Into the Shadows

by Carolyn Crane

  “And some change?” She smiled, like that was funny, but the smile went away when Thorne didn’t return it. “He looks two,” she said. “Tyler here is two.”

  Thorne frowned. The kids looked the same age.

  The mom did a double take at Benny. “Some kids are big.”

  “I guess.”

  “But he looks so much like you,” she continued. “A mini you.”

  “Thanks,” Thorne said. “But I’m just a friend of the family.”

  “Huh,” she said with a quick glance at his face—a quick check of his expression. Thorne had been in the criminal world long enough to know when people’s bullshit detectors were going full blast. What did she think? That he was the father and didn’t want her to know about it? She was clearly suspicious.

  He pushed Benny gently. Benny did look like him. He thought again about the father. Did Nadia have a type? Did she like dark-haired guys?

  He felt the woman watching him. She didn’t believe he wasn’t the father.

  Open your eyes, Richard had said.

  He thought about the wary looks from Nadia. Monitoring him with Benny. The feeling of secrets. His mouth went dry.

  Could he be Benny’s father?

  His pulse raced with the outrageousness of the idea. The enormity of it.

  He set Benny aloft. Benny laughed.

  The kid was so perfect, and sweet. And so innocent. His little laugh. The way he smiled. No way could he be his.

  But then he thought of the way Benny had looked at him. Benny was okay with him. The swing came back and Thorne let his trembling hands float near Benny’s little shoulders, receiving him gently, cushioning the change in directions, pushing him back out. Benny screamed in delight.

  If Benny were his, she wouldn’t tell him. She’d want him as far away from her boy as possible.

  “You really think he looks two?” he rasped, trying to keep his manner casual.

  “Oh, I’d put him at least eighteen months.”

  A year and a half. Which would put Nadia getting pregnant just over two years ago. When they were together.

  “But, different kids…” she added. “They grow at different rates.”

  “Of course.”

  It couldn’t be.

  Benny squealed, voice like a bell as Thorne pushed the swing. He pushed Benny back out when all he wanted to do was to pull him out of that swing, turn him around, and stare at him—stare at every little detail of him.

  He thought back to the first time he saw him, in the hall up at the house. How Nadia hadn’t even wanted him to see the kid’s face, shielding Benny from him. He’d taken it in stride, a mother wanting to keep her child from him.

  If Benny was his, hell, all the more reason to shield him.

  Benny squealed again. The playground was alive with screams and motion, but all he heard, all he saw, was Benny. Benny’s delight made Thorne want to weep for joy. Or maybe grief.

  The mom was saying something, but whatever she was saying didn’t matter. The whole world was made of this perfect, beautiful kid.

  The possibility was mind-blowing. Just the possibility of it was a gift.

  He became aware of vibrations at his leg. Music. His phone. He thought to ignore it, and then he remembered the mission. Nadia’s mother. He let Benny slow as he pulled it out. “Yeah?”

  Thorne watched Nadia drumming upon the Navigator steering wheel, waiting for the truck to pass.

  Richard’s pickup sat on the shoulder of the two-lane highway right in front of them. It was a big fucking diesel number with dualies. It wouldn’t win in a head-to-head with a semi, but it had enough ballast to create problems.

  Jerrod had called him a few times, and he’d let it go to voice mail. He’d probably heard that Thorne had ditched his duties. He’d deal with it later.

  Nadia ceased the tapping, and then started again. Her wraparound goggles sat on the top of her head over a red stocking cap. She’d braided her hair and twisted it up at the nape of her neck; it made a bulge at the back of the cap, but it was mostly concealed…aside from one dark brown lock of hair that grazed her cheekbone.

  God, she was beautiful. And strong. Fierce for her family.

  And maybe Benny was his son.

  Every time he thought about it, which was pretty much all the time now, his heart swelled nearly out of his chest.

  But it had to stop there. He would let it stay as a possibility, a sparkling something to hoard away in his heart. That would be enough.

