“What is this, an intervention?” he scowled.
“Of course not,” Elyse replied quickly. “We just thought you could use some peace and quiet tonight.” Jon immediately felt apologetic.
“Sorry, I’m a little tense,” he muttered, sitting down beside Elyse. She nodded understandingly.
“I guess so. What happened? What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything. She left a letter,” Tristan interrupted quickly. She shot her sister-in-law a quick look. Jon smiled humorlessly. He reached into his pocket and removed the crumpled note, throwing it angrily at Elyse. She picked it up and smoothed it out before beginning to peruse it.
“Here Jon. And I won’t take no for an answer,” Tristan said, thrusting a glass of wine into his hands. Jon was in no position to argue and he nodded at his sister, taking a sip. He sat back and stared up at the ceiling, still trying to make sense with what had happened.
“Jon, you can’t take this personally,” Elyse said quietly, refolding the letter. “Sometimes things like this happen. When I was in college, I did a course on immigrant sociology. Because of the close-knit nature of old world communities, many women who leave their homes opt to return simply because they miss their families. North American society does not face this nearly to the extent of the rest of the world, particularly European and Asian cultures.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, not comprehending the connection. Elyse’s dark eyebrows knit together.
“Well – because…well she says here that she misses her parents,” Elyse trailed off lamely, suddenly looking embarrassed. Jon stared at her, leaning forward.
“What?”
“In the letter…it says that she went home because she misses her mom and dad.” With the stealth of an alley cat, Jon snatched up the letter which Elyse had lay on the couch between them. He ripped it open and began to read it again.
“Dear Jon,” he started aloud.
“Jon, you don’t need to do this to yourself,” Tristan pleaded.
“I want you to knowing the three months we spend together are best in my life. I wish to be spending all time here with you but I cannot. I must go to home where I belonging. Please be forgive me for this and I hope you will no forget me. Thank you for everything. Do not worrying about me. Marika.”
He stared up at Elyse.
“It doesn’t say anything about her parents,” he said slowly. “Where did you see the part about her parents?”
Elyse pointed at the paper again.
“On the back.”
Manically, Jon flipped the single piece of paper. The blood drained from his face.
“P.S.” he continued. “I must to be go home because my parents missing me. Thank you for your understand.” In a daze, the paper fell from his hand to the floor.
“Jon, please don’t look so distressed,” Tristan pleaded, giving Elyse a dirty look but Elyse looked perplexed by his reaction.
“What is it, Jon?” the smoky brunette asked, her eyes searching his face.
“I hadn’t seen that part before,” he almost whispered. He found he was trembling.
“Why does that make a difference?” Elyse pressed.
“Elyse, maybe we should stop talking about this,” Tristan said nervously but neither her brother nor sister-in-law acknowledged her.
“Because her parents are dead.” Slowly, Jon looked up, understanding coloring his face.
“Marika is in trouble,” he choked. “I have to go to Hungary and find her.”
Elyse smiled humorlessly.
“I don’t know who this woman is or what her deal is but if you really are going after her, you won’t find her in Hungary, Jon. She’s Ukrainian.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid! The anger at herself seemed to override her fear and desolation as she sat wedged in the seat between Leonid and Petro. You were almost free. Why would you do something so stupid?
From the moment they had arrived at the apartment in Burlington, she had known how they had found her. As Leonid leered at her from the door, Petro strolled into the condo, slowly looking around with some amusement.
“This is somewhat of a step down, isn’t it, angel?” Petro had asked, running a perfectly manicured nail atop the furniture. She had said nothing, bile rising into her throat. Svetlana, why did you betray me? You are in exactly the same position as me! But she could not be angry with her cousin.
“Anything you want to take with you from this shithole before we go home, sweetheart?” Petro had asked conversationally, plopping down on the sofa. She shook her head quickly.
“Allow me to leave a letter, Petro.” Fury flashed through his blue eyes but before his anger escalated, she rushed on.
“You do not want a police investigation, do you? Let him think I have left on my own and there is no danger of anyone coming looking for us.” Instantly, Petro had sat back, placated by the explanation.
