His eyes narrowed. He gazed at her with a frown on his face. Then he shook his head. “Too danger. If Vlad find out, I am dead.”
“Not if no one tells him. I won’t. Neither will you.”
“He find out.”
“How?”
Sergei shrugged. “He has ways. He check cell sometime.”
A wave of guilt rolled over her. With her luck, he’d check Sergei’s phone today. Sergei didn’t deserve Vlad’s wrath. No one did. “I’m sorry for using your phone.” She paused. “But, if he finds out, I’ll take the blame. I’m probably going to die anyway.”
Sergei eyed her without speaking.
“Look, I don’t care. It’s too late for me. But my sister—she has a life. I don’t want her to come into contact with Vlad. It’s too dangerous. You know that.”
Still no answer. They walked to the edge of a stand of trees and turned around.
“Have you delivered the letter yet?”
“Today.”
She clapped her hands. “That’s perfect. Go ahead and deliver it, but then hang around and tell her to ignore the whole thing.”
He looked doubtful, which, perversely, filled Vanna with hope. It meant he was considering it.
“And don’t forget what we’re gonna do afterward,” she purred.
Sergei didn’t say anything, but he stopped walking. “I have daughter. In Ukraine.”
Vanna stopped too. “Then you know how important it is to protect her. All I’m asking is that you help me save my sister.”
“And if Vlad’s men follow?”
“Vlad trusts you. You’re his driver.”
He rolled his eyes, as if that was meaningless in the great scheme of things. Then he started back toward the house. “I make no promise.”
The thought occurred to her that he might be setting her up. That he might double-cross her, run to Vlad, and tell him what she wanted. But she had played her last card. She just had to pray he wouldn’t. She touched his arm and pulled it toward her. “Will you at least try?”
He shrugged.
“You know where Wilder Street is?”
Chapter 93
Savannah
Two days passed before Vanna and Jenny found themselves in the kitchen at the same time as the new girl, whose name was Ivona. Sergei hadn’t come back to the farm, and a new guard with greasy hair and a full beard was on duty when Zoya was away. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in months, and Vanna didn’t want to think about what could be trapped in his beard or under his fingernails. He stationed himself with his back to the door and scowled at them.
Vanna tried to ignore him. She was worried about Sergei. Sometimes he did disappear for a few days doing errands for Vlad. She convinced herself that’s what was he was doing and concentrated on Ivona.
The girl had brown eyes and limp, straw-like hair that hung to her shoulders. Except for her belly, she was waiflike and pale. Her teeth were yellow and crooked—she could have used an orthodontist. But that would be a luxury for a Russian immigrant.
She tried to draw the girl out, using the same combination of pigeon English and gestures she’d used with Sergei, but Ivona wouldn’t make eye contact and sat hunched over, as if she was folding into herself, trying to disappear.
“When are you due?” Vanna asked. She shot a glance toward the guard. He stared back, his expression hard and flat. She’d assumed he didn’t understand English; now she wasn’t sure.
“Nothing.” Ivona said only the one word, but her Slavic accent was heavy.
Vanna shook her head. “When does baby come?” Vanna patted her own belly.
Ivona looked up. “Soon.”
“Vlad?” Vanna asked.
Ivona nodded.
Vanna felt a stab of anguish. Another girl impregnated by Vlad. Jenny was right. She, Vanna, was just another girl who had been knocked up. Nobody special. But then, why had he treated her like she was? Had she imagined it? She fingered her earrings.
“Where are you from?” Vanna asked.
“Latvia,” Ivona answered without looking up.
“How long are you here?”
“My cousin come Northbrook. He meet Vlad. Vlad say to tell me I get big job here. Make much money.”
“So when did you come?”
“One year.”
Vanna gave her a cheerless nod. Another soul who thought the streets of America were paved with gold.
Now Ivona looked up. “How long you?”
“About six months.”
“But you American. Her too.” She motioned to Jenny.
