Leverage (The Mistaken Series)

by Nancy S Thompson

  “Do you think she’s okay, Mom? Katy?” he asked, still staring off into space. “I mean, Greg killed Leo, and the night he died, Leo warned me to watch my back. Obviously, he couldn’t go through with whatever Greg had planned. So he killed him. Why wouldn’t he do the same to Katy, especially if he thought she’d betrayed him with me? Maybe that wasn’t part of his plan. Maybe he dealt with Katy like he did Leo. Maybe she’s dead.” He looked up at me. “Do you think she’s dead, Mom? Do you think Greg killed her?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I don’t know. I pray he didn’t, but I just don’t know. We have to go to the FBI and tell them what we do know. We have to tell Maks. He can help. I know he can.”

  Conner closed his eyes and tipped his head back then stood with his back to me. “It’s too late. I already went to Maks earlier. I told him about Greg’s plan for Ty. I know what Ty’s gonna do, who he’s gonna kill, when and where, and I shared that information with Maks.” He slowly turned and faced me.

  “You did what?” I asked as panic began to set in.

  “We came up with a plan. The FBI is finally gonna get Ty for all the shit he’s done. He’s going to prison, Mom. Maybe not for what he did to you, but he’ll rot just the same for what he’s about to do for Greg. I’m sorry, but…there’s nothing you can do about that now.”

  It was my turn to be stunned, but only for a moment. Then I sprang into action.

  “The hell there isn’t,” I seethed and went back into the kitchen where earlier I’d spotted my purse on the counter. I pulled out my phone, but it had been days since I’d charged it last, and the battery was hopelessly dead. All I needed were my contacts, so I plugged it in and waited for it to charge just enough. In the mean time, I needed to find Ty before he fell into the FBI’s trap.

  I turned to Conner, leaning against the doorframe. “Where is he going?” I demanded. “Where is Ty supposed to kill Greg’s first target? And who is it?”

  “Mom—”

  “You tell me this instant! I will not have the man I love, the father of that baby girl in there, your sister, kill on the behest of a gangster, only to be hauled off to prison for protecting his family! Ty is a good man, caught in an impossible situation. He’s suffered for years for what he’s done, and neither you nor the FBI has the right to entrap him for a crime he’s being forced to commit. That man would gladly lay down his life for you or me or his daughter, whom he hasn’t even had the chance to meet yet, by the way. So you tell me, young man, where is Tyler going?”

  Conner hesitated for a moment longer then finally relented. “Portland. He’s going to Portland, to River View Cemetery. There’s a funeral there tomorrow at one. Only thing I can figure is, Greg set it up so this guy he wants killed would be there. Wouldn’t surprise me if he had someone killed just for that reason alone. How else could he possibly know about a funeral that far ahead—” He stopped and looked off. His face twisted a little, as if he were in pain. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

  “What? What is it?” I asked.

  “Katy. She’s from Portland. Said her dad was some big deal down there, big boss man she called him. She also referred to herself as Daddy’s little girl, so obviously, he loves her.” Conner paused for a moment. “Greg’s after some big shot in the Russian Mafia, someone from Portland. He mentioned that specifically to me and Ty; and it was on that itinerary I stole and turned over to Maks. He set this whole thing up. What if it’s Katy’s father he’s after?”

  He raised his hands to his head.

  “Oh my God, Mom, what if it’s Katy’s funeral?”

  CHAPTER 59

  Hannah

  Conner’s fears were well-founded. Greg was entirely capable of killing to suit his needs, even someone he might care about. I prayed my son’s hunch about Katy was wrong, but the pieces were fitting together far too easily for it to be coincidence. With a quick check on Nicole, I returned to the kitchen, powered up my phone, and hit Maks Sidorov’s number in my contacts. It rang only once.

  “Mrs. Karras?” Maks answered, oddly nonplussed.

  I sighed in relief regardless. “Yes, Maks, thank God you answered.”

