Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series)

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  Georgia wanted to spit. “Sure it is. And I guess that absolves you for killing their mothers and selling their body parts?”

  His smile vanished.

  Good. She was getting to him. “Well, Vlad? What do you say to that?”

  He was quiet. Then, “I lose ten years because of you.”

  Keep him talking. Something would happen. “You’re about to lose a lot more. I know about Chad Coe. And Dr. Lotwin. And the woman at the hospital who scouts transplant organs. They’re all being picked up as we speak. How long do you think you have before the cops get here?”

  “I let you find out.” He shrugged. “And if cops come, my people know what to do. So do I.” He shot her a smug look.

  Savannah was weeping in earnest now, loud, wracking sobs that knifed through Georgia’s heart. Vlad gazed at Georgia with a curious look. It wasn’t desire or lust or even hate; it was more like satisfaction—satisfaction that he held the ultimate power. That he could get people to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He was so absorbed in his self-importance that he failed to notice a distant whine whispering through Savannah’s cries.

  Chapter 102

  It was faint, but it sounded like cars approaching. The sounds grew louder and more distinct. Definitely car engines—more than one—closing in on the farmhouse. Now Vlad cocked an ear. Brakes squealed. Car doors slammed. Men’s voices shouted. Vlad gestured to the guard holding Georgia.

  “Who is here?”

  The guard flipped up a hand.

  “Zhopa!” he hissed. “Go see.”

  The guard pulled out his gun and hurried into the kitchen. Savannah’s cries stopped. Georgia heard the guard shout something in Russian. The screen door squeaked as it was flung open.

  Vlad glared at Georgia. “It is cops?”

  Georgia shook her head, but she knew who had arrived. The Russians. Her call had gone through. Vlad started toward her, his hand raised as if he was going to hit her. At the same time they heard a commotion in the kitchen. A series of shots rang out. They came from outside, but close enough to cause alarm. A woman shouted in Russian. Zoya.

  His arm still raised, Vlad listened. His eyes widened. He pulled out his pistol. “Come!” He shoved Georgia across the living room away from the kitchen, one hand jabbing the pistol into her back. When he reached the other side, he swept aside a pair of drapes with his free hand. Behind them was a patio door. He slid the door open. Georgia shrank back at the rush of frigid air.

  “Go,” he ordered. “Outside. Now!”

  Georgia took a tentative step. A floodlight flicked on. Georgia wheeled around and yelled toward the kitchen. “Do it, Savannah! Now!”

  Vlad pushed her through the door, which caused her to stumble and fall into the snow. But before she could use her fall to knock him off balance, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back upright. Then he shoved the barrel of the gun against her temple.

  “Vanna!” Vlad called out, his voice tight. “Come back and watch me kill sister.”

  A grunt came from the kitchen. A rustle and thud followed. What was happening?

  Georgia tried to take stock. They were in the backyard of the farmhouse. But the throw of the floodlight was dim, and she couldn’t make out how big the yard was. Or whether there was a way out. She began to shiver. She had only seconds before Vlad pulled the trigger.

  “Vanna…,” Vlad insisted. “This is last chance.”

  Goddammit, Georgia thought. Where was Savannah? Had she found a gun? Or was she taken down? Why didn’t Boris’s men come around to the back?

  More shouts from the front. A burst of machine-gun fire. The lights inside the house flickered. Then silence. A shout here and there broke through, but then a vast stillness reclaimed the night.

  Though the light wasn’t the best, Georgia saw patches of red flare on Vlad’s face. A bright anger suffused his eyes. Georgia sensed he was waging a fierce internal struggle. Why didn’t he pull the trigger? Was he trying to assess the damage? Perversely, that gave her a burst of courage. She hadn’t followed his bread crumbs all the way out here just to lose everything. Could she throw him off balance with a jab of her elbow or foot?

  Vlad called out in Russian. It was clearly a question, but all she could make out was the word “Zoya.” He was asking Zoya what was going on.

