Russian Enforcers Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

by Nic Saint

  She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. The noise, or whatever it was, had died away, and now she thought it had probably been a car gunning outside. The FBI hadn’t set her up in Manhattan, as she’d hoped, but in Trenton, New Jersey. And not the best part, either! The small studio apartment Nathan’s driver had brought her to was located in a seedy neighborhood in the worst part of town, and even though she wasn’t allowed outside, she’d seen enough from her window to know that even if she were allowed out, she wouldn’t want to go there anyway.

  She rolled over to her side, away from Roman’s mirage, and tried to find sleep once more. Then, when after five minutes sleep still hadn’t come, she decided to try a different tack, and briskly rose from the bed, slipped her feet into her Hello Kitty slippers and tiptoed to the kitchenette that was part of the one-room apartment. Opening the fridge, she took out a quart of milk, slammed a pan on the stove, poured the milk into the pan, then waited for it to heat up.

  In the morning, she decided, she would go out and visit Nikosj. She was sick and tired of waiting here in this sad excuse of an apartment for a man who would never return, for Mafia killers who weren’t even remotely interested in her, or for Nathan Callaway to send word of the latest developments.

  She was sick and tired of being holed up here without a word from anyone, and she decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Today was her last day in captivity. She would return to her old life, Mafia killers be damned! She would visit Nikosj, ask for a new part, and then go back to her old apartment, and pick up the pieces of her life.

  The prospect of taking back the control she’d lost exhilarated her. She was scared, sure, but most importantly, she felt empowered. Since that night at the Loganovs, when that killer had shown up, she hadn’t really thought about danger lurking in every nook and cranny. And even then, they would never come after her. Who was she, after all? Just a lowly actress that no one had ever heard about. Well, now she would be a lowly actress who’d had her brief fling with danger and had come out on top.

  And even if some asshole tried to take a shot at her, she didn’t care. Anything was better than spending the rest of her life cooped up in some dingy Trenton apartment, without a soul to speak to. She really wasn’t made for the solitary life. It drove her nuts!

  As she sipped the milk, she decided it needed a little extra spice, something to celebrate the decision to take her life back from these Mob goons. She dug into the small cupboard beneath the sink where her meager supply of foodstuffs were kept. She found the small bottle of Gentleman Jack she was looking for and poured an ample splash into her cup.

  Then, setting the cup to her lips, she quaffed deeply and eagerly.

  She wouldn’t cower in fear anymore, like a meek little lamb ready for the slaughter. She would roar like a lioness! Let the bastards know that no one messed with Dora Liverpool!

  When the first cup had disappeared down the hatch, she felt this life-altering decision asked for more, so she put the bottle to her lips and took a good swig.

  She had to hand it to the agency type who had stocked this apartment with food. They had a great taste in liquor. When she’d sucked up half the bottle, she finally returned to bed, feeling light on her feet and in a perfectly jolly mood.

  Tomorrow, she decided as she slipped between the covers and smiled to herself, Dora Liverpool would make a comeback, and no one, not even the Russian Mob, would be able to stop her.

  Then she tumbled into a dreamless sleep and was lost to the world. Even the scraping noise that had awakened her earlier didn’t bother her now. And even when the person responsible for the scraping sound approached the bed and stared down at her motionless form, she was still oblivious.

  CHAPTER 22

  She awoke with a start, and the distinct feeling someone had been staring at her stayed with her. While she showered, then prepared breakfast, she couldn’t shake it off. She even searched round the small space to see if anyone had decided to keep her company during the night. She couldn’t find a trace.

  She finally shrugged off her presentiment and devoured her toast and horrid coffee. Even though the booze had been excellent, the agency’s taste in coffee left a lot to be desired. If she ever saw Nathan Callaway again, she would have to have a word. It was bad enough people were forced to leave their old life behind, they could at least provide them with some decent coffee to soften the blow.

