Russian Connection

by Lakes, Lynde

  “I need the addresses and phone numbers of Luke’s family,” he said, his dynamic tone cutting into her and vibrating deep inside. “Mother, father. Brothers, sisters. Cousins, all of them.”

  “He has no family.” Was she right about that? She had only Luke’s word.

  “What can you tell me about your ex-husband’s activities?”

  “Nothing.” She winced at the pitiful truth in her answer. “He traveled all the time and only came by my apartment to work on his books after the divorce.” She wasn’t complaining. She’d begged him to take his stuff and leave forever. But she hadn’t meant this way. Had she somehow wished him dead?

  “I need to look through your ex-husband’s effects, Mrs. Brown.”

  His demand jolted her out of her trance of compliance, and her breath escaped in a stunned rush. “You have a search warrant?”

  He held her gaze with penetrating, earth-brown eyes, so dark they looked black. “I can’t wait for that. The killer could come here.”

  Killer echoed in her brain. “Why?”

  Dayd’s jaw muscle twitched. “You may have something he wants.”

  The room turned icy as a tomb. She felt herself shrinking inside her robe. “What?”

  “A document, maybe. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “I’ll just bet you will. You probably know exactly what you’re looking for.” When he didn’t confirm it, she forced her chin up. “And you think this murderer will kill me to get this…this document or whatever?”

  “In the blink of an eye.”

  Nikki began to tremble. She rubbed her arms, fighting a silent scream.

  Don’t lose control. Don’t. She forced a laugh. It came out hollow. “You do have a way with words, Detective.”

  He just stared at her.

  She decided the sooner she complied with his demand, the sooner she could get him out of her house. She sighed heavily, then led him to the den where Luke kept his files, hating the cop’s power over her, hating that her own control was slipping. It wasn’t just the authority of his ID and the fact that he’d scared the wits out of her. There was something else deep inside her own body, something frightening that caused her heart to beat faster and her skin to tingle every time he looked at her with those probing earth-brown eyes.

  Something was wrong her, with the whole situation, very wrong. She had to think. This cop radiated abruptness, coldness. Under the circumstances shouldn’t someone from the P.D. be kinder? She leaned against the doorframe, trying to hide her turmoil in a relaxed pose. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Radlavich.” Still standing, he bent and flicked through the plastic storage container for computer disks, then opened the top drawer of Luke’s immaculate desk and searched through papers and journals, leaving them askew.

  “Luke liked things neat.”

  The detective’s derisive glance told her Luke wouldn’t mind now.

  Nikki’s urge to slap the officer’s face startled her. It was totally out of character. “What was your name again?”

  He laughed for the first time. It crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look friendly, appealing. But she wasn’t buying it. She’d already seen quite a different side of him—one she didn’t like. If only her body were in tune with her mind.

  His voice deepened. “It’s Dayd Radlavich. Some people have trouble with the last name, and since we’re going to be here for several hours together, just call me Dayd.”

  “Several hours?” She wanted to be alone to examine her feelings. “No. No, that isn’t possible.”

  Radlavich continued to pull things from the drawers, stacking them in disorganized piles. He ran his fingers over every seam of the wood lining, then started the whole process again on the next drawer.

  She wondered how much trouble she’d get into if she slammed one of the drawers closed on his fingers. Hold on, girl. He deserved animosity from her, but perhaps the possibility of breaking his finger was overkill.

  Suddenly her cat strode into the room like a feline heroine who sensed that this cop was an unwelcome intruder, and went straight to him. She let out a yowling wail and then began to claw his pant leg. Radlavich stiffened and glared at the Siamese.

  “Stop that, Mitzi,” Nikki said, secretly wishing she had the guts to attack this brusque cop herself.

  When the cat ignored her, Radlavich bent and shoved it away.

  Nikki grabbed the cat and gently sent her from the room and closed the door. “Not much of a cat lover, are you?”

