Kamila wasn’t trying to hurt Alyssa. She was punishing Marcus by taking away the one thing he cared about the most—his daughter.
“What have you done to bring her back?”
“Russia is not part of the Hague Convention, the treaty that helps us deal with child abductions. Then there’s the fact that it’s Russia. Their legal system is about as corrupt as it gets. The good news is, we’ve put a hold on all credit cards in her name.”
“So not only is she halfway across the world with Alyssa. Now she has no money.”
“Sometimes it takes making a suspect desperate—”
“This suspect has my daughter.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. All this department has done is delay, get in my way. If you’d put out the Amber Alert last night like I asked—”
“She might already be gone anyway.”
Marcus could sense Stormy willing him to stay calm. Telling off the police or causing a scene wasn’t going to help. It might get him arrested again, and next time he’d spend more than a few hours in jail.
“I was minutes from getting ahold of her boyfriend, the only other person who might know what her plans are.”
“I’m aware of your attempt to break into the apartment down in Tacoma.”
He wasn’t trying to break in, he just wanted to have a conversation. To find his daughter. But the police, this detective, they wouldn’t see it that way.
"What would you do if it were your daughter?" Marcus motioned toward the photo on his desk. It showed a girl of about seven, hanging off the detective’s back with her arms wrapped around his neck, while an older boy competed for his father’s attention, pulling on his arm.
He looked from Marcus to the picture, then back at him. “What I would do is not the issue here.”
Marcus stood.
“Mr. Shelton, we’re going to do—”
“Nothing. I get it. This is out of your hands now.”
The detective rose an eyebrow at Marcus. “Okay Mr. Shelton, but before you leave, there’s one more thing,” the detective said. He glanced at Stormy, then turned his eyes back to Marcus. “In private.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t have a problem with Stormy hearing it.”
He paused, as if giving Marcus a final chance.
“We did send a couple of detectives to interview the man in the apartment.”
“Did he tell you about Kamila’s plans?”
“No. But he does have a theory about her motives.”
“What motives?”
“Kamila seemed to be upset about your relationship.”
“Relationship? She’s just my sister-in-law.”
Stormy shifted her purse from one arm to another.
“That’s not what Kamila thought. If we hadn’t learned about her flight from the country—say if she and the child were just missing—this would be a different kind of case.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Typically, the individual closest to the missing person is the main suspect.” He cleared his throat. “But since we have evidence that both Kamila and your daughter are alive, you’re off the hook.” He paused, as if Marcus should be glad, thank him for not suspecting him of murder.
“And you learned about this supposed relationship from her boyfriend?”
“He claimed you promised to marry Kamila, raise the child together.”
“Okay. I’m done with this. Do you need anything else from me?”
“That’s all for now.”
Marcus speed-walked to Stormy’s car, unsure if she was two, or twenty paces behind him. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about—most of all how to find Kamila now that she’d returned to Russia—he had to deal with the fallout from the stupid accusation that he’d wanted to marry Kamila. Why even mention that in front of Stormy? Why mention it at all? Probably to get back at Marcus for his digs against the department.
This was all a distraction. He needed to get to Russia, find Kamila, and bring Alyssa home safely. Whether Stormy was here waiting for him when he got back was not a priority. And besides, there was little chance of anything between them now that Detective Bryant had practically blamed Kamila’s disappearance on Marcus.
Chapter 9
Stormy let Marcus walk ahead. She needed time to think about what had just happened. She had tried to hide her reaction to the detective’s claim that Marcus had promised to marry Kamila. The Mujadin person wasn’t necessarily to be trusted, and even if Kamila did tell him that she and Marcus were together, it didn’t mean it was true. Kamila had already shown herself to be deceitful.
Then again, Marcus hadn’t denied the accusation.
Stormy wanted to help get Alyssa back home, and anything Marcus had done or said to Kamila wasn’t going to change that. Even Marcus’s stubborn dismissal of her earlier that day hadn’t lessened her commitment to helping him.
Stormy was used to men refusing help, usually out of intimidation. She was tall, supposedly beautiful (so she’d been told), and worst of all, a very good attorney. That’s what frightened men the most, being around a woman who had accomplished more. Sure, they wanted a successful woman, just as long as she wasn’t more successful. It was the mental equivalent of her aunt’s sage advice, don’t wear high heels, it will make your date feel short.
Last week, when Marcus finally asked Stormy out for dinner, she was happily surprised. One evening and months of lunch dates, did that qualify as dating? She wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that she was single, childless, and 36 years old, and on top of all that, feeling like a confused adolescent. Until now.
The conversation between Marcus and the detective had the potential to change everything. She had to know the truth about Kamila and Marcus.
They didn’t speak until they were back in the car. “The good news is, she safe,” Stormy said.
“How the hell did I let this happen? I could have stopped her. Kicked her out a long time ago.” His fists were balled, arms lifted as if he were about to take a swing at her dashboard.