“Hurry up,” he ordered and “Marika” sat down to write, her mind racing furiously. Petro was bound to read the note so it had to be penned in such a way as to not arouse his suspicions. He stared at her expectantly.
“Well? Are you going to write it or not?” Nodding quickly, she began to write. Please don’t come home, she silently prayed as her hand flew across the page. Stay at the market. Take your time. She tossed the letter on the kitchen counter and gestured for the men to follow.
“Let’s go,” she told them. Leonid paused.
“Sir, shouldn’t we wait for him to come home?” the gorilla pressed. Petro shook his head, “Marika’s” words still ringing in his ears.
“No. We don’t need unnecessary attention here in the Americas. Let’s just get back to the hotel. We’ll be on the first flight out of here tomorrow morning.” Leonid did not look happy with the answer but he was trained better than to argue with Petro.
“Are you comfortable, Ангел?” Petro asked, leaning over to squeeze her bare knee across the armrest in the airplane. She winced, and turned her head but there was nowhere to look. Leonid’s disgusting face was equally as unappealing.
“The boss asked you a question, Alina,” Leonid growled. She whipped her head up and glared at him.
“I have ears, Leonid. I do not believe it is your place to tell me how to answer my husband,” she snarled. Leonid glowered and opened his mouth to retort but Petro gave him a look which silenced him instantly.
“How true are your words, my love,” Petro said smoothly. “Leonid seems to have forgotten who you are while you were on your little trip.”
“I can see that,” Alina retorted but inside her guts were a twisted mess of worry. There was no doubt that Petro was livid. His calm exterior was not fooling her in the least. She stared down at the unread magazine in her hands. A million thoughts were running through her head. She considered screaming for help. She thought about excusing herself to the bathroom and bolting off the plane. She even wondered if she could pull off a hijacking. But she dismissed all the plans, knowing that she would only put Jon in danger if she did anything but go compliantly with her husband. Alina hoped that Jon would understand her cryptic message. If he understands it, at least he will know that I did not leave him by choice. If he doesn’t he will be devastated. Either way, he will be miserable without me. The beautiful blonde thought of the time she had spent with Jon over the past months, how she had grown to adore him and how he had grown as a person. She had watched as his self-confidence had slowly built and he became a man, not a meek shadow. Alina knew that one day, Jon was going to stand up to the brother who had suffocated his ego for so long and she regretted that she would not be there to witness that shining moment. She continued to focus on Jon and not about the predicament in which she found herself. She dared not think of Petrol’s calculating eyes or Leonid’s seething on either side of her because she knew that once they returned home to Kiev, she was a dead woman.
Chapter Eight
“Jon, lower your voice!” Jordan hissed, closing the front door behi
nd him and pushing his brother-in-law onto the front lawn.
“Can you do it or not?” Jon did not abide by Jordan’s request and the younger man paled.
“No way, Jon. You’ll get us both arrested!”
“Have I ever asked you for anything, Jordy?” Jon stared at him, his eyes brimming with tears of frustration. Jordan shook his head and sighed.
“Johnny, please don’t put me on the spot like this,” he begged. “I can’t – “
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Jon…”
The idea had flooded over Jon in a whirlwind as he sat on Tristan’s couch, feeling lost. Jordan had once been a brilliant hacker. There was no firewall too daunting for him, no site too secure and no government agency off limits. When he was in college, he got caught hacking into the Pentagon’s security cameras, a feat he had only done for shits and giggles but that had ended his education. He had been both arrested and expelled. Tristan had broken up with him and refused to reunite unless he swore to never touch a computer again. Jordan had sworn to the gods above that he would not engage in any form of hacking or illegal activity if Tristan stayed. As far as Jon knew, he had adhered to his promise but that didn’t mean he lacked the knowledge. And Jon needed that knowledge.
The front door opened and Christopher stuck his head outside, not noticing the thickness in the air as the men stared at each other, emotions running high.
“Oh hey, Johnny! What are you doing here?” he called out to his younger brother. “I thought you and the girls were having a ladies’ night because your Russian whore took off with all your money.”
Jordan paled but as he looked at Jon, he could almost sense the second when something finally snapped. Jon’s kind, sorrowful eyes went blank, emotionless.