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 103

  Georgia fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. She was preparing to land a karate kick in his groin when Savannah entered the living room from the kitchen. She’d taken off her heels, but she was still practically naked. Her face was ashen, and her eyes had a glazed sheen. She was clutching a large butcher knife, but she was trembling. She walked toward the patio door.

  “Zoya is dead.”

  Vlad moved Georgia in front of him as a shield. His voice was unsteady. “Good job, Vanna, my love. She was bitch. Give me knife. You right. We together now.”

  Savannah didn’t move.

  He thrust his pistol hard into Georgia’s temple. “Okay. Then watch. I shoot sister.”

  Before Savannah could reply, Georgia bent forward, drew her foot up, and smashed it into Vlad’s groin. He staggered back. His pistol fired and fell just beyond the pool of light. Georgia checked herself. No wound. The shot had gone wild. She shouted to her sister. “Grab the gun, Savannah!”

  But Vanna was still brandishing the knife. She closed the distance between herself and Vlad and tried to thrust the knife in his chest. He twisted away at the last minute, and it only nicked his arm. He lurched forward and snatched the knife from her.

  Panic streaked through Georgia. “The gun!” Georgia tried to motion with her chin. “Over there. Shoot him. There are bullets in the chamber.” But as she said it, she realized Savannah didn’t know what that meant.

  Savannah spun around and headed toward the gun. She was fast, but so was Vlad. Brandishing the knife, he reached the spot where the gun had fallen at the same time as Savannah. Savannah fell on top of the gun, but Vlad threw himself on top of her and tried to plunge the knife in her back.

  Georgia screamed. “Stop! Kill me instead!”

  Suddenly a series of shots rocked the air, sending a stream of sharp, deafening retorts across the yard. Vlad let out a groan. The knife fell from his hand. A pool of blood seeped out beneath Savannah, staining the snow pink. His? Or Savannah’s?

  Georgia spun around. One of Boris’s men stood at the edge of the yard in deep shadow. She couldn’t see him clearly, but she could see his assault rifle still aimed at Savannah and Vlad.

  She let out a breath.

  The man lowered his weapon, dipped his head as if to acknowledge a debt paid, then melted into the darkness.

  Georgia hurried over. Neither Vlad nor Savannah moved. She approached with caution. The wounds on Vlad’s body—she could see three or four—bled freely. The Russian mob guy was some shot. But what about her sister?

  “Savannah. Are you okay? Say something. I need to know that you’re alive.”

  There was no answer.

  “Savannah?” Georgia was desperate. “Please. Answer me, baby. Are you okay?”

  This time she heard a whimper. “Get him off me,” Savannah said. “I can’t breathe.”

  Chapter 104

  Five minutes later, thanks to Boris’s men, Vlad’s body was moved and Georgia’s cuffs were off. Savannah couldn’t stop shivering, and her teeth chattered; she’d spent the last ten minutes lying practically naked on the snow. Georgia took her upstairs and helped her into dry clothes.

  Her sister was unusually passive and gazed at Georgia as if she was a stranger. Shock, Georgia thought. “Savannah, you were a hero out there. You saved my life. Do you get that?”

  Savannah didn’t answer.

  “It’s over now, baby. And it’s all good.” She smiled at her sister and ran a hand down her cheek. Savannah’s expression didn’t change.

  The sound of distant sirens split the air. Her sister tensed.

  “Sh
it!” Georgia said. “Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

  Savannah took her time. “They’re all dead,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Zoya. Jenny. Sergei. Vlad.”

  “But we’re okay. You and I. We made it.”

  Her sister didn’t answer, and Georgia wasn’t sure she understood. The sirens grew louder.

  “Listen. You stay up here. I’ll deal with the cops.”

  Georgia hurried down into the kitchen. Zoya’s body lay on the floor, oozing blood from a gaping wound in her back. Georgia felt a spit of pity. Zoya didn’t know it, but when Lotwin had killed her son, he’d doomed her, too.

  Savannah hadn’t had time to find the guns, Georgia realized, so she grabbed a knife instead. How had she managed to kill Zoya? She figured they’d have time to talk about it. Months. Even years.