  She dumped an aspirin into a glass of water and swallowed it. Perhaps Gentleman Jack was a fine cure for insomnia, it didn't do much for her head.

  Slinging her purse across her shoulder, she took one last look around the apartment that had been her home for the past week, and stepped through the front door. Tripping down the stairs, she opened the front door a crack and peeked out. No one in sight. No car idling on the curb, two agents inside, or a burly copper advising her to stay indoors.

  Odd, she felt. The FBI provided her with a safe house, then took the safety right out of the house by leaving her unguarded. Budget cuts, perhaps. She stepped out onto the street. Feeling good about her decision to take her life back, she rounded the corner and started in search of a bus that would take her into town. She had no idea where she was, but that didn’t matter. She would soon thread her way to Nikosj and then take things from there.

  She’d just stepped onto the bus when a woman of familiar aspect walked up behind her. A cap slung low over her head, there was a vague resemblance to someone she’d seen before. Then she rejected the notion, figuring people in caps all looked alike anyway, and took a seat near the back of the bus.

  The woman, whoever she was, took the seat right in front of her.

  Minutes passed, and the bus slowly wound its way through early morning traffic, stopping to pick up and let off passengers. It soon filled up with commuters, and the sight of all these people filled her with a comforting feeling. The sensation she was finally part of the hubbub of big city life again.

  She felt certain now that she’d taken the right decision in leaving her recent troubles behind. Then she started contemplating a scheme to make her comeback. She could take on a different stage name, perhaps die her hair a different color, and go through life as Melodie London instead of Dora Liverpool. A redhead instead of a blonde. She was a pretty good actress. She could pull it off. That way, no one would ever come for her again. Not even Roman Loginovsky. Especially not Roman. Even if he wanted to find her, he wouldn’t be able to. Would serve him right, she thought with grim satisfaction. He would search and search and search…

  She smiled at a man with a bushy mustache who took a seat right next to her.

  Once again, she seemed to sense a vague familiarity, and once again she discarded it. All men with mustaches look alike. Everybody knows that.

  It was only when the man turned to her and gave her a wide smile, that she saw the rows of yellowing teeth, and with a pang of concern noted that he looked a lot like the ratty little man who had attacked her and Roman.

  Only when he suddenly spirited a gun into his hand and shoved the business end into her ribs, did she finally panic.

  Before the man had the chance to pull the trigger, however, the woman in the seat in front of her suddenly whirled around. The cap came off, and she now recognized in her Roman’s woman friend. Lidiya. Dora’s eyes went wide, and the next moments were a blur of movement—moves and countermoves.

  The man swung his gun up at the woman, but she easily deflected it with a karate chop. The gun dropped from the man’s grasp, and then he produced a knife from the recesses of his coat and tried to stab the woman with it. This, too, she had anticipated, for she punched her other hand into his chest. As the knife hand flailed helplessly through the air, it came dangerously close to stabbing Dora. She deftly avoided the pointy end, not keen on some horrid little man puncturing holes in her just because he felt like it.

  Feeling quite upset now, she sank her teeth into the killer’s hand and bit down as hard as she could, drawing blood. He yelped in p
ain and dropped the knife, then tried to punch Dora’s lights out.

  She held onto his arm, however, clutching it with both arms while the woman landed punch after punch on the man’s ratty face.

  To her surprise, the mustache came off, and she would have facepalmed herself if she’d had a free hand. Of course! She should have recognized a fake mustache when she saw it.

  A woman unleashed, Lidiya landed a rain of blows on the man’s face and torso, and then, finally, struck out with her foot, giving him a wallop against the side of the head that signified lights out for the douchebag. Dora felt his arm go limp, and as he slumped in his seat, out for the count, she sighed with relief.

  “Come with me if you want to live!” Lidiya urged, and grabbed Dora’s hand.

  She let herself be dragged along the gangway to the exit, then had a vague notion of two more men approaching them, their eyes blazing with murderous intent, and was grateful the doors swooped open, and they were down the steps and off the bus.