  “Where are you, Mrs. Karras? Are you all right?” he asked, his tone off somehow.

  “Yes, I’m okay. It’s hard to believe, but…I’m home, though I don’t feel safe here.”

  “That’s understandable. How can I help?” He sounded too cool, too calm.

  “I think you know, Maks. Are you on your way down to Portland? You’re going to stop Ty, right? You’re not going to let him go through with Greg’s plan, are you?”

  “Mrs. Karras, slow down, please. What is it you think I know?”

  “Conner told me everything, about Greg’s plan, about Ty. He said he had an interesting conversation with you about what happened years ago, that you believe Ty is guilty of some crime against me. Is that true, Maks? Have you two concocted some scheme to entrap Tyler so the FBI can send him to prison? For crimes he didn’t commit?”

  Maks snorted. “That’s debatable, and also beside the point. Your son and husband spent some rather difficult time with Grigory Dmitriev. Conner learned a great deal about Ty’s past and how you two first got involved. I had nothing to do with that. When he asked, I only corroborated what I knew as fact.”

  “I think it was more than that, Mr. Sidorov. I think you’re filling his head with things you know nothing about. What is this plan you hatched to catch Ty?”

  “That wasn’t me, Mrs. Karras; that was Conner. He was justifiably upset and, I must say, acting quite erratically. He demanded I act on the information he was providing. He detailed Dmitriev’s plan and suggested I be present when your husband attempts to carry out the first assassination. I agreed simply to placate your son and move on the situation. The FBI has no intention of permitting your husband to commit any crime.”

  “What is the FBI’s intention then? You’re going to intervene, aren’t you, save my husband before Greg destroys him?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Karras, in fact, I’m on my way as we speak.”

  “And you’ll have a team there, right? Because Greg is constantly surrounded by an army of thugs, as I’m sure his target is. I don’t want Ty caught in the middle of a gang war.”

  Maks sighed impatiently. “It will be taken care of, I assure you, but there might be a way in which you can help.”

  “Anything, just name it.”

  “If you were there in protective custody, Ty would see for himself that his family is safe, that he doesn’t need to go through with Dmitriev’s plan.”

  “But Greg might kill Ty if he thinks he’s not cooperating. He’ll be a sitting duck!”

  “Not with my team there. We just need to have your entire family all in one place, so we can finally accomplish what we attempted a few days ago—get your family into witness protection. You’ll never be safe out on your own. You all need to come in together, and with you and your children there to prove his family is now safely in our custody, Ty will abandon whatever deal he made with Greg. It’s the only way to get him to lay down his weapon before he does something he regrets. But regardless of his motives, Mrs. Karras, if your husband kills, he will be subject to the law.”

  I closed my eyes to keep the tears at bay. I knew what Maks said was true, and once the deed was done, there would be very little he could do to protect Ty.

  “You want us all there?” I asked.

  “Yes. I understand you delivered your baby while in Dmitriev’s custody.”

  “Yes, Nicole, she’s home with me and Conner. I need a pediatrician to look her over.”

  “Sorry you had to go through that in such a difficult situation. We’ll help in any way we can. Unfortunately, we still have your vehicle in impound, so I’ll send a car over.”

  My head told me to jump at his offer, but my gut told me otherwise. I found it hard to trust anyone anymore. I couldn’t put my children’s fate in anyone’s hands but my own.

 
“That’s not necessary, Maks. Plus, I’d rather not wait. Conner can drive us.”

  “All right. He knows where to go. Just call me when you cross the river. Oh and, Mrs. Karras? There’s no reason to tell Conner what we just discussed. It’s probably not a good idea to upset him when he has a long drive ahead of him. He’s agitated enough.”

  “Um, okay,” I replied, but intuition screamed that something was off. “I should go; I need to pack. We’ll leave early in the morning.” I took a deep breath. “I need to know we can straighten this whole thing out, Maks, that Ty will be able to come home with us.”