“So what?” Jenny said. “We’re all in the same boat.”
Ivona frowned. “Boat? What boat?”
“She means situation,” Vanna explained.
“Maybe, maybe no.”
“What does that mean?” Jenny asked.
“Maybe you okay.”
“What do you mean ‘okay’? How could we be?’”
Ivona gazed long and hard at Jenny. “You know.”
“Know what? What are you talking about?”
The guard started toward them. Zoya didn’t like the girls talking among themselves, and she must have told him to break up any conversation that lasted more than a few seconds. Ivona spoke sharply to him in Russian. The guard stopped. She held up her palm and wiggled her fingers.
“Stupid peasant,” Ivona said. “I say we talk nail polish.”
“Ivona,” Vanna said impatiently. “Tell us what you mean by ‘okay.’”
Ivona lay her hand down on the table. She gazed at Vanna with an expression that said she had nothing left to live for. Then she heaved a sigh. “I tell.” She paused and stole a glance at the guard. “Before here I in apartment. Girl start to have baby. They take away. She not back.”
Vanna remembered they were supposed to be talking about nail polish. She spread her hands like Ivona. “Maybe they adopted out the baby and put the girl back on the street. That’s what they do. It’s their beezniss,” she said mimicking a Russian accent.
The guard jerked up his head. Vanna bit her lip. That was a mistake.
Ivona shook her head so forcefully her pale hair flew around her face. She tapped her lips. “No. I speak Russian. Guards talk.”
“About the girl?”
“About all.”
“What about them?”
Ivona leaned toward them. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
The smelly guard scowled and took a step forward. Vanna guessed they had only a few seconds before he forced them back to their rooms.
“The babies adopt. But the mothers…they kill. Then sell parts. To hospitals.”
Jenny blanched. “What? That’s crazy. How do you know?”
Ivona pointed to her ear. “They say can get lots money for heart or liver, so they sell. And kill mother.”
Jenny clapped a hand over her mouth.
“That can’t be true,” Vanna spit out. “You’re lying.”
Ivona threw Vanna a patronizing look just as the guard hurried over. He forced them to stand, marched Ivona upstairs, and slammed the door. Then he did the same to Vanna and Jenny.
Chapter 94
Savannah
Three nights later, sometime after midnight, Ivona started screaming so loudly that Vanna awoke from a deep sleep. She hurried to her door and twisted the knob. But the door remained locked, and she no longer had a nail file to pick the lock. Ivona’s screams intensified and were interspersed with curse words in both English and Russian. She was in labor.
Finally, she heard the thud of feet on the stairs, and Zoya’s voice, speaking urgently to someone. The smelly guard, probably. Metallic clinks followed as someone fumbled with the key. The door squeaked open, and Zoya shouted in Russian. Ivona yelled back and the two of them went at it, back and forth. Then Zoya thumped back out into the hall. She started muttering. Vanna leaned her ear against the door. Zoya was making a call on her cell, she thought. But with Ivona’s screams and the guard, who was now yelling as wel
l, it was hard to be sure.
A few minutes later Zoya’s voice could be heard, now calm and quiet, talking to the guard. Vanna heard a grunt—the guard? Footsteps shuffled. Ivona’s screams reached a fevered pitch, but they seemed rent with something new. Despair, Vanna thought, and deep sorrow. Vanna heard the guard hustle Ivona down the stairs and out the door, but her cries reverberated through the house. Where were they taking her? For a moment there was a lull. Then Vanna heard another blood-curdling shriek, followed by heavy silence.
Chapter 95
Savannah
The next morning Vanna called to Jenny through the vent. There was no reply.
“Jenny?” Vanna raised her voice. “You awake?”
Still no answer.
Goose bumps spread up and down her arms, and her skin crawled with fear. “Jenny?”
Was she still asleep? Or down in the kitchen? Usually they were taken downstairs together. She lay in her bed, worrying a hand through her hair until she heard a tread on the stairs.
