And there she was. At the edge of the screen, the same wide blue eyes—terror rounding them, cherub cheeks and long dark curly hair. One big man reached for her as she clearly ran.
“Did she get away?” the woman asked, her voice so low he barely caught it.
He shook his head, chills dancing over his arms. He had to get the hell out of here.
“I don’t know, but I’m not leaving here until we know for certain.”
John, studying him, grabbed his arm. “If anyone died, this is a crime scene.”
He wretched his arm free. “I think even you can see that murder happened here and that may be, Johnno, but I’ll not leave any child behind in this house.”
He didn’t need to look again at the cameras or in the room to know the exact location of everything, even down to the last music box set atop the mantel. The pink curtains in the dollhouse.
Out in the hallway, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then another.
He hated this fucking job. Hated it. He didn’t care what he had to do. This was it. He was out.
She had looked so small, so damn small—but then had she really been? Was she older? He knew from living with the slime this long that things were rarely what they appeared, but regardless, she hadn’t deserved death. She hadn’t deserved whatever else had gone on here.
Who was she and who had hurt her?
If he’d gotten here sooner.
“Why the hell am I just now learning of Elianya’s little side business?” he snapped out, his hands fisted on his hips, not turning back to the room.
His muscles tightened.
John sighed. “I was ordered not to tell you.”
He glanced over his shoulder, piercing his friend with a look, but John didn’t look away. “Why?”
John’s brows rose. “I didn’t ask why. You don’t ask why. Christ.” He raked a hand over his face. “I have to call this—” He broke off and answered his phone. “What?”
Damn bastards. He’d seen a lot and had been part of more, but by God, he’d never been a part of this. The fact that Viktor might have known for a while, the fact John had known for a while and hadn’t told him . . .
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
Then they shot open. The other girl.
He didn’t listen to John. Where the hell was she?
“Are those the only cameras?” he asked from the doorway.
Lenora hadn’t walked far from the cameras. She still stood there, pale and studying one of the pictures. “Well, we know the digital is still working. And it appears the film may still be in the thirty-five millimeter.” Her eyes rose to his and iced, mirroring his own rage. “If we look through all the frames, we might just have the bastards who did this.”
“Thanks, I’ll let him know,” John said, his features hardening. “No, I’m with him. I’ll make certain he gets to a safe house.” John’s eyes, bright with anger and something else, zeroed in on him. John flipped his phone shut. “It appears you’re out of a job, and even if you weren’t, your cover’s been blown wide-ass open.”
“What? When? How?”
“That was an informant we have inside the Prague police. Your boss was murdered, and whoever did it left images of your past aliases complete with names, or some of them, on Hellinski’s computer.”
The gravity of the situation here and as a whole clicked through him.
“We’ve got to get you out of here. Several people are going to want you dead. Word’s already hit the streets you were undercover,” John said, dialing his phone. “Hellinski’s friends are not going to be happy.”
“Who killed him?”
John’s gray eyes narrowed on him. “Elianya, it appears. Went in, no one saw her leave, and then one of the guards went in to tell Mr. Hellinski he was late for a meeting.”
“I’m not going anywhere just yet.” He walked back into the room to see Lenora/Raven, whoever the hell she was, taking both cameras off their stands. For a moment he studied her.
Her head was bowed, but he noticed the tremor in her hands. Hell, his own were still shaking. Her shoulders rose on a deep breath then another. Without turning to him, she said, “I couldn’t work vice. Never could do that. I can’t stand sex crimes.” She shrugged, turned to him, and he caught the haunted look that flashed in her eyes. “So I worked wherever else they needed me. Narcotics, scams, kidnappings, terrorism, homicide, wherever, however, just not something like . . . like . . .” She waved toward the bed. “No child should even know about such things, let alone experience them.”
He almost didn’t answer her, but then he did. “I couldn’t agree more.” Still studying her, he said, “I don’t know if you’re the elusive Raven who was offered a couple of mill to put a bullet in my brain or not, but—”
“It was actually five million.” She sniffed and shrugged gain. “But who’s counting.”
With that she finally looked at him with those witch’s eyes.
He didn’t say anything; neither did she. Finally he nodded. “Thanks.”
“For not killing you or saving your life?”
“Both.”
For a moment they simply stared at each other and he felt it again, hot ice between his shoulder blades. He shifted and rolled his neck.
“We should check the rest of the house.”
She nodded, glanced again around the room. “Yes. I’m betting there is a hidden video camera in here somewhere. Live action sells more on the market than frozen frames.”
He agreed. “We’ll look for the damn camera later. Now, I want to find a live girl.”
She nodded and followed him from the room.
*****
Voices filtered through the quiet. She heard the thumps and bumps. A shot.
She shivered. So cold. Why was she so cold?
Her thumb shook in her mouth.
Think of something else. She’d think of something else.
Back home. Back home before Papa and Mama went away.
But then they went away . . .
Her eyes shot open, but only a sliver of light showed around the edge of the door. She huddled tighter.
She’d pretend to be a shadow. No one looked for shadows. No one cared about shadows.
Shadows were silent. Shadows didn’t get hurt.
She waited, heard them talking.
A man’s voice.
A woman’s.
She whimpered.
Please, not the monsters. Please not the monsters.
*****
He raked a hand through his hair.
Shit. Cover was blown. Which meant he’d have more people after him. And here he was playing games. What the fuck?
