by Rachel Rust
“But you didn’t sound like you wanted to.”
“What does that even mean?”
I snapped my head up to look at him. “It means you were an ass to me on the phone. I needed your help, and you acted like you barely even knew me.”
“Natalie…” he drifted off, crossing his arms on his chest, leaning back onto the wall.
“Natalie, what?” I demanded. “Natalie, you’re being immature? Natalie, you have no idea what you’re talking about? Natalie, why are you wasting the time of a big, bad FBI guy? Natalie, you’re just a stupid eighteen-year-old girl?”
“Natalie, I was on a conference call.” He stared at me with a dead expression, eyes dark under his messy hair. “I couldn’t talk freely. I had other people listening in, including Thatcher, who happens to be my boss. But thanks for thinking I’m an asshole.”
My mouth opened and words stammered out, “I didn’t say that … I mean … that’s not what I meant.”
“Really?”
Okay, it was totally what I had meant. He did sounded like an asshole on the phone that day. But I was stupid for not figuring out that there had been a reason behind his callousness. A reason as simple as the fact that other people had been around. It made total sense that others, especially Thatcher, had been a part of that phone call. I was a major witness to a major crime. When I had left a voicemail for Eddie, there had probably been a great deal of interest by many people about what I had to share with him.
I looked back down at my feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Anything else you’d like to say, or accuse me of?”
I shook my head. But yes, there was so much more that I wanted to say now that I had him right there in front of me. I wanted to tell him how much I had missed him. How relieved I was that he was standing in front of me. And I wanted to hug and kiss him again, and run my fingers through his messy brown hair.
Except I didn’t do or say any of it. With dissolved pride, I slipped past him, into the bathroom.
After a long, hot shower, I twisted my hair into a fluffy white towel and wrapped the fluffy white hotel robe around my damp body. The bedroom was cool with air conditioning. I opened the door an inch and peered out with one eye. Eddie was across the living room in the other bedroom, his back to me, looking at a computer with Toby.
I closed the door and ignored the clothes in the dresser. On top of the perfectly made king-size bed, I fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
I woke up in the morning with a stream of sunlight across my eyes. The cream curtains were shut—almost. The inch of space between the two swaths of fabric were just enough for Mother Nature to rudely interrupt my slumber.
I rolled over, to put the annoying sun behind me. But behind closed eyes, I didn’t fall back to sleep. Memories of the day before played in my mind like a high-speed reel. Brandon and the black van in the mall parking lot. The strange man’s accented voice. Seeing Eddie next to me in the backseat. Coming to this hotel, meeting Toby, finding out my dad thinks I’m happily away at a camp in the woods.
Good for him, I thought. Despite the fact that he was being lied to, I was happy my dad wasn’t worried about me. No matter how all this turned out, I wanted my dad and Josh as far away from it as possible. And even if the worst happened—if I never came back home—at least their grieving would be held off for as long as possible.
I slid out of bed and retightened my robe. My hair had fallen out of the towel at some point overnight, leaving me with weird waves in my long hair. I combed it out as best I could and then opened the bedroom door a few inches. In the living room sat Eddie, Han, and Thatcher, looking over some manila files on the center coffee table.
Eddie looked up at me with no expression and then returned his attention to the file in his hand. Another memory from last night smacked me in the face: I had insulted Eddie, accused him of not caring about me, accused him of being an asshole. My face flushed, and I looked away from him and caught Thatcher’s attention.
“Good morning, dear,” she said, glancing at my robe. “We’ll call up some breakfast. Why don’t you get dressed and then join us?”
My stomach rumbled, and food sounded good. Better than good. It sounded excellent and I pretty much wanted to eat everything on whatever menu they had downstairs. But I wanted answers more than food or clothes.
I slipped out the door and sat in a small red armchair, facing the three agents as though ready for an inquisition. Except it was me who had all the questions.
“What’s going to happen now?” I asked. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“Like I told you last night,” Eddie said. “We can’t have you go home until we hear from Denver.”
“What’s going on in Denver?”
“We have a field office there, and Agent Baker is—”
“Pretending to be me?”
“Yes,” Han said. “She’s holed up in a shitty little motel and Romanov’s men are watching her. Once they get close enough, our guys’ll move in on them. And once Romanov is in custody, you’ll be okay to go home.”
“Who’s Romanov?”
“Sergei Romanov,” Thatcher said. “Well-known trafficker. He’s the man who had you kidnapped yesterday.”
“Eastern European accent?”
“Russian,” Han said. “He’s The Barber’s partner.”
I shook my head. “No, he’s not. He told me that The Barber only worked for him, but that The Barber wasn’t his equal and they weren’t partners. He said he had a partner once, but that, and I quote, ‘didn’t end well.’”
Thatcher clasped her hands together. “Well, look at that, you’re helping us already.”
She smiled and I ignored her condescension. I didn’t think she was trying to be condescending. She seemed to sense my apprehension and wanted to make me feel less afraid. I liked Thatcher. She had a parental sense about her, a watchful eye and quick smile. It made me miss my own dad, even though my dad wasn’t exactly quick with a smile. More like quick with a mini-life lecture. But still, my dad was familiar and comfortable … unlike everything else in my life right now.