Someone knocked on the door. “Get up,” the voice said harshly. Vanna’s stomach flipped. Whoever it was spoke English without an accent.
She threw on sweats. A new guard unlocked the door and entered. Shaved head, not too tall, but barrel-chested and built like an eighteen-wheeler. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and a holster with a gun belted around his waist.
“Who are you?” Vanna asked.
“Your worst nightmare.”
“But where is—”
“Shut up. Or you’ll end up like your friend.”
What was he talking about?
“Downstairs.” He pulled out his gun and aimed it at her. “And remember this is loaded.”
Vanna made her way down the stairs. Something was very wrong. No one had ever pointed a gun at her. Where was Jenny? Where was Sergei, for that matter?
In the kitchen Zoya was on her cell. The smelly guard was by the door, but the new guard stayed only inches away, invading her personal space.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She did.
Zoya disconnected and stared hard at Vanna. “What you know?”
Vanna was confused. “About what?”
“Jinny,” Zoya said, pronouncing the e like an i. “I know you talk through vent. What she say?”
“Nothing.” Vanna looked around, her fear rising. “Where is she?”
Zoya’s lips pressed into a grim, tight line. “What she say you last night?”
“Nothing.” Panic skipped up Vanna’s spine. “What happened?”
The new guard and Zoya exchanged glances. Zoya threw him a nod, and he spoke. “Your friend managed to escape last night during the—when the other girl was screaming.”
Vanna’s eyes went wide. “Jenny?” She didn’t think Jenny had it in her to run. Especially by herself.
“Yeah, well, she didn’t make it far.”
Vanna froze.
“We eventually found her on 173 near Harvard. Let’s just say…” He hesitated. “…she won’t be coming back.”
Chapter 96
Savannah
Before they locked her in her room again, Vanna heard on the radio that the body of a young blond pregnant girl had been found on Route 173. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Vanna’s stomach pitched, and she ran to the bathroom to vomit. When she returned, the announcer reported that police were still investigating another murder a few days earlier in Evanston. That time it was an Eastern European man, gunned down from an SUV in a drive-by. One look at the new guard, defiant yet proud, was all it took. Sergei was dead.
No one cared whether she lived or died. Not Vlad. Not Zoya. Not her mother. Not the half sister she didn’t know but hoped would somehow rescue her. All she had was the memory of a loving father, and he was dead. She was alone. Nobody’s child. Her life wasn’t worth a sheet of used toilet paper. The first time she’d heard the expression, she thought it was just the cynicism of an acne-scarred kid she went to high school with. She knew better now.
Chapter 97
The two guards hustled Georgia into the farmhouse. They stripped off her coat, her fisherman’s sweater, and her boots. They found her cell phone and her baby Glock right away, as well as the throw-down in her ankle holster. Georgia tried to concentrate on her surroundings, looking for a way to escape, but she was now wearing just a tank top, jeans, and socks, which were soaked through. Although the kitchen was warm, its heat seemed to mock how cold she was, and she couldn’t stop shivering.
The men cuffed her hands behind her back, tied her to a kitchen chair, and stuffed a gag in her mouth. Then they congratulated themselves with shots of vodka. They talked in Russian, but one rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and laughed, all the while throwing lewd grins at Georgia. The other, a dopey smile on his face, thumped his glass on the table whenever he wanted another shot. Georgia didn’t need a translator.
Someone with a heavy tread thumped down the stairs.
“Chto proishodit?” a sandpapery voice called out. Georgia knew that voice. The guards quieted, and a moment later Zoya came into the kitchen. When she spotted Georgia, she halted midstep. At least Georgia had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s jaw drop.
“You!” Zoya’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Georgia didn’t answer. The guards exchanged worried glances. Evidently they were afraid of the woman.
Zoya folded her arms, and her expression went flat. She stared at Georgia for a long moment. Then she said in clear English, “Put in dead girl’s room.”
Georgia flinched. Had that been Savannah’s room?
