by Holly Bargo
“Hand me her computer,” he said and held his hand out.
Pyotr handed over the iPad.
“Does she check her credit card balance online?”
“No, she says some things should always be on paper. I don’t think she ever used electronic access to her credit card.”
Gennady grunted. “Then let’s set up her online access so we can access it and see where she’s using her credit card.”
“Could it be that easy?”
“Cecily’s a nice girl,” Gennady said bluntly. “But even Latasha and Gia admit she’s not the brightest bulb on the chandelier. She’s the type who will use her credit card and not realize we can trace it.” He favored his friend with a tight smile. “Find her bank and credit card statements.”
Pyotr gave silent thanks that his Cecily possessed a tidy soul. She kept her financial records carefully filed. He quickly lay his hands on the folder containing her credit card and bank statements and brought them to Gennady. The other man’s fingers flew over the virtual keyboard as he deftly navigated the bank’s system to set up electronic access to her banking account.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“She cleaned out her bank account and closed it.”
“That means she will not be able to pay her credit card charges.”
“It will if she doesn’t immediately set up a new bank account.”
Gennady logged into the credit issuing bank and navigated their system to set up electronic account access.
“Shit.”
“What now?”
“Do you know her personal identification number?”
“No.”
“Fuck it all. I’m going to have to hack into their system and I can’t do it from this toy.”
“How long will that take?”
“That depends on how subtle you want me to be,” Gennady replied. “I’d prefer not to go to prison. Again.”
“Be as subtle as you need to be,” Pyotr said and heaved a sigh. He looked away from his friend’s saturnine face. “Do this as you can. Please.”
With uncharacteristic empathy, Gennady settled a hand on Pyotr’s shoulder. “If she gets into trouble, she knows she can call you and you will go to her.”
Pyotr clamped his lips tightly to keep the sobs down, because he knew no such thing at all. Eyes wet with unshed tears, he rasped, “I love her.”
“I know, moy drug. I know.” Silently, Gennady vowed to get the faithless harpy back, if only because Pyotr was a good and loyal man who did not deserve that woman’s perfidy.
Chapter 4
The ringtone on Cecily’s phone woke her. Blinking groggy eyes, she answered the call.
“Cecily Marianne Carrigan! Where are you?”
Cecily held the phone away from her ear as her mother’s voice shrilled across the connection.
“What? Mom?”
“Pyotr called. He’s frantic. He says you left him!”
Cecily waited in silence. She knew from long experience that her mother wasn’t finished.
“Cecily, weren’t you going to marry him? What happened? And where are you?”
“Hi, Mom,” she said when her mother ran out of steam. “Pyotr never proposed and…”
“Well, I did always tell you girls that a man won’t buy a cow if the milk’s for free,” came the tart retort.
Cecily sighed. “Yes, you did, Mom. And you were right, as always.” She sighed again. “Look, Mom. I don’t want to get into the details now. I’m not really sure about things yet.”
“Where are you, Cecily?” Her mother’s voice turned stern.
“I’m traveling, Mom,” she fibbed, knowing that, if Pyotr genuinely wanted her back, her mother would tell him. “I’ll let you know where I settle.”
“Cecily, are you pregnant? Is that why you’re behaving so irrationally?”
“No, Mom, I’m not pregnant.” At least she didn’t think so. She’d been religious about taking her birth control pills.
“You know, honey, if you are pregnant, you can come home. We won’t judge you.”
Oh, yes, they would. If she went home pregnant, they’d call Pyotr and her dad would break out Grandpa’s shotgun just for the occasion.
“I know, Mom. I... I just need to be alone to think things through.”
“Okay, honey. I realize you’re an adult, but we do worry about you. You’ve never been the most sophisticated girl.”
Thanks for letting me know, once again, that I’m the stupid one in the family, she thought bitterly.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Be careful, dear.”
Cecily looked at her phone in disbelief. Or maybe dismay. A thousand miles away and she still couldn’t escape. Her belly rumbled and she decided that now was as good a time as any to scout out the local restaurants. She dropped her phone back into her purse, pocketed the room key, and embarked upon a new culinary journey.
Tex-Mex, barbeque, Asian fusion, and more barbeque. She walked and walked, committing the immediate area around the hotel to memory, noting the restaurants that seemed prosperous, if not trendy. She’d apply for work at those restaurants tomorrow. Those restaurants, she was sure, primarily catered to a transient crowd. Where did the locals eat? She stepped into an office supply store, figuring she needed some pens and paper anyway.
“What’s a good place to eat?” she asked the cashier. “A place where the folks who live here eat?”
The cashier shrugged his stooped shoulders and said, “My girl and I like to go to Acapulco Dream. It’s on the eastern side of town. You can’t go wrong on the River Walk, but it gets a little pricey over there.”
“Thanks,” she said, paid for her purchases, and left. She found a sidewalk bench and sat, using her phone to look up Acapulco Dream. Nope, I’m not going there, she thought after reading the reviews and getting a Google Earth picture of the neighborhood. She figured she might as well check out the River Walk.
