. She looked at the timestamp. A little after twelve-thirty.
“So he goes in and—” he clicked on some stuff, and another angle from the club popped up, this one in the front room. “Checks his hat and then here he is, hanging out by the bar. And ten minutes later, Zaretsky arrives.”
She watched as Zaretsky scanned the room. Daddy Hampstead had insinuated himself into a conversation with a couple of women and a guy, but as soon as Zaretsky moved into the lounge room, Hampstead waited a beat then followed.
“This guy is good,” Rick said. “Bet he didn’t know those people he was just talking to.”
Wes switched the video to the lounge room. Zaretsky looked around there, but took his time. Hampstead entered and immediately started talking to a woman who looked like she was on her way to the bar. Whatever he said, it made her laugh. He ignored Marya, who probably didn’t even see him. Zaretsky then went into the next room.
“Here’s where you pick up on him, E,” Wes said. “Check it.”
“Damn, my hair looks good.”
Rick snorted again.
He slowed the video down even more. “Zaretsky walks past you and goes into the dance floor room. You go after him. Meanwhile, Jonathan Hampstead is here.” He pointed at Hampstead, who was standing near the second bar. “And now to the dance floor.”
“There’s Koslov,” Rick said. “And here comes Zaretsky.”
“O’Donnell with the sexy dance interruption.” Wes chortled.
“Let me see that again,” Rick said.
He ran it back, and Rick laughed. “Good move, Els. But Zaretsky’s not having it and—”
“Boom! O’Donnell with the foot check!” Wes doubled over laughing.
“Shut up.” She smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
“Good play, Els. Opened a lane for Hampstead. But the camera didn’t pick up the disarm. Too many freakin’ people blocking the view.”
“Trust me. It was smooth.”
“Not as
smooth as the dance interruption.” Wes grinned at her. “Okay, Koslov makes a run for it out the back, with Hampstead on his ass. Shitty lighting for the camera in the back hallway, but you can kind of see—” he called up the video from that camera, and he was right. You could kind of see a couple of shapes moving quickly, then a bit more light as Zaretsky threw the back door open.
“Unfortunately, no camera near that entrance. Club owner says it broke a couple nights ago, and it won’t be replaced until Monday. So we don’t really know what happened, except the two of them got out. And now here comes O’Donnell,” he said. “Nice run.”
Ellie watched herself barrel down the hallway, and then she couldn’t see anything else. A few seconds later, a blur of white entered the screen. That was Sue, also running. Wes shut the video off, much to Ellie’s relief. They hadn’t seen her grab Sue and kiss her back there, and hopefully they never would. The things she did for national security.
“Got any good leads from the Hampstead cell phones?” she asked.
“Nope,” Wes said. “Unless they’re speaking in really excellent code. We’re going back through those, too. But if Daddy Hampstead was black ops, they’re probably using burn phones.”
“Marya has a flip phone, remember,” Ellie said. “But maybe she’s having illicit affairs all over the place, and that’s why she uses a burn phone. Hell, it’s easy these days to tap a phone. Have you seen what the paparazzi do?”
“Or maybe dear Dad has sucked her into his arms business, and they’re using Fashion Forward as a front,” Rick said.
“I’m not sold on that yet. Daddy might be, but maybe he doesn’t tell Daughter what he’s up to. He didn’t even stop to chat in the club. So he gives her a burn phone and tells her to call him on that, because he doesn’t want business competition to know what he’s up to. Maybe he’s just weird and has a paranoid streak, and Marya’s been dealing with it her whole life, so she humors him.”
If Looks Could Kill Page 8