  Thorne reached over and tucked the lock of hair up under her cap. She stopped drumming and shifted her gaze to him.

  He let his knuckles graze her cheek before lowering his hand. They’d put white paste in her eyebrows to give her a masculine look, but she was still the hottest thing he’d ever seen. And he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to worry about his finding out about Benny.

  And hell, maybe Benny wasn’t his kid. He’d rather not know that, too. The possibility was nice.

  He checked the rearview mirror, hoping lunchtime traffic would calm soon. He wore goggles, a stocking cap, and old-guy makeup. The disguises were key: he needed to be able to go back to Hangman after doing this one last thing, and Nadia would make a life with Benny and her mom. He’d help make that happen.

  Richard’s voice came over the two-way radio on the dash. “Just get me beside them, Nadia, that’s all you have to do.” It was only the third time he’d reminded Nadia of that.

  “She gets the plan,” Thorne said. He glared at the back of Richard’s head in the pickup truck.

  “You’ll do great,” Richard added.

  Thorne gritted his teeth. The last thing she needed was some well-meaning pep talk from Richard that actually did the opposite. He grabbed the radio away from Nadia. “You’ll do great, too, Richard. We all believe in you. We know you can do it, man.”

  “Fuck you,” Richard said.

  “Don’t worry, Richard,” Thorne continued. “You’re being very brave. We have faith in you. Don’t worry.”

  Nadia snorted. “Enough, you freaks.”

  Thorne glared at the outline of Richard’s long, woolly hair and hit Mute. She was actually handling her nervousness well, coming off a botched job and about to meet her mother for the first time.

  “Whatever. You might fuck it up, or you might be the brilliant badass we need,” he said to Nadia.

  She gave him a sly look. “It is what it is.” He hated that saying, and she knew it. She moved closer, grabbing onto his arm. “What?” she teased. “No comment?”

  He knew what she was doing—burning off her nervousness. She was so close, he could sense her breathing, feel her heat, and even feel her emotions.

  Slowly he turned to her, letting their lips hover inches apart. She probably thought he was going to kiss her, but he liked being on the verge like this, letting all the possibilities in the universe churn around them.

  Her cheeks widened in a slow grin. “It is what it is.”

  “Fuck that,” he whispered. He kept an eye on the side mirror, but his soul was clapped hard against hers. They could never be together, but somewhere back there in time, things had been right with them.

  And then he kissed her.

  “You’re going to ruin our makeup,” she said.

  “A little,” he breathed, pulling her closer, right up to his lips. She smoothed her hands over his arms.

  He wanted her like crazy. He was keyed up about the job, too, but this was so much more.

  Her touch traveled with long, smooth strokes along his skin like she did when she wanted to fuck. That was her fuck tell—she didn’t know she had one. He would fuck her right there in the car if they weren’t waiting around to force a truck off the road. “It is what it is,” he sneered. “Losers want to take that motherfucking saying and burn it,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Don’t call yourself that,” she said. “I’m done with that shit. I’m not playing the game anymore.”


  “I think you’d start it back up with the proper encouragement,” he said, feeling the lightness of it.

  “I’m serious.” She pushed him away. “You have to stop thinking of yourself like that. Your fucking funeral home and the loser thing. It doesn’t have to be you.”

  “I like my funeral home,” he said. It’s where he got his power. Seeing death. Being okay with it.

  He watched her study the cars in the rearview mirror. She’d made him feel happy all those months ago. She’d made him feel like somebody good.

  And he loved her.

  The plan was a simple one and a classic: driving a rig off the road with two cars and three guns. It was a move in every gangster playbook: you needed a two-lane highway; one car on the side, shooting at the driver—that would be him and Nadia. The other vehicle went in the front, shooting behind. Richard.

  A semi-trailer was like a large, flightless bird in a lot of ways.

  He’d mount it driving if he had to—that was a possibility, too.

  He and Nadia would drive up on his right side. Nadia would have to avoid crashing into oncoming traffic. He’d work on shooting at the driver. The idea was to box the guy in, to play a kind of chicken.