  Running full out, she followed Lidiya, and then they dove into a side street and were swallowed up by a throng of milling people. They’d arrived at a fruit and vegetable market, the woman deftly meandering through shoppers and stalls, Dora in her wake. Good thing she’d taken ballet classes as a girl, she thought as she sidestepped surprised shoppers. She ducked into another alleyway, following the black-haired slim form of her savior, who seemed to know exactly where she was going.

  They were racing up a set of steps now, and when she looked back, she saw the two men at the mouth of the alley, trying to ascertain their whereabouts. Then they were up and over the wall, and crawling down the other side, and running down a deserted alley, dodging trash cans and sidestepping filthy puddles, dumpsters lining the rears of houses and restaurants. An alley cat looked up from its meal of fishbones, meowing angrily at this interruption.

  Without looking back, they hurtled on, then took a right turn and hopped through a back door into the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant. Waving merrily at the stunned Chinese kitchen workers, she stepped past gleaming counters, buckets of fish waiting to be cooked and then into the main room, where only a few patrons were seated at this time of the day.

  Hurrying along the tables, they arrived at the front door, and the woman briefly glanced out into the street. Then, when she seemed to feel the coast was clear, she opened the door and stepped out, Dora right behind her.

  This was kind of exciting, she thought, if only it hadn’t been so terrifyingly real and darned scary! A shiny red motorcycle stood parked in front of the restaurant, and the woman hurried to it, then snatched the helmet from the steering wheel, tipped a young Chinese kid ten bucks and thanked him for keeping an eye on her wheels, and handed Dora a second helmet.

  Without a word, the two women climbed on, and just when two goons came bursting through the restaurant door into the street, Lidiya roared the engine to life. As the thugs raced after them, their faces red and eyes shooting fire, she put the bike in gear and roared off, leaving the men cursing and screaming.

  A gunshot rang out, and Dora yelped and ducked. There was no pain, and when she looked down at her chest, no holes. She sighed with relief and clutched her savior closely around the waist, holding on for dear life as the bike accelerated and roared down the small streets and alleys of Trenton.

  She now realized that her plan to return to her old life had been naive.

  It seemed to her there were plenty of people who didn’t really want to see Dora Liverpool return to the stage, even if she painted her hair red and changed her name to Marjorie London.

  The only stage they wanted to see her on was a slab at the local coroner’s office, and the only role they wanted her featured in was the role of a dead body.

  CHAPTER 23

  The race was run, and when the motorcycle finally powered down, Dora was surprised to find herself in front of a familiar building. It was the hotel where she’d stayed when impersonating Ariel Cole. Frowning at her savior’s back, she stepped from the bike.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she removed the helmet and shook out her long blond tresses. The woman didn’t smile, but merely inclined her head at the hotel. “Go in and head up to your room. All will be explained.”

  She rolled her eyes, then planted her hands on her hips. “You better explain to me now, sister. What are you doing here? Why were you following me? And who were those goons chasing us?”

  Lidiya merely shrugged. “Goodbye, Miss Liverpool.”

  Dora’s response was drowned by the roar of the engine, and before she could inquire any further, her mysterious savior was racing off with screaming tires, leaving her coughing in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

  Dammit. The woman might have saved her life, but it was obvious she wasn’t too happy about it.

  With a scowl, she stepped into the hotel, where last time she’d run out being chased by the same ferrety little man who’d tried to kill her on the bus today.

  Striding past the reception desk, she made her way to the bank of elevators and rode the car up to the seventh floor. She wondered how she was going to get into the room without a key. Arriving at her destination, she was surprised to find the door ajar, as if someone was expecting her.

  With trepidation, she nudged the door open, then stepped inside. The room was empty, no one in sight. She entered the familiar space, which had been her home for a week. Very slowly, she inched forward into the living room, then spotted a tray on a side table in the salon, a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket, three glasses ready to be filled with bubbly.