“We’ll figure this out.”
“Are you still going to tell me I should wait and see what the police can do?”
“It’s Russia, Marcus…” Was he planning another scheme that would get him arrested, again?
“I used to work at the Embassy in Moscow, remember? I know exactly what Russia will and won’t do.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You want to know what I’m going to do? I’m going to go to Moscow and I’m going to find my daughter. If I don’t find her there, I will go to Chechnya. When I find her, I’ll take her home, and when I get my hands on Kamila—that’s my exit.”
“What?”
“That’s my exit," he repeated. "You missed it.”
“Oh…well, you can stay at my place tonight.”
The idea had come to her earlier, but it was nothing more than that. Just an idea. Now, she had missed the exit on accident, yet it seemed keeping an eye on him was a good idea. There was, as well, the question of Marcus and Kamila. She was going to get an answer, get to the truth—or what he was willing to offer up as the truth.
“But…”
“I’m the one driving,” she said.
Stormy poured each of them a glass of Pinot Grigio while she made chicken fettuccine. Half an hour later, she sat across from Marcus, watching him eat. She wasn’t hungry, but the wine hit the bottom of her stomach in a way that reminded her she hadn’t eaten in a while.
She smiled at him. “Feeling better?”
“Thank you,” he said, between bites. “You’re the best… I can’t believe you still gave me a ride after…”
“After what?”
“The way I talked to you at the house,” he put the fork down and swallowed. “When I said I didn’t need your help.”
“Oh,” Stormy said, “You mean when you pretty much told me to get lost.”
Marcus stammer
ed, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Lucky for you I ignored you.”
They talked until it grew late, the conversation sticking to Kamila and Alyssa, Russia and Chechnya. Several times, Stormy nearly asked the question that had been pressing against the inside of her chest.
There was a break in the conversation. She had to say it. The longer she waited, the harder it would be. “We need to talk about what the detective said, about you and Kamila. That you were going to marry her.”
There, I did it. It’s over.
Stormy waited for a response, but Marcus stared back at her without betraying either denial or guilt. What had she expected, an unconscious betrayal, some gesture that might prove he was lying? She hated to admit it, but the last thing she expected was the truth.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
Chapter 10
Kamila waited in the lobby of the US Embassy in Moscow, her cash down to a handful of bills. She didn’t want to count the money, didn’t want to know how close they both were to starving, to sleeping on the street. In the meantime, she had fed the girl, paid for a taxi, and found the cheapest motel in Moscow.
They needed money. Not just for food and for a place to stay, but enough cash to get home, to Chechnya. And then what? Her father would know what to do. If she were lucky he’d be proud of her. Proud that she made it back from America all on her own. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized Kamila had brought Alyssa home too.
Going to the American Embassy in Moscow was not the smartest thing a Chechen could do. Chechnya was a breakaway republic. A region fighting for freedom from the Russian oppressors. The Russians controlled much of Chechnya now, but not the area where Kamila’s father fought.
But the Embassy was her only hope, and even though she was not an American, she had lived among them and in many ways felt more American than Russian or Chechen. And Marcus had worked at the Embassy before he married Anna. Still, it was a risk, walking into the lion’s den.
There were two things on her side: Marcus had not left the Embassy on good terms so it was unlikely he kept in contact and, because of this, they wouldn’t know the truth. She also had the girl, and Americans, she observed, liked to feel as though they were helping someone in need. That in itself was no different than in Russia or Chechnya, but Americans, they made a show of it, as if the whole world had to stop and congratulate them for helping an old lady cross the street.
Kamila had her story ready, had written it down this time. Someone there would remember Marcus. She would explain that Marcus had died, that this was his daughter, and she, Kamila, was taking Alyssa home to visit relatives. A stranger had stolen her purse and she and the girl were desperate, in need of cash.
It might work, as long as Marcus didn’t know she was in Moscow yet.
“Mr. Jones will see you,” the Embassy receptionist said. Kamila had asked for Jones because she remembered Marcus mentioning the man’s name. She’d had to use her fake documents, the ones that said she was Anna, an American citizen. Even then, she’d had to make a scene, demand to see Mr. Jones, said he was a friend of the family. She had to do all of this without letting Alyssa hear her.
Kamila left Alyssa in the lobby as the receptionist led Kamila to Mr. Jones’s office. Kamila closed the door. Jones was more stylish than the typical American man. He wore an expensive suit that seemed to change its hue depending on where you stood. Each strand of his peppered hair held its position flawlessly. He was handsome for his age. That would make things easier, if it came to that.
“Have a seat,” he said without looking up.
Minutes passed, and Kamila suppressed an urge to get up and walk out—what she usually did when someone wasn’t paying attention. She shifted in her chair and the leather let out a creak. Jones jerked his head up as if noticing her for the first time. Kamila half-expected him to say, “Oh, when did you come in?”
Instead, he rose, walked around his desk, and sat confidently—too confidently—on the edge of the desk in front of her.