  Radlavich met her gaze but switched subjects. “Who were your ex-husband’s closest friends?”

  “Luke didn’t have close friends. Just business associates.” Except the blonde and others who were his…his, whatever. Nikki hoped her voice hadn’t given away what she was thinking and her lingering sensitivity at her ex-husband’s betrayal.

  “Didn’t that seem strange to you?” Radlavich asked. “No friends, I mean.”

  She bristled. “By the abrasive way you operate, I doubt you have all that many friends yourself.” She paused and was surprised when her insult didn’t bring even the slightest rise out of him. “Look, Officer Radlavich—”

  “Dayd,” he said without looking up.

  She put her hands on her hips, fighting a ridiculous urge to allow the strong name to play on her lips. “I can pronounce your last name just fine, and I prefer it.”

  “This isn’t a game, Mrs. Brown.”

  She winced when he called her that. “I’m in the process of getting my family name back. I’d appreciate if you’d call me MS. Baldwin or even Nikki.” If she’d gone through the legal stuff to recover her family name at the time of the divorce, maybe Luke wouldn’t have thought he had a right to keep his things here and drop in unannounced every time he came to town.

  “You can answer my questions here, or go down to the station.”

  “What? Can you make me do that?”

  “I can and will.”

  Tremors slid along her nerve endings, weakening her legs. She knew it wasn’t just his words that had caused her reaction—stress and fluctuating emotions were causing her blood sugar to drop. She braced herself on the swivel chair. Don’t let this happen to me now.

  “What about insurance? Did Luke take you off his policy?” His tone implied that he suspected maybe money might be why he was killed.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I want to call an attorney. Your methods don’t strike me as regular police procedure.”

  He moved toward her swiftly. Until he came close enough for her to feel his heat, she hadn’t realized just how tall he was, or the extent of her own vulnerability. Seeing his tightly muscled frame at its full height made her feel small. She could scarcely breathe. He touched her arm, sending electricity surging along her skin. “Take it easy,” he said. “No one’s accusing you of anything. Yet. I’m just trying to get a clear picture of the situation.”

  Although her instinct was to back away, she held her ground and glared up at him. “You don’t question, Radlavich, you attack. And I don’t like it.”

  For an instant his pupils shrank to pinpoints. Anger? Regret? Then he turned away and went back to searching the desk.

  He found Luke’s old electronic address organizer. “Got the entry code?” he asked, pocketing the gadget.

  She shook her head. “Are you allowed to just take that without even asking?”

  “Evidence.” The indifference in his tone told her he would take the organizer and anything else he wanted, allowed or not.

  She would have thought it impossible to hate someone she didn’t even know, but since meeting Dayd Radlavich she was finding it quite possible. It disturbed her that her attraction to him was even stronger. She’d read somewhere that sometimes divorcees jumped into bed with the first attractive man who came along just to prove they were still attractive—even with men they despised. She massaged the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. No chance of her doing something like that. She wa
s through with men—thanks to Luke. Luke, the faithless dog! A wave of guilt tightened her neck muscles. Damn you, Luke. Why did you leave me with all this anger and make it so difficult for me to grieve for you?

  Radlavich faced her. “Where are the rest of your husband’s things?”

  Fighting the tenacious weakness settling over her, she tried to hold on.

  But her sugar level had already bottomed out. “In his suitcases, wherever they are.”

  A closed, narrow-eyed look crossed Radlavich’s face. “He’s been home several days. Wasn’t he staying here?”

  “He hasn’t stayed all night here since our divorce. He just uses the place as his in-town office.” Had he stayed with the mystery woman since his return? Had the anonymous hussy traveled with him? The tramp might know something about his murder, but Nikki had no idea who she was—only that she was blonde. This bully-cop would have to learn about her on his own.

  “Did he take his laptop with him?” he asked.

  She straightened one of the lopsided piles of papers on Luke’s desk.