  Whoever was here was having a celebration of some kind, apparently.

  She walked on, then opened the door to the bedroom to see if anyone was hiding in there.

  “Um, hello? Is anybody here?”

  The sound of a tap being turned off in the bathroom alerted her attention, and when she backtracked to remove herself from a room where she was clearly not welcome, she faltered when she found herself face to face with a tall man of dark aspect.

  He was young and handsome, and the towel casually slung around his waist indicated this suite was his.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I—the door was open, so I figured…”

  He gave her a warm smile. “Dora Liverpool, I presume? Most welcome, Miss Liverpool. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He spoke English with a faint Russian accent, and her eyes went wide in astonishment “You-you know me?”

  “Of course.” With a grin, he gestured at his unusual attire. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, hence my state of undress.”

  “Somebody dropped me off and said to come right up. Some woman.”

  “Yes,” said the man, who still hadn’t introduced himself. He returned to the bathroom. “Lidiya Kotova. She is one of our associates. We told her to keep an eye on you, in case any overzealous elements tried to cause you harm.”

  “Well, they did,” she told the man through the bathroom door. “Some guy tried to kill me on the bus, then two others chased us down the street.”

  “Most unfortunate,” the man’s voice sounded. “I’ll have you know this won’t occur again, Miss Liverpool. You have my word.”

  “Who are you?” she finally asked, not able to curb her curiosity any longer.

  The man suddenly appeared before her again, this time dressed in business attire. He looked quite dapper, she thought. “Didn’t I tell you?” he inquired, cocking a single eyebrow.

  “No, you didn’t,” she returned, feeling more at ease now that he wasn’t half naked anymore.

  He gestured to the door. “Please follow me into the living room, Miss Liverpool. I find its atmosphere more conducive to conversation.”

  Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. He invited her to take a seat on the couch, then poured her a glass of champagne, and handed it to her.

  She took a sip, then repeated her question. “I’m sorry, but who are you, exactly? And what—”

  “What are you doing
here? Right, of course.” He cleared his throat and thrust out his cuffs, then frowned. “I’m not accustomed to the business end of the corporation yet, I’m afraid. Things have moved quite rapidly these past few days.” Then he inclined his head with a smile. “My name is Yulian Gornakov, Miss Liverpool. You might have heard of me.”

  With a start, she shot back in her seat, almost sloshing champagne all over herself. “You—you—” Her eyes instantly shifted to the door, where escape lay. “You’re the one who tried to have me killed,” she blurted out.

  He grimaced. “Yes. Sorry about all that. I’m afraid there’s been quite a bit of confusion. In point of fact, it was my uncle who tried to have you killed.”

  “Your uncle?” She strained her memory, trying to remember which Gornakov this one was the son of.

  “Yes. Vladimir Gornakov. I’m actually Yuri’s son.” He leaned forward as fear rushed across her face. “But you need not concern yourself with them any longer, Miss Liverpool. Both my uncle and father have been removed from the seat of power as it were, and are no longer calling the shots.” He grinned. “Pun intended, as you Americans say.”

  “But—but your father…” She vividly remembered the conversation in Vitaly and Joanna’s house. The feud between brothers. The son and heir who refused to take over the family business.

  He smiled. “I was reluctant to step in, I’m afraid, but once I learned what was going on, I decided I could no longer stay on the sidelines. This unholy bond with Alexei Demiakov was most unsavory.” He looked up. “He won’t be bothering you anymore either, Miss Liverpool. He’s been… taken care of, let us say.”

  “You killed him?”

  The man laughed. “Oh, no, of course not. I’m not that kind of person. I’ve decided to take the Gornakov business legit. No more shady deals, no more murder and mayhem. From now on, everything will be perfectly aboveboard. Done with the past. And Alexei, I’m afraid, is now serving a very long prison sentence, as are both Yuri and Vladimir. Though because of their advanced age, my father and uncle will be serving their sentence in a hospital just outside of Moscow.”