  “I thought lunch traffic would be calming down here,” she said.

  “Doesn’t matter either way,” Thorne said. “Getting him over’ll be easy.”

  “Unlike dealing with the two guards supposedly in the back,” she said.

  “They’ll be more scared of us than we are of them.”

  “That’s comforting,” she said. “Because that’s what you say about a wild animal that wants to tear your face off.”

  “I’d rather be out here than in there.” He checked the mirror. The truck was running late. A shift in schedule could mean that the Slaters were nervous.

  “It’s like they’re in an elevator,” she said. “They don’t know what they’ll open the door to. And we have them in a box.”

  “Does this mean you’ll stop taking elevators?”

  “With this leg? No, now I’ll just be more paranoid. Thanks, Thorne.”

  “How’s it feel?”

  “Hurts,” she said.

  He spotted the truck and unmuted the radio. “He’s coming.”

  “You’re bringing me back now? Thanks,” Richard grumbled. “And, yeah. I see him.”

  The truck was way back there, heading down the slight incline. They put in their earplugs. Shooting out of cars was a bitch on the ears. They lowered their wraparound glasses down over their eyes and Nadia put on her gloves and shoved the car into drive. Thorne rolled down his window. The semi passed.

  With a black SUV trailing right behind it.

  Richard peeled off after the SUV and Nadia peeled off after Richard. Richard’s voice shot through the radio speaker. “Protection,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “Damn,” Nadia said.

  They’d discussed the possibility that there’d be a protection vehicle. They had a plan for it, but it meant things got more dangerous.

  Thorne turned to her, raising his voice a notch so she’d hear through the earplugs. “You in?”

  “Damn straight I’m in,” she growled.

  He nodded, feeling her determination. And she knew as well as he did that the sweatshop women were liabilities to the Slaters. They might not have much time.

  It would take good driving. There’d be broken glass. It’s what the goggles and gloves were for. Hard to find a vehicle to steal with bulletproof windows.

  Thorne got on the radio with Richard. “Let her pass you,” he said. “She’s going to get me close, and I’ll handle this.”

  Richard slowed and Nadia gunned it, taking them past Richard’s pickup.

  She edged closer to the SUV, looking badass in her cap and goggles. He could see the driver on the phone. “They know now,” he said. “They know we’re trouble, not traffic.”

  Richard slowed. He knew what was coming.

  “I’m going to shoot their tires,” Thorne said. “As soon as I do that, their control will start going.” They’d discussed all this.

  “I’m ready. I’m watching,” she said loudly.

  “Make yourself small.” Thorne aimed his gun out the passenger side window and shot once, then again. The SUV windows would be bulletproof, but not the tires. He hit one

  The SUV’s backseat window rolled down. A gun poked out.

  “Duck!” Thorne yelled.

  A shot hit their window, and then another, turning their world into a network of pebbled glass. “Shit!” Nadia swerved.

  “Close your mouth,” Thorne yelled.

  Nadia complied. Thorne leaned back and kicked a hole in the windshield, kicking and clearing the sheet of laminated glass. Nice and safe, until you wanted the shit gone. Parts of the broken sheet of glass flew onto Nadia’s forehead. She shook it off, frowning. He’d thought she was the most beautiful goddamn thing he’d ever seen back when they were parked, but no. It was now. Nadia kinetic, on fire, and a warrior. An amazing mother and daughter.

  Thorne shot out of the front now, using the dashboard for stabilization. The second tire went. The SUV axle was eating ground. Richard was still back there.

  “Get off to the side! They’re losing control!”

  Nadia got into the far shoulder as the SUV swerved madly. In the rearview mirror, he watched the thing fly off the road and roll into a ditch. “They’re gone. Nice job.”

  “Go, go, go!” Richard said over the radio. “Two miles until the interstate.”

  “Crap!” Nadia got back onto the road and sped up behind Richard, who pulled in front of the massive semi-trailer. Wind whipped their faces.

