Fixed in Fear: A Justice Novel

by T. E. Woods

  Allie had asked, in addition to casual day and evening outfits, for an ensemble suitable for a high-level board meeting. Calliope chose a dress from a local designer who’d trained in Paris. The garment was a simple sheath of dusty blue merino wool. An exposed zipper, each tooth covered in a thin veneer of black leather, ran down the front left side from shoulder to hem, lending an on-trend edginess to the classic design. Calliope paired the knee-length dress with three-inch black leather pumps. Allie knew the sapphire and diamond ring and simple half-carat diamond studs Patrick had given her during a visit to South Africa four years earlier would accent the look with quiet elegance.

  A gentle chime sounding through small speakers mounted near the ceiling pulled Allie away from admiring Calliope’s selections. She glanced at the clock. Seven A.M. The hairdresser was here.

  —

  An hour later Allie slipped a hundred-dollar tip into the hand of her beaming stylist and said she looked forward to seeing him tomorrow.

  “You look stunning, Ms. Roberts.” Alex Dontelle gathered his brushes and gels back into the Seattle Seahawks duffel bag carrying the tools of his trade. “Like I said, this vision of you with your hair in a loose bun gathered at the nape of that swan neck of yours came to me in a dream last night. I have to say, it looks even better in real life than in my dream.” He zipped his bag and threw it over his shoulder. “I’m a genius. An artist.” He threw her an air kiss as he headed to the door. “Promise me ten percent of whatever deal that hair gets you today. Whether it’s a billion-dollar deal or an afternoon romp with a senator. That style is going to rock your world.”

  Allie promised to think about it and the door closed behind him. She tightened the sash on her bathrobe and headed to the kitchen. On her way to the breakfast of mixed berries, bagel, and orange juice she’d ordered, she caught sight of herself in a hallway mirror. She turned her head this way and that.

  Yes. This will do.

  After breakfast she returned to her closet and dressed. The sheath rested against her, following her curves in a subtle drape that was subdued seduction. She slid the ring on her finger and thought of Patrick. He would have enjoyed the Larchmont. And he would have loved seeing her in her new position. She closed her eyes and called his handsome face up from the deep recesses of her memory.

  If you can hear me, my darling, be with me. Give me your strength. Share this with me.

  Another gentle chime pulled her from meditative communion with the lover whose death she’d arranged. It was exactly 8:30, of course. She raised an eyebrow in amusement at how much the murderous, thieving, whoring Russian thugs valued punctuality. She stepped into her heels, threw her shoulders back, and walked to the front door as the czarina of a Russian criminal cartel.

  Staz barred the entryway from the two men who’d arrived. The giant of a man who had once been Vadim Tokarev’s favorite assassin had now sworn his eternal devotion to Allie. Staz would always stand between her and anyone who might pose a threat. And Staz would follow any command Allie issued. Without question or hesitation. Allie greeted her protector with a loving glance before looking beyond him.

  “Fyodor Ratchnikov!” Allie dialed her tone to gracious welcome. “Thank you for coming. I know this is an inconvenience. I will never forget the kindness of this accommodation. Please!” She spoke in her guest’s mother tongue, a language she was becoming more fluent in each day. “Come in, please. Welcome.”

  Staz entered first and took his place next to the door. He was followed by Fyodor Ratchnikov, once Vadim Tokarev’s second-in-command, now hers. Bringing up the rear was a man Allie did not recognize. A large man, every inch as tall as Staz, with shoulders that seemed three feet wide. His dark hair was cut close to the scalp. His facial expression was neutral, but his brown eyes were filled with disgust.

  Allie was used to men underestimating her. She held the stranger’s gaze until he looked away, then turned to Ratchnikov.

  “Welcome, my friend.” She extended her hand.

  Fyodor Ratchnikov hesitated half a heartbeat before taking Allie’s hand. He bowed toward her but his lips failed to connect with her fingers. He straightened and ran a hand through the thick waves of his hair.

  “So this is Seattle?” Ratchnikov looked around the entryway. “Clouds are thick. Like in Moscow. I can see why you are comfortable here.”