  “How would I know? And what makes you think he has one?”

  Radlavich’s lips spread in a slow grin, revealing a hint of dimples. “Most traveling businessmen do. In fact most people do.” His bright expression faded quickly, becoming stern again. “Any strangers come to see Mr. Brown while he was visiting you?”

  Nikki grabbed the edge of the desk, reeling from that familiar cold, panicky feeling. Panicky feeling—weak knees. I need to eat! She slammed down the lid to an index card box. Heat warmed her cheeks. “I’m tired of your never ending string of questions.”

  “They’re necessary.”

  Nikki exhaled and drew on her waning reserve of patience. Her brain screamed—leave me alone! But she said as calmly as she could, “Several times men came to the door. Luke would slip outside and talk to them. Business, he claimed.”

  “Was it always the same men?”

  In spite of her effort to hold her annoyance in check, she couldn’t stop her loud, exasperated sigh. “Yes. Yes. Look, I have hypoglycemia…I haven’t eaten since breakfast and my sugar level just crashed. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  He glanced at his watch and frowned. “Not yet.” He grabbed her wrist.

  She stared at his offending fingers. “Let go of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Brown, but I don’t have time for this, and I can’t let you out of my sight.”

  She tried to yank free of his grip. “If I don’t eat now, I won’t be responsible for my behavior.” She tried again to get away. He held on. She lifted her knee, figuring a quick thrust to his groin would make him let go. Double-over a cop? She froze. Hold tight, she told herself. Hold tight. She’d never lost control in a tense situation, and she wouldn’t now. If only she had some of the trail mix she always kept handy at her desk at work.

  “Like I told you,” he growled, “Someone may want you dead.”

  She shivered. “Is your sole purpose in life to frighten me?” Good Lord, her sugar level, the fear of the mysterious person who might want her dead, and her attraction for the cop were making her crazy. If she could just eat, everything would settle back into balance.

  “Maybe it’s to keep you alive.”

  “Fine. That’s your job, so do it. But I’m eating now, whether you like it or not.”

  He looked like he might shake her. “I don’t have time for this. I’m trying to be gentle with you but—”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Gentle! I doubt that you know the meaning of the word.”

  “If you must eat, I’ll go with you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you must.”

  Radlavich followed her to the kitchen. With trembling hands, she poured herself a glass of milk and drank it straight down. “Want some?” she asked, a little breathless.

  He nodded, accepted the milk she poured for him, and, after taking a couple of gulps, put the glass on the counter. He watched while she made sandwiches. Luke used to do that with critical eyes. At first, she’d believed it was because he cared, but it was really an intimidation ploy. The fact that she’d put up with his games and tirades even for a short time made her feel so humiliated, so stupid. She sliced a tomato with a vengeance, sending red juice and seeds flying.

  “You’re handling Brown’s death better than I expected,” Radlavich said wryly.

  Still holding the knife, she whirled away from the red carnage and glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re divorced, and I’m sorry he’s dead. But if you expect me to shed a few tears to please you, forget it.” She turned back to the cutting board and plunged the knife into an onion, throwing her energy into a quick hack job. She didn’t have to please any man ever again—especially this cold, insensitive cop.

  “You were once married to Luke. You must have cared—”

  The kitchen aromas of bread and onions increased her desperation for food. She plastered the ham sandwich with too much mayonnaise. “Air Traffic Controllers are trained to control their emotions. Besides, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act with this kind of news. It’s a first for me. Since you’re a cop, maybe you can tell me.”

  Chapter Three

  Dayd paused and thought about his answer, knowing to get her cooperation it had to be the right one. Nikki’s vengeful assault on the tomato and onion told him she was losing it and he hadn’t helped matters. Her trembling lips and flashing emerald eyes contradicted her claim that she could control her emotions. And it wasn’t entirely his fault. The emotional meltdown had started before he arrived and her hypoglycemia had only hastened the process.