“What was your name?”
“Kamila.”
“Kamila? You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure,” she said. Then, she remembered that she’d used Anna’s documents. “My real name is Anna. My family calls me Kamila.”
“And you’re related to Marcus Shelton?”
Her right eye betrayed her with a tremor. How did he know so much? Was Marcus here too? She glanced at the door. Was Alyssa already gone?
“What do you mean?” she asked, the strength of her words undermined by a wavering throat.
“Didn’t you tell my receptionist you were Marcus’s sister-in-law?”
“Oh.” He was right, she had said that. Her face flushed and she breathed again. “Yes, I am traveling with his daughter. I am her aunt, caring for her since her mother died. It’s been very hard on her.” She paused, visualizing what she had written. “Marcus thought it would be a good idea for her to visit family—”
“Marcus thought it would be a good idea?” Mr. Jones interrupted.
She had lost her place. Marcus was supposed to be dead, according to Kamila’s story. Stay in control. He’s nothing more than a man. You know how to deal with men. “He’s meeting us. If you don’t believe me—”
“I got it. Calm down,” Mr. Jones said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t wear anxiety well, Ms. Shishani. You’re much more attractive when you’re pretending to be composed.”
When she had first arrived, Jones’ expression was one of forced disinterest. Now he considered Kamila as though she were a new plaything. Maybe he thought she was exotic, dangerous. He rose, walked behind her chair so she couldn’t see him. “What is it exactly you would like me to do for you?”
“I need money.”
He let out a cynical laugh. “The United States Embassy is not a bank.”
“What about the girl? You want her to starve? She is an American citizen.”
His hands were on the back of her chair now. “But you aren’t an American citizen, are you, Kamila. Marcus married a Chechen. I’m no scientist, but if you’re his sister-in-law, I believe that makes you a Chechen.”
Kamila twisted in the chair, looking up at him. “So what?”
“Just asking,” he said. Mr. Jones strolled over to a wet bar and poured a glass of water out of a thick glass pitcher. He replaced the pitcher and beads of condensation rolled down, furrowing long scars through its frosted exterior. “Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Your mouth seems dry,” he smiled.
“Ok,” she said, taking the glass of water. She took a long drink.
“How much money?”
“A thousand.”
“Well, my dear, that isn’t going to happen.” Then, that mocking laugh. People, everywhere, acting as though everything were a joke, as if no one could ever take her or anything she asked for seriously.
“How much then?”
He was stroking his tie, pulling at it slowly. It was pink and baby blue, the colors American mothers wrapped their infants in. He sat down on the desk again. “I would like to help you,” he said softly. “I just need to know you are being...genuine.”
He reached out and with two fingers, moved the hair out of her eyes. He paused, eyebrows arched in a question as his hand passed over the scar on her left cheek.
“How much can you give me?” Kamila pressed him. She looked forward, not at Jones. She was eyeing the gold dagger letter-opener on his desk. Kamila imagined herself pushing the knife into his chest, but doubted that she had the strength to do it. There was his neck. But that would make things messy.
Her eyes rose from his neck to his face.
“I am aware that you aren’t the innocent little auntie you are pretending to be,” he said, with a smirk that was so ideal in its form that it seemed he had cut it from a magazine and pinned it to his face.
“I could pick up my phone now and have you in a Russian jail before you could find a cab out of here.” Kamila’s eyes moved to the door again. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I know you’re a bad girl. I like that.” He slid a finger under her chin. “I’m not getting involved in your family issues. What we do is between me and you. If we have an agreement, I might be able to help. Understood?”
What had she been thinking—that she could ask the American for help and he’d expect nothing in return? She knew better than that. It was a sign of weakness that she’d even hoped for something good to come of this. But she needed the money, needed to get back home to Chechnya.
She would go along with Jones, give him what he wanted. For now.
Chapter 11
Marcus didn’t have time to deal with this right now. Questions about relationships, accusations about Kamila. They’d been doing fine, discussing ways to find Alyssa in Russia, what his next steps should be. Now the question about Kamila. Just because Stormy had helped him, had some good ideas, didn’t mean she could interrogate him about his personal life.
Not that he had anything to hide.
“I just want to know about the nature of your relationship,” Stormy said.
“There was no promise to marry her. And no, that’s not why she stole my daughter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you blaming this on me?”
“No—”
“Besides, it wasn’t like that at all,” Marcus said.
Her eyebrows rose. “Wasn’t like what?”
Why do women have to read so much into everything?
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Marcus, if you’re telling me it wasn’t like that, that implies there was something.”
“I’m not with her and I didn’t promise her anything.”
She was studying his expression, obviously trying to figure out if he was lying.
Saying too little or nothing at all wasn’t going to get Stormy off his back. If things hadn’t gone as well as they had so far this evening, he would have called a cab by now. But something held him there, made him fight back the urge to walk away from Stormy and her growing doubts about him.
Dark Sky Falling Page 4