  She looked around and found a broom closet. Opening it, she saw it was filled with assault rifles and pistols, among them her baby Glock. She snatched it, then opened the door and went outside.

  Chapter 105

  The night was cloaked in darkness. The only illumination came from the floodlights on the barn and the muted light from the kitchen. Still, Georgia counted eight Russian mobsters in the shadows, their weapons drawn. She made out a few assault rifles and a long gun; the rest were pistols. A different shade of black that didn’t quite belong hugged the ground near the barn, and when she squinted, she spotted two bodies. The guards. The faint odor of cordite lingered. Georgia placed her Glock on the ground and raised her arms in the air. “I’m Davis.”

  One of the men, apparently the leader—he could have been the one who shot Vlad, but she wasn’t sure—barked something in Russian. The others holstered their weapons.

  “Thank you. You took down a really bad guy.” The wail of sirens was loud. “Now, get the hell out of here before the cops show up.”

  The men didn’t need to be told twice. They hurried to their cars, both Beemers, Georgia noted, threw open the doors, and keyed their engines. Once they got to the road, both cars raced toward the highway, passing two squad cars hurtling toward them from the opposite direction.

  The squad cars careened up the driveway and screeched up to the farmhouse. Six officers spilled out, their weapons drawn. The first one out was Jimmy.

  He spotted Georgia, then the two bodies near the barn. He raised a megaphone to his mouth. “Police. Drop your weapons and get your hands in the air.”

  Georgia threw her hands in the air. “It’s over, Jimmy.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was ice-cold. “There are two bodies over there.”

  She glanced over. A dull pain throbbed against her temples. How was she going to explain them without giving up the Russians? She owed them. She looked back at Jimmy. His face was sliced into shadow and light, but she could tell he was angrier than an F5 tornado. His furious breaths clouded the air.

  The screen door behind her banged, and Savannah emerged, already shivering. Jimmy stared at her, then back at Georgia, as if to say, “This better be good.”

  “I’ll explain everything at the station.”

  He took almost a full minute to reply, and when he did, his voice was still tight. “Okay, men. We’re good. Back off.”

  “You sure, Chief?” one of the officers called.

  He nodded. “Take these two to the station. The rest of you start working the scene.”

  Georgia let out her breath. She trudged over to Jimmy and handed him her Glock. “You’ll find more bodies inside. One is Vlad. I shot him. My sister stabbed the woman in the kitchen. Her name is Zoya. We were held prisoner and threatened at gunpoint. We managed to turn the tables on them. It was self-defense.”

  “And them?” He swept his hand toward the bodies on the snow.

  Georgia glanced over, hunched her shoulders, then gazed evenly at Jimmy.

  “I guess they had an accident.”

  Chapter 106

  Back at the Lake Geneva police station, Jimmy recused himself from the case, and Georgia was interrogated by his second-in-command. A detective from Harvard questioned Savannah in a separate room. Georgia laid out the story: the sex trafficking, the baby breeding, the harvesting of organs. The officer, stunned at first, grimaced as she continued, gradually moving his chair away from her, as if Georgia and the story she was telling him were both contaminated.

  She told him about Chad Coe, Claudia Nyquist, Richard Lotwin, Bruce Kreisman, and the Glencoe couple. He told her Riverwoods police had picked up Chad Coe, who’d decided not to talk; Northbrook cops arrested the doctor, who did. Detectives paid a visit to the Glencoe couple but concluded they were innocent dupes.

  It was afternoon the next day before she and Savannah were allowed to see each other.

  “Are we going to jail?” Savannah asked nervously.

  Georgia saw the dark rings under her sister’s eyes. Neither of them had slept. “I doubt it.” She shot Savannah what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “Because Jimmy is your friend?”

  “He is. But he has a job to do.” Georgia changed the subject. “Let’s talk about you. Did you tell them about the trafficking ring and what Vlad did to you?”

  “I told them everything.”

  “Good.”

  “At least that creep Lazlo will be off the streets,” Savannah added.