*
Great PI she was, Georgia thought after they dragged her upstairs, threw her into a bedroom, and locked the door. Unspeakable things were happening in this place, and she was powerless to do anything about them. She hadn’t seen her sister and had no reason to think she was at the farmhouse. Savannah could be anywhere: downtown, uptown, in the suburbs, in a ditch. She had no way of knowing if her call to the Russians went through, either. It was possible the cavalry wouldn’t come. She had screwed up. She wouldn’t make it out alive.
It was late, but a silver moon threw luminous stripes across the room. Bars hugged the windows, and the double lock on the door was out of reach, since her hands were cuffed. The guards had, however, taken the gag out of her mouth, believing, apparently, that she wasn’t the type to scream. They were right. At first she thought she might be able to work the cuffs off, but she couldn’t, and even if she could, she had nothing to help her pick the lock.
She lay on the bed on her side and let out a dejected sigh. She must have dozed off, because the moonlight was weaker and the stripes had disappeared when she opened her eyes. A quiet hiss was coming from across the room. Was it the heat flowing through a vent? She squeezed her eyes shut to focus. The hissing stopped. Then it started again, and she realized that was what woke her. She rolled toward the sound. The bedsprings squeaked.
The hissing stopped abruptly, and a tiny voice whispered. “Hey, is anyone there?”
Instantly alert, Georgia bolted from the bed. The words were coming from the corner, nearly at floor level. She tiptoed over, found a vent, and squatted next to it.
“Who’s there?” she whispered back.
“Who are you?” the voice whispered.
No cat-and-mouse game here. “I’m Georgia Davis.”
“Oh my God. I’m Savannah.”
Chapter 98
“You’re alive!” Georgia breathed. “Are you hurt? How long have you been here?”
Savannah giggled through the vent. At least Georgia thought it was a giggle. “I can’t believe it! Is it really you?”
“It is.” Georgia felt her throat get thick. She blinked rapidly. “Tell me everything.”
Savannah breathed in through her nose, and Georgia realized what she’d thought was a giggle was actually a sob. “It won’t do any good.”
“Don’t say that.” Georgia felt her eyes fill. She wished she could wipe her eyes
with her sleeve but her hands were tied. “Tell me what you look like.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty. Blond. Blue eyes. But I’m too thin.”
“I wish I could see you. How old are you?”
“Almost sixteen.”
“How long have you been in Chicago?”
“Since last March.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Denver.”
“I never knew about you, you know.”
“I just found out about you, too. Mom told me.”
Long-buried memories surfaced for Georgia. Her mother holding her hand in the supermarket. Taking her to school on her first day of kindergarten. Watching her rip open Christmas presents. And then the long days and nights after she’d gone and Georgia waited for her to come back. She wanted to ask Savannah what her mother was like, but now wasn’t the time. “Why’d you leave?”
Savannah hesitated. “Long story.”
“We’ve got time.”
Savannah explained how she’d run away, how she’d ended up in Chicago, how she’d met Lazlo, which led to trafficking and heroin, which led to Vlad. Then she stopped. “Wait. Why are you here? Didn’t Sergei warn you?”
Surprised, Georgia sat back on her haunches. “About what? I got your note a while ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
“But I told you not to.”
Georgia frowned. “No, you told me to find you. That you were pregnant and you needed me.”
“Oh fuck. I told Sergei to tell you to ignore it. He forced me to write it. I— ”
“Sergei?”
“No. Vlad.”
“You know Vlad?”
“Of course I know Vlad. I’m pregnant with his baby. He and I—hey, wait. How do you know Vlad?”
“Hold on. Are you saying that Vlad forced you to write me that note?”
“Yes. Exactly. It was a trap. I even tried to call you. But the guard snatched the phone away.”
The call she’d gotten while she was investigating the flash rob. It hadn’t been a butt dial. She frowned, remembering something else. “But your DNA was on the napkin. I had it tested.”
Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) Page 25