  “I guarantee, Mrs. Karras, when this is all over, everyone will be exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

  CHAPTER 60

  Tyler

  The three-hour drive from Seattle down to Portland felt interminable. I hadn’t realized earlier that Greg would not only be escorting me, but that he planned on attending the funeral to offer his condolences to his father’s former colleague, a way to extend his hand in friendship, he said. I knew it was just a ploy to deflect possible blame. Afterwards, he’d say he’d been at risk, as well, another target caught in a madman’s crosshairs.

  I wondered if he realized how tempting it was for me, to know I could just as easily kill him as Lebedev, but I knew Greg well enough to know he’d left nothing to chance, and had set up some form of retaliation should I stray from his orders. That thought alone, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy those I loved, kept my temptations from getting the better of me. No matter his promise, my family would never be safe, just as I would never be free of his leash.

  We arrived at River View Cemetery an hour before the scheduled burial. Our driver entered the heavily treed graveyard from the west end and pulled Greg’s black Audi A8 to the shoulder of one of the narrow paths that meandered through the stunning parkland. After reviewing the map for the hundredth time, Greg retrieved a small device from his coat pocket.

  He turned around in his seat in the front and held it out to me. “Here, an earpiece, so you can hear me at all times. Use it,” he ordered.

  I grabbed it and held it up for inspection. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “If something goes wrong, I need to be able to communicate with you, but no matter what happens, you are to follow my orders to the letter. Are we clear?” He raised a brow as he tapped his finger against the center console.

  With a sigh, I nodded.

  “Good. Now put it in place so we can test it. I have a small mic inside the collar of my coat.” He ordered me out and told me to close the door. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

  Another nod indicated I had. And that was it. After retrieving the weapon from the trunk, I was ordered to our prearranged hiding spot well below the east-facing hillcrest. Greg had only brought his driver for protection, one of his more normal-sized, less-intimidating guards, but lethal nonetheless, even unarmed. Lebedev’s men would search every person in attendance, and Greg didn’t want to offend or threaten him in any way. He wanted to appear the meek little mouse come only to pay his respects. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he had hidden weapons. That would be just his style.

  The Audi pulled away after I ducked into the tree line. Once over the low crest, I headed downhill toward the Willamette River. The burial ceremony was being held just outside the family’s large mausoleum. Though it sat alone in a private lawn, there were plenty of other sizable crypts close by, owned by some of Portland’s oldest and wealthiest families. While the wooded hillside offered ample protection, the concrete tombs would act as shields should return shots be fired in my direction.

  A white canopy tent had been set up to protect the congregation from inclement weather—always an issue in the Pacific Northwest—and two dozen white folding chairs were assembled in neat rows with a center aisle splitting them into two sections. Up front, in the center on an easel, perched a large portrait of Katy Holender. Her smile was bright and her golden hair gleamed like a halo about her head. Countless flower arrangements flanked her image, set between the front of the mausoleum and the row of chairs facing it, while even more were scattered around the perimeter of the gathering area.

  The shear number posed a serious obstruction to my line of sight, and with the low canopy in place, my hillside advantage proved anything but. I was too high and couldn’t see beneath the awning. I had to relocate, but I had no way of letting Greg know. I only had an earpiece; he had the mic. Hopefully, once in place, he’d realize the obstructions and communicate his wishes. Until then, I had to do what I felt best, though, to be honest, I wasn’t convinced I’d even be able to pull the trigger with a live human being in my sights.

  As the caravan of cars arrived and lined the narrow curving lane nearby, I dashed from tree to tree, hidden in the shadowy darkness. Those attending had to walk a quarter mile across the well-groomed lawn to take their seats under the open canopy. To have a clear shot beneath it, yet remain hidden, I had to take up position an additional hundred meters away, a long shot, but still within my well-practiced abilities, that is if my performance test was to be believed.