  I will never be comfortable in that sewer you call home, she thought. Where a man is a man only if he can drink all night then piss away his vodka into a city street as the women leave at dawn to start their workday.

  “I was raised here,” she replied. “We all love the place of our birth. Don’t you find that true?” She turned to the large man who had accompanied him. “Introduce me to your friend.”

  Ratchnikov waved a hand. “This is Vassily. He is with me.”

  Allie understood that description. Vassily was with Ratchnikov as Staz was with her. Bodyguard. Confidant. Agent of any manner of bidding. Allie offered the man a smile. It was met with no change of facial expression.

  But Vassily’s eyes still flashed venom when he looked at Allie.

  “If Vassily is with you, then he is with me.” Allie hid her irritation at the man’s obvious disrespect. “Tell me, Fyodor, was your flight comfortable? You came from Tunis, if I’m not mistaken.” She stepped toward him, brought her arm to his back, and shepherded Ratchnikov toward the living room.

  Ratchnikov took two steps, then looked over his shoulder. “Come, Vassily.”

  “I’ve arranged for Staz and Vassily to relax at the villa next door. There’s food and drink.” Allie dropped her volume to a naughty whisper. “And entertainment.” She returned her attention to Ratchnikov. “You and I have business to discuss. Business best kept between us.”

  Ratchnikov hesitated.

  “I need your counsel, Fyodor.” Allie appealed to her lieutenant’s expertise. “On the highest of matters. Please. Staz knows where to go. They’ll be back in two hours. I’ve arranged a feast of a meal for us all upon their return. Let our men relax, Fyodor. There’s no need for them to be bored while we leaders work.”

  Allie knew referring to Ratchnikov as a leader in front of his man would feed his ego. There’s no better way to get an underling to obey than to let him think he’s your equal.

  Ratchnikov turned toward his man. “Go, Vassily. Enjoy. You and Staz keep an eye on each other and make sure your cock comes back in the same condition it was when you held it this morning.”

  Ratchnikov and Vassily roared in that gutter way Allie found so repulsive. She was proud Staz offered not even a smile at their crude remarks.

  “It must be helpful having your man unable to speak.” Ratchnikov settled himself on the sofa. “Tokarev had the right idea cutting out his tongue. Vassily sometimes talks so much I think I should check inside his pants to make sure he’s not a woman.”

  Allie sidestepped Ratchnikov’s tasteless reference to the cruelty Vadim Tokarev had waged on Staz. Staz had protected and befriended her in those darkest of days when Tokarev had first taken her. She’d been locked in a barren hellhole, naked and shivering. Enduring countless assaults by the man known as the Butcher of Moscow. It was Staz who risked his life to bring her blankets and food. Who communicated with her through drawings and gestures.

  Who treated her like something other than a stray and hungry dog.

  Allie stood by the credenza and poured two fingers of vodka into a crystal tumbler. She handed it to Ratchnikov and watched him toss it back in one gulp. He handed the glass back to her.

  “Would you like another?”

  Ratchnikov shook his head. “More with that feast you promised. Drinks are better when the men are here.”

  Allie wondered if she might play a game. Should she try to guess in advance how many tokens of disrespect Ratchnikov would play that morning? She decided against it. She had a specific goal for this meeting. Better to focus on that than the Russian’s stupid misogyny. This would be a long-term process. But she wo
uld ultimately gain Ratchnikov’s respect. Of that she was certain. She sat gracefully on the sofa across from her guest. “We need to discuss some changes I want to make in our operations.”

  Ratchnikov shook his head. “We have a saying in Russia. If the horse is running, don’t shoot it. Everything is good. The money. The men. There is no need for change.”

  A memory flashed through Allie’s mind. Back in high school. A teacher telling her she couldn’t do something. What was it? She pushed the nagging remembrance away.

  “Our drug distribution channels are cumbersome.” Allie leaned back and crossed her legs at the knee. “Especially in North Africa. And the way we’re funneling our earnings into reportable income is costing too much. I’ve designed a way to streamline and to lower our overhead. I want to diversify our legitimate portfolio. I have my own ideas, and I’m open to listening to your suggestions.”