She caught a cab and found herself enchanted by the festive atmosphere of the famous River Walk. The greenery and quiet river soothed her. Music floated through various doors. Couples and small groups clustered at outdoor seating. Cecily strolled slowly, reading the menus as she went by. Here variety reigned. Her keen nose picked out scents of beef, chicken, and pork, cumin, oregano, cilantro, citrus, and bourbon. The air nearly pulsed with vibrant energy.
This, she thought with excitement, this is where I want to work. The restlessness within her rang to the same vibe. She didn’t belong in Cleveland; she belonged in San Antonio.
She veered into a shady doorway and patiently waited for the maître d' to acknowledge her.
“How many?” the man asked.
“Just one.”
“Just one? Surely not?” He smiled at her, white teeth bright in his swarthy face. “You’re far too pretty to be alone.”
She smiled back, enjoying his charming flirtation. “I just got in this afternoon and haven’t met anyone, so I am indeed alone.”
“Then welcome to San Antonio,” he exclaimed as he led her to a small round table flanked by two chairs. “You’ll find we’re a friendly city. I’m sure you’ll feel at home very soon.”
“I hope so.”
“Are you here to see family? Taking a vacation? Or to work?”
She decided that honesty wouldn’t hurt. “I’m a chef and looking for work.”
“And you’ve decided to try out our little restaurant! We’re not hiring, but I do hope you enjoy your meal.”
She returned his smile and said, “Everything thus far smells delicious. I’m sure it will all be superb.”
He nodded and left her to her own devices. A waiter stopped by a moment later, introduced himself, handed her a menu, and took her drink order, nearly sneering when she asked for a glass of water. Cecily didn’t want to ruin her palate by drinking something strong before she ate, regardless of the waiter’s correct assumption that she was going to be a stingy customer. Several minutes later, the waiter ret
urned with her water and took her dinner order.
While she waited for her meal, Cecily took pleasure in watching passersby. Couples strolled hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm in the soft, warm air. She sighed. It would have been so romantic to walk the River Walk with Pyotr. She could admit to herself that she missed him. She glanced at her watch and realized that she hadn’t adjusted it for the Central Time Zone. He would probably be sitting at his usual table at The Matrynoshka, sipping slowly at mug of dark beer, waiting for her to take a break and join him.
Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and answered it without thinking.
“Where are you, dorogoy?”
“Pyotr.”
“Da. Where are you? Why did you run away?”
“I explained everything in my note, Pyotr.”
“Your note explains nothing. Come back home, vozlyublennaya.”
“I’m not your sweetheart any more, Pyotr. You didn’t love me enough to marry me. I need to find a man who does.”
“Then I will find you.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“Is not threat; is promise.”
She could tell he was getting very emotional; he dropped his articles when overcome by strong emotion. She tried to soften the blow.
“Pyotr, I know you care. But I lived with you for more than six months and I can’t do that anymore.” She sighed. “Besides, I don’t like Cleveland. I don’t want to go back to Cleveland. And I won’t.”
“I find you. Then we talk.”
She frowned at the electronic device and ended the call without another word. She needed to get another phone, a disposable that Pyotr couldn’t call.
The waiter brought her meal, set it down with practiced flair, and inquired if she needed anything else. She did not and he departed to tend to other customers who were sure to tip better than this one.
Cecily enjoyed her food. Exquisitely prepared, she reveled in the spicy, piquant flavors that one just didn’t find in a stuffy northern city like Cleveland. She watched people as she ate. They smiled freely, moved with grace and abandon. She wanted that. She wanted to be part of this vibrant city that just teemed with life and exuberance, not the dreary cold that characterized Cleveland in winter.
“I think I’m going to love it here,” she said to herself as she watched a tour boat float past with ponderous grace.
After supper, she took a taxi back to the hotel and broke out her e-reader. Logging-in to the hotel’s complimentary wi-fi, she searched local advertisements for cooking positions, jotting down those that seemed promising. She then began cross-referencing them with restaurants she noticed in her walk down the River Walk. Three had openings. She used her tablet to immediately send inquiries to those three and hoped for a positive response.
* * *
“I got her,” Gennady announced with low-key triumph. “She’s in San Antonio.”
“Texas?” Pyotr exclaimed.
“Texas,” the lean, dark man confirmed. “Now we just have to narrow down her location from there.”
“I need to talk to Maksim.”
“He’s going to be pissed. You’re his favorite enforcer.”
Pyotr shrugged and rubbed his knuckles. They still ached. Since Vitaly’s last interrogation, Gennady had taken over those duties and Vitaly served as the organization’s medic. Pyotr had no idea where Vitaly got his medicines and such, but he wasn’t about to turn him in. None of them wanted the attention of law enforcement officials.
“He has others to substitute for me while I fetch Cecily back.”
“If he permits you to go.”
“Maksim is a believer in true love.”
“And is that what this is?”
Gennady did not flinch when his colleague’s expression turned hard and stone and cold as ice. He was made of sterner stuff, though that expression more often than not had caused grown men to wet their pants.
“Da,” Pyotr answered curtly. “I have the ring.”
“She doesn’t know,” Gennady muttered to himself.
Pyotr sighed. “No. I was going to surprise her.”