  “He’s just the beginning,” Georgia said. “I hope they wipe all of them off the map.” She hesitated. “Savannah, at the farmhouse, how did you manage to stay downstairs after Vlad told the guard to take you up?”

  Her sister beamed. “I pretended to fall and twist my ankle. You know…in those heels. I said I couldn’t get up the steps. That I needed to sit for a while. Then when all the shooting started, the guard ran outside, and I grabbed the knife.”

  Georgia grinned.

  Chapter 107

  That afternoon just before dusk the Lake Geneva police released them. Jimmy wasn’t around, but Georgia understood. She had broken so many rules even she wasn’t sure on which side of the law she belonged. She’d asked a Russian Mafioso who loved Barry Manilow for a favor; she’d helped his men go free after they complied; she’d tampered with evidence; she’d lied about who killed whom.

  But somehow it had worked. Vlad and Zoya were gone, and her sister was safe. The only unknown was Jimmy. She’d failed to keep her promise to communicate; she’d gone right back to her guarded ways. It wasn’t going to be easy—this relationship stuff. It would take time. She only hoped once he realized why she’d done what she did, he’d forgive her.

  She unlocked the door to her apartment and settled Savannah on the couch. The girl fell asleep almost immediately. Georgia went to a closet, pulled out a blanket, and draped it over her. Her sister was a train wreck. She would need a lot of healing. But under that tough-girl exterior was a vulnerable young girl who just needed to be loved unconditionally.

  Hell, you could say the same thing about me, Georgia thought. Maybe they could help each other heal. She had much to learn about her sister. How they were alike, but how they were different, too. She suspected Savannah was stronger than she was. She’d survived sex trafficking, a heroin addiction, and Vlad’s control, and she was still mostly sane. That indicated a powerful resilience Georgia wasn’t sure she possessed.

  In the kitchen she ran cold water, cupped a hand, and drank directly from the faucet. After the baby came, Savannah ought to go back to school, but Georgia wouldn’t force it. The past nine months had been quite enough of an education. Maybe Georgia would call Reggie Field. Have him hire Savannah to work part-time at his store.

  She dug out her cell, ordered a pizza, then at the last minute added a salad—Savannah needed healthy food. As she rummaged in a cabinet for plates, she looked around. She was going to need a bigger place. She took out plates and utensils, marveling at what life could throw at you. In a month she’d gone from a loner to a woman with a sister, a niece or nephew on the way, and a boyfriend she wanted t
o keep. What was next—a frigging dog?

  She went to the window. It had begun to snow. Soft, plump flakes that glittered in the light and eddied to the ground where they knit a blanket of white. Georgia pulled the shade down and went back to her sister.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Jerry Silbert for his legal expertise; Jim Bentley and Tim Thoellecke Jr. for their help with DNA reports; Mike Green, former deputy chief of police, Northbrook, Illinois, for police procedure; Pam Hutul and Rosemary Mulryan for information about adoption procedures in Illinois. To Cara Black, too, for her advice, suggestions, and generally being the best traveling partner around. Finally, to my friend Tania Tirraoro. You are one of the most talented women I know.

  Any mistakes are mine alone.

  If you enjoyed this book, would you please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.com? Thank you.

  And if you’d like to sign up for Libby’s email list go to http://libbyhellmannn.com

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  THE ELLIE FOREMAN SERIES

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  AN EYE FOR MURDER

  A PICTURE OF GUILT

  AN IMAGE OF DEATH

  A SHOT TO DIE FOR

  “Libby Fischer Hellmann has already joined an elite club: Chicago mystery writers who not only inhabit the environment but also give it a unique flavor… her series continues in fine style… (Ellie)… lights up the page with courage and energy.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Not only has Hellmann created a compelling group of believable characters, but the mystery she places them in is likewise plausible and engrossing. Highly recommended, even if you don’t live in Illinois.”

  —David Montgomery, Chicago Sun-Times

  “Hellmann owes a debt to fellow Chicagoans Sara Paretsky (complex plotting) and Barbara D’Amato (excellent research)—but she’s the brash young thing making this formula new again. I can’t wait for the next book!”