  “Stay the course,” Thorne said.

  They got into formation. Richard slowed in front of the truck and she stayed level with the driver.

  It was easy to force the truck off the road. He would be a professional driver. He’d seen the SUV go down. The stakes were higher in a semi.

  The semi pulled over to the side behind Richard. Nadia pulled up behind. This would be the dangerous part. She had her piece out.

  A back door cracked open even as the truck was still rolling. Thorne shot, and it pulled shut. He didn’t want them knowing how many were outside.

  “Pull out your earplugs and stay down until I have them under control.”

  A minute later, Richard came around the back, looking fierce and hulking in his stocking mask. The warrior had three words for them: “Blindfolded and bundled.”

  The driver, he meant.

  Thorne rapped on the door with his Beretta. “You know who we are by now, and you know we’re not looking to kill anybody unless they get in our way. So let’s make this quick. Three seconds to crack the door and throw out your weapons.”

  Richard went back and crouched behind the open door of the Navigator. Nadia crouched and aimed. Four weapons were tossed out.

  Thorne instructed them to come out, hands first. One pair of hands appeared, and a guard jumped out, followed by another. Richard rushed up and tied the man’s hands.

  “How many women in there?”

  “Ten,” the man said.

  “Five and five,” he said. “Let’s go,” he called to Nadia, flinging the doors open.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  She ran to the truck, like a dark cave in the sunshine. Tears stung her eyes. Because her mother might be there.

  Because her mother might not be in there.

  Thorne was right behind her. “Five with us, five with Richard. Save the reunion, you understand?” He helped her up.

  A few of the women held lug wrenches for defense, but she saw only one of them—the stout woman wielding a crowbar. Apple cheekbones. Dark hair in a pageboy cut.

  Nadia’s heart pounded. It was like an out-of-body experience, seeing and hearing herself use the usual Russian phrases. We’re here to rescue you. We have to hurry. We want to help.

  She couldn’t stop staring at her mother.

&nbs
p; The woman gazed back, warily.

  “Hurry!” she pleaded.

  “Nyet,” one of them said.

  What? No?

  She knew she looked scary with her eyebrow makeup and her guns. She turned—Richard and Thorne looked just as threatening. And beyond them was sunshine and fields. That’s what her mother and the other women wanted.

  “You have to trust us,” she said. She searched for the Russian.

  Her mother looked at her without recognition.

  One of the women tried to leave. Richard caught her. “Nyet,” he said.

  Another went for it, and Thorne aimed his gun. Somebody screamed.

  Sirens sounded.

  “Nadia!” Thorne shouted. “Talk to them!”

  Her mother backed away with a few others, arguing.

  “Yana.” She looked straight at her mother. There was no choice now. She whipped out the photo and thrust it at her. Her mother stared down at it.

  Nadia hadn’t wanted their meeting to go like this—full of force and duress. She turned and lifted her shirt to show the birthmark on her back. She felt a hand on it. Tears flowed from her eyes.

  She spun around and clasped her mother’s hand. “It’s me,” she whispered, forgetting all her Russian. “It’s me.”

  “Nadja?” she said. Her eyes were big and weary and so beautiful.

  “Step it up!” Thorne said.

  “We have to leave—muy doozhny utsi,” she said.

  Her mother barked out something in Russian and the women went into action. Thorne and Richard helped them out the back. Two of the women needed to be carried. Nadia didn’t know how any of them got to the Navigator; she just suddenly found herself sitting in the backseat of the truck with her mother next to her, and they were all speeding down the highway, like a dream.

  “I didn’t know,” she said. She fumbled for the Russian. “Ya nyet zjmat. I thought you were dead. I searched for you.”

  “I understand. Have some English,” she said, studying Nadia’s face. Deep lines wreathed her bright, brown eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Nadia asked. A stupid question.

  Her mother said something in Russian Nadia didn’t understand. The woman next to her leaned up. “She thought of you every day.”