The perspicacious man, whose sexual tastes leaned toward the very dark, leaned back in the chair and watched his colleague with glittering eyes. “I know women,” he began.
“You break women,” Pyotr shot back.
Gennady nodded. He did break women. When he found a woman strong enough not to break, he’d keep her and maybe she’d break him. He repeated, “I know women. I observe their expressions and their body language. I listen to the tone of their voices and the reactions of their bodies. Your Cecily was not happy here.”
“She was happy with me.”
“She was restless. You said so yourself. What makes you think she will come back here with you?”
Pyotr clamped his jaw shut before he committed himself to something he knew was wrong, like abducting his woman and forcibly returning her to his home. Once the urge to beat his chest like a gorilla had passed, he released the tension in a gusty exhale and said, “Then I will stay in Texas with her.”
“There’s no leaving the Bratva. Not alive.” Gennady gave him a small, sardonic smile. “And I don’t particularly want to kill you.”
“There are associates in Texas.”
“Houston. Austin maybe. But I don’t think Maksim will transfer authority so readily.”
Pyotr pondered that. No, Maksim, tolerant as he might be for a Bratva boss, would not cede ownership of his prized enforcer so easily. He wondered if he had sufficient funds to buy his way out. Or if he could fight his way out. He rubbed his knuckles again. He was a damned good fighter, perhaps not as quick as some, but he had sufficient speed, a powerful punch, and a crushing grip. A harsh life had crushed much of the kindness from him—that kindness he had left was reserved for only a very few honored individuals.
Cecily’s betrayal hurt deeply. He quivered with the need to beat something to a bloody pulp.
“I’m going back to the cage tonight,” he said.
Gennady’s eyes lit up. “I’ll bet on you.”
Pyotr nodded. “I’ve got to make some phone calls. Thanks for your help today.”
“Win your fights tonight and we’re even.”
Pyotr pulled out his wallet and handed Gennady a wad of cash. “Place two bets on me, would you? I feel a need to boost my bank account.”
Gennady favored him with a toothy smile, saluted him, and left. Pyotr knew Gennady would not cheat him. The man was sadistic and cruel, but he could be trusted.
His first phone call was to a connection in the underground fighting subculture.
“Joe, it’s Pyotr.”
“Hey, Pyotr! Long time, no hear. What’s up, my friend?”
“Where’s the biggest open fight tonight?”
“You going back in the cage?”
“Da.” He could practically hear the adding machine tallying up odds in the other man’s brain.
“There’s an open challenge scheduled tonight in the warehouse at Rocheford. D’ya know it?”
“Da, I know it. What time?”
“’Bout eight, man.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t tell anyone.” That, he knew, was tantamount to posting an announcement on Facebook.
“’Course not, bro.”
“Spasibo.”
His next call was to Vitaly.
“I need your assistance tonight.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll explain when Gia isn’t around.”
There was a pause, then Pyotr heard him make his apologies to Gia.
“This had better be good, Pyotr. Gia’s making gumbo.”
Pyotr wasn’t entirely sure what gumbo was and hoped it wasn’t some weird euphemism for kinky sex, because he didn’t particularly want that image on his brain, especially when he wasn’t getting any that night.
“Meet me at the warehouse on Rocheford at eight tonight.”
“You going back into the cage?” Vitaly’s voice dropped
an octave.
“Da.”
“Did Maksim approve this?”
“Maksim doesn’t know yet. I’m calling him next.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
Yes, he was. He hoped Maksim would understand.
“Where is she?” his boss demanded when he received his enforcer’s call. “She left without a word! The kitchen is in shambles!”
“Gennady tracked her to Texas,” Pyotr replied.
“Texas! Why would she go there?”
“I need to go down there to get her back.”
“And will you be coming back with her?” Maksim’s voice turned cool and calculating.
“If she wants to come back, then yes.”
“And if not?”
“I will not force her to return with me.”
Maksim recognized evasion when he heard it. “Tell me, Pyotr, have I treated you poorly?”
“No, Boss. You’ve been most generous.”
“Then why do I feel you’re taking advantage of my good nature?”
Having nothing to fall back on, Pyotr went with gut-wrenching honesty: “I love her, Maksim.”
“Is that Pyotr?” he heard Olivia’s voice in the background.
There was a click and then he heard Olivia’s voice on the telephone extension. Maksim only used the landline in his house; he disliked cell phones.
“Have you found our missing girl, Pyotr?” Olivia asked, worry making her rich tones unnaturally thin and reedy.
“Gennady tracked her to Texas.”
“You must bring her back.”
“She might not want to come back, Olivia.”
“What did you do to her?” the fiery redhead demanded hotly. “If you hurt her—”
“No, no. I did not harm her,” Pyotr rushed to reassured her before she could sic her husband on him. “I had planned to ask her to marry me.”
She must have heard tears clogging his throat, because she sniffled, too. “Oh, Pyotr, you poor, poor man. Maksim?”
“Da, dorogoy?”
“You let this boy go to his sweetheart.” An undercurrent of steely resolve in the small woman’s voice cowed many men. Maksim was no exception.
“But, Livvy—”
“You have other bully boys who can beat people up for you. Give him a few weeks to take care of business.”