“Is that why I’m here?” I asked. “To help you guys?”
“You’re under no obligation to help us with anything,” Eddie said. “You’re here so we can maintain your safety.”
Thatcher nodded in agreement, but the glare Han shot Eddie told me the opposite—they did want my help, Eddie just wouldn’t admit it for some reason.
“Is this Romanov guy the one who sent me those pictures and the letter with the drug residue?”
“We believe so, yes,” Thatcher said. “It was a scare tactic. He was messing with your head. He likes his victims fearful and confused.”
“Well, it worked.” I crossed my arms with a huff. “Did you get a copy of everything from Detective Wilson at the police station?”
Thatcher grinned a little. “Indeed, we did.”
“There is no Detective Wilson,” Eddie said with a slight shake of his head. “It’s a code for sending materials to this task force.”
My eyes narrowed as the information sank in. “So when you told me to drop things off for Detective Wilson, you were actually having me drop them off for you?”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “See? I told you I had been helping you.”
I waved away his cockiness, despite how cute he was. “Romanov told me he was selling me to get back some of the money he lost after The Barber was arrested. He said he had been expecting a delivery from The Barber, which never came. A delivery of girls, I assume?”
Eddie and Thatcher both shook their heads at the same time.
“Guns,” Eddie said. “Sergei isn’t a human trafficker. Occasionally drugs, but his main business is arms dealing.”
“Then why would he kidnap me and sell me? Is he really that hard up for money?”
“No,” Thatcher said. “Taking you was never about money.”
“Then what was it about?”
Silence fille
d the room as all three agents stared down at the files on the coffee table.
“Was it to get back at Eddie for arresting The Barber and interfering with his business?” I asked.
Thatcher raised her head and answered. “It’s not yet clear what Sergei Romanov’s motive was in kidnapping you. Maybe pure vindictiveness, as that certainly would fit his character. However, at this point there’s no clear-cut answer.”
I sat back with a slight grumble. “You’re FBI, can’t you guys figure this stuff out in your sleep?”
Han scoffed. “Sure, just as soon as you tell us what your link to Romanov is. Why he would—”
“Agent Kim,” Thatcher tersely interjected, shutting down her subordinate.
Han sat back on the sofa, glaring at me.
“What do you mean, my link to Romanov?” I asked. “I have no link to him. I didn’t even know who he was until you told me.”
Eddie shot Han an irritated look before turning his attention to me. “You asked me on the phone if I had heard about Arthur Kellen’s death.”
I nodded, fearful of what he’d say next. Fearful he’d confirm my worst paranoid suspicions—that Mr. Kellen hadn’t died peacefully in his sleep. That it wasn’t just a coincidence that he died two weeks after Eddie and I had been put together for his assignment.
“Officially, his death’s been ruled an accident,” Eddie said. “Ya know, people fall down stairs and hit their heads sometimes. But that’s not what really happened.”
“Arthur Kellen was killed by Sergei Romanov,” Han said.
My hands flew up over my mouth. “Shit.”
“Arthur Kellen had contacted the police the day before his death, wanting to speak to someone about confessing to a possible crime. But he never made it. He did, however, mail a confession letter before his death, stating that he had agreed to put two students into harm’s way after being threatened with death and promised a six-figure bank transfer.”
“Two students?” I asked. “That was Eddie and me?”
“You two being partners was not random,” Thatcher said. “It was planned.”
I looked to Eddie. “I don’t understand.”
“It wasn’t coincidence that you and I were put together for that school assignment,” Eddie said. “Sergei Romanov had us paired up on purpose.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Excuse me, what?” My confusion was so thick, I could barely speak. “We were paired up together on purpose?”
“Yes,” Eddie said.
“But we had never even spoken to one another before that assignment. I knew nothing about you. I honestly believed you were an eighteen-year-old drug dealer named Victor.”
“I know. But Sergei had his reasons to put us together … reasons we’re still trying to decipher.”
“There has to be a link between the two of you that we’re unaware of,” Thatcher said.
“That makes no sense,” I said. “Eddie and I have nothing in common. I grew up here in Rapid City, Eddie’s from Ohio. We’re not even the same age.”
Thatcher put a hand up. “We’re working on identifying the link between you and Agent Martinez. Let us handle that, Miss Mancini.”
I turned to Eddie. “If Sergei paired us up on purpose, does that mean he knew back then that you were an FBI agent undercover?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he warn The Barber that there was an FBI agent dealing drugs for him?”
Eddie sat back with a heavy sigh. “In order to understand that, you need to understand Sergei Romanov.”
I tucked my legs up under me in the chair, settling in for the story. “Okay, tell me more about Romanov.” I wanted all the information I could get on the bastard that had me thrown into a van like stray dog, and was responsible for my still-raw skin around my wrists. The bastard who had messed with my life in incredibly awful ways.
Eddie placed the file he had been looking at on the coffee table. “Sergei Romanov, brother of Grigory.”
“Who’s Grigory?”
Eddie’s deep eyes held mine. “The Barber.”