  Ratchnikov grimaced. “I need no suggestions. Things are running the way they need to be. You cannot understand this. I can. It’s just that simple.”

  Once again, Allie swallowed her irritation. “We need to modernize. We’re leaving too much money on the floor. We’re missing opportunities. We need to tighten—”

  Ratchnikov interrupted her. “You need more money? More than the tens of millions you earn every month? How many baubles can one girl buy?”

  Allie said nothing.

  “You like to travel, I know.” Ratchnikov looked around the room. “And your tastes are expensive. But we give you enough money. Travel. See the world. Out of respect for Vadim Tokarev and his love for you, we will keep the money flowing. But there will be no changes.”

  Allie remained silent and let him continue to dig his hole.

  Ratchnikov shrugged. “You Americans care so much about feelings. Have I hurt yours?”

  Allie waited wordlessly for the Russian to realize he’d disrespected his czarina.

  Ratchnikov leaned forward. “Is this a pout? Like my three-year-old grandson? Are you not speaking to me?” He shook his head and pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “I will call Vassily. If you want, we will stay for your feast. If you don’t want, we will leave you to your temper tantrum. You leave this to the men and you will be all right.” He dialed a number and leaned back against the cushions.

  Allie watched his face, waiting for recognition to dawn. She saw Ratchnikov frown when Vassily’s voicemail kicked in.

  “He’s not answering.” The Russian hung up. “Perhaps they are too busy with that entertainment you arranged for them.” He sneered the word. “Tell me where this villa is you’ve arranged for Staz and Vassily. I’ll walk there myself and join in on their fun. We’ll send Staz back to you when we’re finished. He can enjoy your feast. Then Vassily and I will be—how is it you Americans say? On our way?”

  “You’re not going anywhere until I dismiss you.” Allie’s voice was as firm as her stare. “You’ll need to always understand that.”

  The front door opened before Ratchnikov could respond. Staz appeared in the living room three seconds later.

  “Where is Vassily?” Ratchnikov asked, frowning. “Is he still with the whores?”

  Staz ignored him. He nodded to Allie. Then he walked over to stand at her side.

  “As I see it, we can divide our discussion into two sections.” Allie kept her voice relaxed. “We have the issue of streamlining our drug distribution. That will lower our overhead and provide better service to both our suppliers and our buyers. It’s a win all the way around. We also need to discuss—”

  “Where is Vassily?” Again, Ratchnikov interrupted.

  Allie heaved a soft sigh. “Vassily is gone. He’s not coming back.”

  Ratchnikov blinked his attention between Staz and Allie as though not comprehending. “Where is he?”

  Allie stood. Ratchnikov made a move to do the same.

  “Sit!” Allie commanded.

  Ratchnikov froze.

  “Three months ago I killed my beloved Vadim to save myself. To save this organization,” Allie told the Russian lieutenant. “I stood with the blood of my dearest heart rushing toward me and declared it a new day for all of us. I asked for and received the loyalty of every man there. I promised to love and lead you as your czarina. I committed myself to love and care for you like a mother. And like that mother I vowed to punish any man who dared disrespect or harm our family. You, Fyodor, were the last to kiss my ring. But kiss it you did. I will keep my promise to love, to protect, and to punish. Vassily walked into my home and met me with disrespect. And now he is gone. Take that as evidence of my ability to keep my promise.” Allie stared down at Ratchnikov. “Do I need to demonstrate further?”

  Allie watched the Russian think. She could almost hear the calculations running through his mind as she held his stare. She felt Staz’s readiness to react radiate beside her. She’d paid a high price to stand where she stood today. Her own family were strangers to her. Her lover was dead. She’d been beaten and raped again and again by his killer. She would not tolerate so much as a hint of anyone taking away from her what had cost her so much.