  My shoes soon became soaked by the rain-drenched grass, as did the knees of my jeans from kneeling down and spying on the crowd through the scope atop my rifle. It chilled me to the bone to secretly observe all the people with my crosshairs slung across their shoulders. The crowd swelled and settled in for the internment, and, as the white casket was carried in by six sturdy pallbearers, the family finally arrived and was shown to their seats.

  Once the service began, I hunkered down for the duration, but kept my eyes trained through the scope. I hadn’t heard a word from Greg, nor could I see him, but, even though the crowd was thick and the partition of flowers a nuisance, I could clearly see my target, Aleksander Lebedev. And beside him, at his right hand, just as Greg had predicted, was Eduard Meier—both marks within easy reach. I only had to wait until the crowd thinned.

  Earlier, Greg had warned me he would make his presence known only after the service was complete. That was to be my cue. So, once everyone rose and offered their condolences then began to wander back to their vehicles, I sprinted through the shadows of trees one last time and found the perfect position next to a large mausoleum with four columns supporting a carved pediment. The dark gloom of the crypt’s overhang and narrow intervals between the pillars provided excellent cover and protection.

  I raised my rifle once more and settled the crosshairs on the last few remaining mourners near the face of the Lebedev tomb just as Greg separated himself from the forest of flowers, his man close to his side. He looked in my direction, like he knew precisely where I was. My earpiece suddenly crackled to life as Greg’s voice pierced the quiet of my head.

  “This is it,” he said, “your moment of truth. Time to prove who you are, once and for all—a killer, a Vory, a Chernov.”

  Though his words were a slap in the face, my blood ran cold when I realized I’d already become all three.

  CHAPTER 61

  Tyler

  With Katy’s casket solemnly interned within the mausoleum, the service came to an end. Just as the last three mourners shook Lebedev’s hand, Greg made himself known to Eduard Meier and Lebedev’s pretty, young wife. Meier tapped his boss on the elbow, and Lebedev quickly ordered his wife to return to the car and leave. Greg’s mic was sensitive and broadcast their conversation clearly, and, through the scope, I could plainly see the tension tick up as Greg, his man ten paces behind, approached Lebedev and Meier with his hands raised.

  Two of Lebedev’s guard rushed in between them as another captured Greg’s man and wrenched his arms behind his back. In stony silence, Greg and his bodyguard were thoroughly patted down for weapons. Satisfied they were both clean, Lebedev’s goons stepped aside, but remained at attention with their hands resting on the sidearms beneath their suit jackets. Greg turned toward his man with a nod, and the guard retreated a step to give them privacy.

  E
ver courteous, Greg faced Lebedev and Meier with a genial if somber grin and bowed. “Eduard, it’s been much too long since we last saw one another. And Alek,” he greeted, bowing even deeper, his face a mask of melancholy, “I’m so very sorry we meet again under such sad circumstances. My deepest condolences for your tragic loss.”

  “Chernov,” Lebedev huffed in response. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  A hand to his chest, Greg’s expression turned to mild surprise. “Why, I’ve come only to express my sympathies, of course. Katya and I were well acquainted, as you know. I’m at a loss for words at her passing. She was such a bright, energetic girl.”

  Like lightning, Lebedev struck, backhanding Greg across the face. Greg crashed onto the damp grass at Lebedev’s feet.

  “You fucking little weasel,” he railed at Greg. “You were nothing more than shit Katya scraped from the sole of her shoe. You are not worthy to be here, nor are you welcome, so take your weak, pathetic ass and get the fuck out.”

  My hands grew slick against the metal grips of my weapon, and a rushing roared loud in my ears as my heart leapt within my chest. From the ground near Meier’s feet, Greg swiped his thumb across a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He stared at it before sucking it off and shifting to sit cross-legged with his elbows on his knees. He actually started to chuckle while everyone, including Greg’s thug, just stood there and stared.