“Nope,” Jon replied in a calm tone which terrified Jordan to his core. Jon stepped in toward Chris and smiled madly. The punch was sudden but on its mark, sending Christopher wheeling backward into the house, spurts of blood streaming from his nose.
“I still have my money,” Jon called over his shoulder as he turned back to his car. He was gone before Christopher was able to rise to his feet, red painting his shocked, handsome face.
Heart racing, Jon threw on a terrycloth robe and scurried to the door. The pounding was increasing much like his pulse. Has Marika come home? She left her keys here. I saw them. After leaving Chris’ house earlier that night, he had driven home to Connecticut, turning off his cell phone as Tristan, Mary-Anne and Elyse began to call him frantically. There is nothing they can do for me now. Jordan was my last hope in finding Marika. If he won’t do it, I will have to find another way. I don’t need their rhetoric and platitudes. I need to find my fiancée. Once in the solitude of his condo, Jon had poured himself a scotch, trying to settle his nerves and found himself reliving his relationship with Marika. As he took a sip of the scotch, he remembered that he had met Marika online drinking scotch. On a whim, he opened his laptop and found the website where he had met her. He wondered if her profile was still active. To his disappointment, he saw it was not. He had no way to go back and see if there was some clue to her whereabouts. Elyse had been adamant that Marika was from the Ukraine.
“I would say Kiev, judging by her accent,” his sister-in-law said with conviction. “If there is one thing I know well, it’s accents. You have to trust me on this. Also, when I spoke to her in Hungarian, she had no idea what I was saying.”
“You must be wrong, Elyse. She came here from Hungary. I…saw her ticket myself. I picked her up from the gate.” Elyse shrugged her shoulders.
“I am not arguing with you but the Hungarian border is not far from Kiev. It would only take about twelve hours to get to Budapest from the capital city.” Jon blinked. Could Elyse be right? Why would Marika have claimed to be from Hungary? She must be in danger. Is she fleeing an abuser? Maybe her parents? He thought about how she had arrived in Connecticut wearing a two-thousand-dollar outfit, her hair beautifully coifed. She had not bore an iota of resemblance to the shabbily dressed women with whom he had exchanged emails. She had never spoken to him about money or even broached the subject but for the time she had redecorated the apartment. She didn’t even take anything with her. Not the jewelry, not her clothes, not even her toothbrush. She is in trouble. Whomever she was running from has found her somehow and taken her back to the Ukraine. I have to find her. But how? How will I find her? His next move brought him to her laptop. He stared at it for a long while before sighing and opening the screen. If I am wrong and she left on her own accord, I am violating her privacy by looking through here. His worry overrode his shame and he keyed in the password. But to his deep concern, there was nothing to lead him anywhere he hadn’t already been. Tears of frustration filled his eyes as he poured yet another drink. I am going to keep drinking until I can’t feel anything anymore. Eventually the alcohol took its toll on his battered, exhausted body and Jon made his way to the bedroom. He buried his face in Marika’s pillow, inhaling her scent, knowing that tomorrow it would be less. I should have stayed home tonight just sniffing this fabric, foregone Tristan’s altogether. Although, I have to admit, punching Chris was exhilarating. He had drifted off around one a.m. only to be woken by a solid hammering on his door at three.
As he stood at the door contemplating the danger at answering, he heard a voice call out.
“Jon, it’s me. Open up.”
Surprised, he yanked open the door. Jordan stood, somber face before him. He held out his hand and turned away.
“I can’t do it for you, but this is everything you need to hack into the airport’s security system. If Marika is booked on a flight, you’ll find it. Just follow the steps I wrote down.” Dumbfounded, Jon looked at the paperwork in his hands.
“Jordy, hey, listen, I know this was asking a lot. I appreciate it so much, brother.”
Jordan turned back, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses.
“I hope you find her, Jon. You deserve to be happy for once. And by the way, I’m glad you finally punched Chris. I’ve been wanting to do that for years. The way he talks to you and Tristan pisses me off.” Jon blinked, surprised by the confession. He had always thought that Jordan liked Chris more than him.
“I need you to make me a promise though, Jon.”
“Anything, Jordy.”
“You need to burn those papers as soon as you’re done. And for the love of God, never, ever tell Tristan about this!”