“They’re brothers? But The Barber had an American accent.”
“Grigory, The Barber, is nineteen years younger than Sergei. The Barber grew up in the US whereas Sergei grew up in the Soviet Union.”
“Wait—if you’ve known who The Barber was for a long time, why didn’t you arrest him a long time ago?” I asked. “Why did you have to wait until he took me hostage?”
“Grigory Romanov is dead on paper. We had no concrete intel to connect the man known as The Barber with the identity of Grigory Romanov. Plus, we didn’t have a lead on where The Barber was in the community—of who he was in the community. He laid pretty low.”
I gave Eddie a playful glare. “Two weeks ago, you told me you didn’t know The Barber’s real name.”
He grinned. “I was undercover, I had to tell you that.”
“If you thought The Barber was bad,” Han said, “his brother is even worse.”
Eddie nodded. “Sergei was hardened from an early age, standing in line for rations of food, bare knuckle fights to feed his family, and he spent fifteen years in an unheated prison for nearly beating a guy to death when he was sixteen after the man had raped his sister. You see, The Barber is patient compared to his older brother, having had a more pampered upbringing here in The States. Where The Barber would sometimes hear people out and consult with colleagues, Sergei rules with an iron fist and doesn’t give people more than one chance to answer the right way.” Eddie wrung his hands together and avoided my gaze. “Let’s just say, had it been Sergei in that coffee shop with you two weeks ago, you wouldn’t be alive to sit here today.”
My heart pounded, remembering The Barber. His threats of dismembering me and sending parts to my dad, his straight razor, his gun against my head. If he was the nice brother, then the cologne-wearing, Russian-accented brother from last night was one person I never wanted to have another run-in with again.
“So why didn’t Sergei warn The Barber that there was an undercover FBI agent selling drugs for him?”
“Because he’s ruthless,” Eddie said. “He felt The Barber was too weak to keep around—no good business man lets the FBI infiltrate him. So Sergei fed his own brother to the wolves in order to keep his operation running. Get rid of the weakest links … even if it’s your own flesh and blood.”
Eddie slapped down a photo in front of me—a bruised body lying in a pool of blood on a concrete floor. I flinched and looked away.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Last night The Barber was beaten to death in jail.” Eddie took the photo away. “We believe it was a hit put out by his own brother.”
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Sergei Romanov had his own brother killed?” A chill ran down my spine, remembering Sergei’s voice. His scent. The feel of his fingers grabbing my chin. “How do you know so much about this Sergei guy?”
“I’ve spent the last year and a half doing nothing but studying him.” Eddie put his hands out, looking around the suite. “That’s what this whole task force is for.”
“So last month when you were trying to find The Barber, that was only a stepping stone to nailing his brother?”
“Yes.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “You knew that even after The Barber was arrested that Sergei would come back for me out of revenge for lost merchandise.”
Eddie nodded. “We knew it was a possibility, yes. And once we learned that Sergei had arranged for us to be paired together on that assignment, we increased your FBI security—because that meant he has a motive for wanting you that has nothing to do with me or the FBI.”
My head went woozy with the thought—a criminal mastermind had sought me out? It made no sense. Why did I get chosen to be paired with Eddie? Why not some other random student in that class? I was no one special.
“You hoped Sergei would come for me, didn’t you?” I asked. Eddie opened his mouth to disagree, but I cut him off.
“You said a couple of weeks ago that the FBI takes calculated risks to get the bad guy. You risked my life to get The Barber, and you’re willing to do it again to get his brother now, aren’t you? You’re using me like a carrot, just like before. Dangling me out front to lure in this Sergei guy.”
None of the men spoke.
“Admit you want my help to get Sergei Romanov,” I demanded.
Eddie looked at Thatcher and Han before answering. “Yes, we’d like your help.”
I crossed my arms. “I knew it.”
Eddie put a defensive hand up. “Look, before you get all pissed off—”
“Who’s pissed? I want to help.”
Eddie gave me an incredulous look. “You do?”
“Hell, yes,” I said standing up, unable to tamp down the vengeful rage coursing through me.
“Sit down and think this through before you agree to anything,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot already, and you are under no obligation to help. Maybe it’d be best if you just lay low and—”
I shook my head. “No, this is my choice. I want to help. This guy Sergei chose me for some sick reason. And he had me kidnapped—in broad daylight! He sold me, threatened to drug me, and he probably would kill me now if he got the chance. And let’s not forget that he sent me that stupid letter, threatening my scholarship. Maybe you’re right and he only did it as a scare tactic, but you can’t tell me he doesn’t have the power to actually take my education way from me. Because I’m pretty sure he does.”
Eddie and Thatcher nodded in agreement with my assertion.
“So fuck him,” I said, making Eddie smile. “Tell me what I need to do. How can I help bring him down? I’m the bait, right? I’m going to lure in Sergei.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Thatcher said. “Agent Baker is down in Denver—as you—playing that role. Luring in Sergei’s men.”
“What we need from you is entirely different,” Eddie said. “You have knowledge about Sergei that not many people have.”
My eyebrows scrunched down. “I don’t know anything about him except what you just told me.”