  It all made sense now. She had been drinking Chablis alone instead of making dinner for herself. Luke had played the revolving door game with her, making moving on more difficult. Her tears had been for herself. Maybe now she could get on with her life. That is, after he got out of her hair. There was nothing he could do to make it easier on her except disappear, and until he got his hands on the disks that wasn’t going to happen.

  Damn, even though the whole thing wasn’t his fault, she totally blamed him and wanted to kill the messenger. Her stiff, coiled-tight demeanor suggested that she was itching for him to make another insensitive remark, so she could let loose completely. To ease the tension sizzling the air between them, he said, “Tears are the norm.”

  She held his gaze. “Well, if I find it necessary, I’ll fall apart in private.”

  This was one spunky woman. Dayd hoped she was totally over Luke. The man had been evil. Of course, he shouldn’t be concerned with how she’d felt about Luke. His prime concern, he tried to convince himself, was to find out what she knew about the Crpax connection.

  “Do you travel much, Mrs. Brown?”

  Again, anger flickered in her eyes as though she hated to be called that. He watched for her next reaction, a more pertinent one. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, long enough to give the impression she had something to hide. “Not much,” she said.

  “Not even before your divorce?”

  She looked down and busied herself arranging the sandwiches on a platter. “Luke preferred to travel alone.”

  Dayd detected the tightness in her voice, the resentment.

  She sat down at the kitchen table and gestured toward the sandwiches.

  “Help yourself.” She began devouring one like she hadn’t eaten in days. How could she eat right after learning that her ex-husband had been murdered? Was the need for food really the result of low blood sugar? He didn’t know much about the condition. Or maybe she did have something to do with Luke’s death. Dayd’s stomach knotted. What did he care? She could have a picnic on her ex-husband’s grave as far as he was concerned. The moment he thought it, he knew he really did care. If she were involved, it would change everything.

  He sat across from her and took a sandwich. His stomach twisted into a tight pretzel, still, joining her might help put her at ease enough that, if she was hiding something, he might trip
her up. “Didn’t you want to go with him and see the world?”

  “We had our jobs, and we weren’t together that long. I suppose if…” Her voice trailed away.

  Dayd heard a car outside, and moved to the window. He pulled back the curtain. Damn! The real police!

  ****

  Nikki sat stunned as Dayd ran from the room as though the devil were after him. “Where are you going?” she called. She heard only his retreating boot steps, then the back door to her ground-floor apartment slammed.

  She hurried to answer the ringing doorbell. It was a haggard-faced, bug-eyed man in a rumpled gray suit, accompanied by a policeman in uniform. The man introduced himself as Detective William Sinclair, the policeman as Sam Murphy. Sinclair said he had some bad news.

  “The other detective already told me about Luke,” she said. If Dayd Radlavich was with the police, why did he run away?

  “Detective?” Sinclair asked as he entered the room, followed by Murphy. She gestured for them to sit down, but they remained standing.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Detective Radlavich. The police detective who just ran out the back door.”

  The men traded doubting glances. Sinclair gestured with his head. Then, the uniformed cop dashed through the apartment to check her claim out.

  “Don’t have a Radlavich in our department, Mrs. Brown,” Sinclair said.

  Being called Mrs. Brown set her teeth on edge. She knew why—her marriage had been a lie. Her divorce still hadn’t ended the farce. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to clear up the matter of Radlavich. She’d spent several hours with him. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

  “Another unit, perhaps?”

  Sinclair eyed the wine on the coffee table and the single glass next to it.

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Brown. What did this Radlavich look like?”

  She described him simply, tall and muscular, without mentioning that his earth-brown eyes were disturbingly probing, that his black hair was the color of midnight, or that he was a dashing continental type who radiated alarming sexual energy.

  Sinclair rubbed his darkly shadowed jaw and searched her face. “It seems you’ve been deceived, Mrs. Brown.”