Petro had risen to use the bathroom and Alina was left sitting with Leonid. As soon as the man was out of eye’s view, Leonid turned to her.
“Were you really going to marry that man?” he asked. Alina did not answer him, instead continuing to flip through the magazine which had been on her tray for four hours. She had gone through it dozens of times but she had not read a word, her mind still focused on how she would get herself out this time. Even if he does not kill me now, he will keep me prisoner until I kill myself, she thought mournfully.
“I asked you a question, Alina,” Leonid hissed. She turned her face to him coldly.
“I think I will have to discuss with my husband how insubordinate you have become, Leonid. Have you forgotten who I am?”
He scowled deeply, his face becoming a mask of fury at her words.
“I have not forgotten,” he replied.
“Oh? Because it seems to me that a lowly bratok should not be questioning the wife of a pakhan in this form, or any other form for that matter.”
“Wife of a pakhan?” Leonid scoffed. “I thought you were an American whore.” Alina’s eyes widened at the words and she gritted her teeth to keep from raising her voice.
“Until your boss decides to murder me, I am still his wife and therefore your superior so I suggest you check your tone before I have him check it for you.”
“Oh, Alina. He will kill you, that is for certain. If you think you have any say in anything he does any longer, you are sorely mistaken. His love for you went out the door when you ran off thr
ee months ago.”
“Is that so? Then what am I doing here now?” Alina retorted. “He could happily have gone on with his life.”
“Surely you aren’t that naïve, Alina. His affections toward you have nothing to do with why you are here. You have insulted him. Did you think that he was going to allow you to marry an American man and do nothing?”
“I had hoped that he would realize I was unhappy and cared enough to let me go,” Alina told him and as she said it, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Petro was the head of the Bravata mafia in Kiev. She was his property and he would never allow her to be free, not in life anyway. Suddenly she realized she was spilling her heart to a soulless soldier.
“Until I hear otherwise, Leonid, I suggest you remember your place,” she told him curtly, returning to her book. The only thought keeping her sane at that moment was knowing that Jon was safe.
3:30 a.m.
Any remnants of the alcohol or tiredness disappeared from Jon’s body as he sat down at his computer. A cold sweat had broken out over his face. He read Jordan’s instructions carefully, knowing that he was about to delve into a highly illegal activity. I have to find Marika and get out of here before Homeland Security comes knocking down my door, he thought. He cracked his knuckles, noticing the red skin from where he had punched Chris. He deserves worse than that. When I find Marika, I am completely cutting that asshole out of my life. But Jon had more important matters with which to contend. Taking a deep breath, he began to log into Bradley International Airport security and closely following Jordan’s step-by-step design, he found himself looking over flight rosters. Woefully, as he stared at hundreds upon hundreds of names bound for Kiev the previous evening, Marika’s name did not materialize. Maybe Elyse is wrong? Maybe she is from Hungary. Maybe she moved to Hungary? On a whim, he checked flights to Budapest but still, he did not find her name. By five a.m., he had flipped over to security cameras in the international terminal, feeling hopelessly lost. His eyes were becoming grainy from peering at the screen but he dared not look away for a moment. He had started from footage in the previous day but his despair grew along with his sense of urgency. At 7.a.m., he was still staring at the screens, his lids growing heavy. And then he saw her. She was wedged between two men, heading toward the gate boarding Iberia flight 892. Jon sat forward in the chair, trying to make out the expression on her face but the footage was too grainy. She is in trouble, he thought, rising from his seat. Who are those two men? Has she been kidnapped? He reclaimed his seat and quickly jotted down the information he needed. Then he closed the security screens, hoping he had escaped detection. He went online and checked the airport departures. Iberia flight 892 had left for Kiev at 6:34 a.m. It had one scheduled layover in Paris at 8:12 p.m. before landing in Kiev at 8:45 a.m. Ukraine time, the following morning. Mind racing, Jon rushed into his bedroom to throw on a pair of pants and sweater. He stuffed his feet into a pair of running shoes, grabbing his keys from the counter in the kitchen and left the apartment. He was going to the Ukraine.
Romance: The Campus Player: A College Romance Page 62