  She watched Ratchnikov’s eyes and saw the acceptance of his situation emerge. His stare softened. He nodded his head slowly and put his hands on the cushions beside him, preparing to stand. Staz took a step toward him, but Allie held him off with one raised hand. She kept her attention on Ratchnikov as he stood and reached for her hand. She offered it to him.

  This time his lips made contact.

  “My czarina,” he whispered. “I am at your service.”

  “Sit, Fyodor.” Allie’s tone returned to its earlier cordiality. “We have much to discuss before our meal. As I said, I have ideas on streamlining operations and I look forward to hearing yours. The other thing we need to discuss is diversifying our legitimate portfolio. My ideas center on the Russian infrastructure. There are roads and cities to be built. Power lines and Internet services to improve. I see us as a major force in the modernization of the motherland.”

  Allie watched Ratchnikov’s face as she spoke about her vision for the future of her organization. His eyes were vacant. She was certain he wasn’t understanding 5 percent of what she was laying out. But that was fine.

  Ratchnikov had gotten her message.

  Chapter 23

  “Maybe he’s running an errand?” Larry asked when Mort announced Bilbo Runyan was nowhere to be found.

  Mort shook his head. “He said he had no place to be. Besides, he wasn’t in any condition to drive.” He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the direct number to the police dispatching center. He gave the address of Carlton’s bungalow, a description of Bilbo and his car, and asked all patrol officers to be on the lookout for him. “He couldn’t have gone far. Have whoever finds him bring him back home. If he puts up a fuss, bring him in to the station. Keep me posted as to where he lands.” Mort ended the call and turned to Larry.

  “Grab Carlton’s calendar. Let’s drop by Abraham’s office and see what he has to say about this.”

  Larry picked up the calendar as well as Carlton’s personal journal. “It’s noon on a workday. Abraham’s boats have been unloaded from their morning catch. He’ll be at home now, tending to business from his office there. He won’t go back down to the docks until his boats set out again.”

  Mort was surprised. “I thought you hardly knew him.”

  “I know him well enough to know the man never changes his schedule. Helen had to plan our wedding around her father’s boats. She told me when her father arrived home at eleven o’clock every day, he was not to be disturbed until he walked out at precisely three thirty. Said her mother made her stay outside if she could, and whisper if she needed to speak. That’s why Helen and her mother spent so much time at her grandfather’s house. The great Abraham Smydon was never to be bothered.”

  Mort remembered how noisy his own house would get when Allie and Robbie were growing up. While he loved the solitude of his houseboat, there were times he’d shave five year
s off his life for just one more afternoon living in the middle of his boisterous young family.

  “Well then, what d’ya say we go bother him?”

  —

  Surprisingly light traffic made for an easy drive from Carlton’s cozy Capitol Hill neighborhood to the enclave of sprawling lawns and lakeside mansions that was Laurelhurst. Mort pulled his Subaru to a stop on Abraham Smydon’s circular driveway just a few minutes past twelve thirty. He got out of the car, surveyed the house, and gave a low whistle.

  “Whoa. A whole lot of fish paid for this place.”

  Larry closed the passenger-side door and took his own long look at the enormous stone and cedar house with leaded windows and a copper roof. “Helen loved it here. She used to tell me she had no memory of the early years when her father was building his business. This is the life she recalled. I always worried she would never be satisfied with the long hours and low pay of a university professor, but she never complained. Not once.” He turned to Mort, his eyes troubled. “And, of course, she was always welcomed to drop by and visit the life she once knew. It’s sad. She died when all I could provide her with was a secondhand car and the rare dinner out. And that was only if we had a two-for-one coupon. What I wouldn’t give to share whatever success I’ve had with her. She would have made the most of being Mrs. L. Jackson Clark.” He was quiet for a few seconds before giving Mort a crooked smile. “Helen would have loved Stockholm. Greeting the king at a gala dinner? She’d have shopped for a month.”

  “I think the same thing about Edie and the houseboat. We would have had a ball. Just the two of us. Waking up every morning to the call of the seagulls. Watching the sun over the water.” The two widowers stood quietly for several long moments before Mort finally spoke. “Let’s go see what enlightenment Abraham might have for us.”