“Hide and seek is never fun as an adult. Have you noticed that?” Lenora asked as they stepped into another room and flipped the lights on.
He ignored the fact she finished his thought.
Another room like the first. This one done in blues and grays. Sports paraphernalia on the mantel. Trains and action figures on the walls. Again, there was one large floor-to-ceiling mirror on one of the walls.
Rage licked hot through his veins.
“There are some things I could have lived without seeing,” he muttered.
Determined, he walked to the bed, dropped down on one side. He wished he hadn’t. Under the bed was an assortment of BDSM toys, chains, whips, boxes of things he didn’t care to open.
Christ, how many others had there been?
He straightened, checked behind the curtains as the woman ripped through the closet and the armoire. “The longer I’m alive, even with all I’ve seen, I’m constantly reminded there is still a depth even the lowest haven’t succumbed to.”
He couldn’t agree more.
He knelt in front of the fireplace.
They both heard steps coming down the hallway and pulled their guns as John walked around the door.
He shook his head and ignored them. “I’ve got a team cleaning your place in Prague and . . .” He f
rowned. “What the hell are you two doing?” John asked.
Then he heard it. A whisper of a moan.
“Shh,” they both answered.
John continued. “I called this in, explained to my superior what the bloody hell was going on. And he said Pete’s trying to get in contact with—”
“Shhh,” the woman said again, her head tilting to the side. She strode to the mirror, tried to lift the gilded edge of the golden frame, but it didn’t move. One eyebrow cocked at him. “Two way, perhaps?”
He pulled his gun free, but she only shook her head and pulled something hanging from her waist, beside her pack. It unfolded and she removed a suction cup from the center tube. “Always come prepared, boys.”
Chapter 7
Prepared?
John’s phone chirped and he answered it, still watching them.
The woman dangled the instrument from her hand and motioned him back. “Get out of my way.” Taking a deep breath, she placed the suction cup on the mirror and widened the diameter. “So who are you? John said your cover was blown. What’s your name? You already know mine.”
True. Still he didn’t say anything.
“Should I call you Dimitri Petrolov, then?” she asked.
If he wasn’t Dimitri Petrolov, who the hell was he currently? Another alias?
Someone from his past covers?
The names all floated through his brain.
“Dimitri Petrolov no longer exists,” he said, blinking as the shaded lies of five years blurred.
She paused and looked at him, her dark brow cocked.
Petrolov was no more. And . . .
“Ian. My name is Ian.”
She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ian.” She quickly cut a large hole in the mirror. There was a slight grind as she lifted the cylindrical piece of glass away. “I’m glad you turned out to be a good guy. I’d hate to think I let you live if you were part of this. Of course, then I’d just hunt you down anyway.”
“Still contemplating that five million?”
She shook her head. “No, it was the price that gave me pause. If they wanted you gone that badly, I had to ask myself why. And if I turned it down and found out you were party to the shit going down here,” she said, winking at him, “I’d have gone after you pro bono, so to speak.”
“Target practice.”
“Some of us don’t need target practice, luv.” She frowned and looked into the hole. “Looks like we found the videos.”
“Move,” he told her.
John was still on the phone, barking orders to someone.
Ian walked up and she stepped back.
Ducking his head, he looked into the small enclosure behind the mirror. A video camera sat on a tripod. More sex toys hung from the wall. The more he saw the more angry he became. A voyeur’s haven. A swing hung from the ceiling, manacles were chained along the wall, more whips and leather and velvets. He didn’t care. What people wanted to do, what they liked, were their own business.
But this . . . This was Elianya’s sick and twisted version.
“Check the other room, behind the mirror,” he said, pulling back. “I’m betting the video camera is there as well.”
“I’ll just get right on that,” she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “Since I work for you and all.”
He ignored her and glanced around the room again.
A whimper.
A cherry armoire, at least eight feet high, stood in the corner.
Slowly he walked to it, noted one of the doors was slightly open, the dull metal handle not flat against the wood as the one on the left door.
He pulled his gun free.
The woman beside him did the same thing.
They aimed at the armoire; the thick carpet swallowed their footfalls.
Quickly he jerked the door open.
A breath of air whooshed out.
Nothing. It stood bare.
Then just a sigh.
He looked at the woman beside him, then back to the armoire.
Inside, there were shelves and two doors on each side at the very bottom. No more than eighteen inches high or so.
Squatting down and taking a deep breath, he pulled the right-side door open, just as the woman pulled hers.
For a second he glanced her way, but noted it was empty and looked back to his.
Inside sat a little girl, her black hair curly, her eyes wide and dark blue.
She looked just like the girl on the camera, on the bed.
Her eyes were wide and vacant, staring at nothing, pupils dilated. He watched as her chest rose and fell quickly. Dressed in a white eyelet, with her thumb firmly in her mouth, she was a white bundle in a small space.
He closed his eyes. Opening them he said, “Just a minute, baby. Hang on, we’ll get you out.” He leaned down further.
“How the hell did she get in here?” he asked. She was curled up in a little ball. Not even her toes peeked out.
“Poor kid,” the woman muttered.
Turning to Lenora, he said, “Do you think she’d rather you go in there for her?”
Lenora only shook her head, straightening. “Sorry, I don’t do kids in any way, shape, or form. If you need me to go in and get her I will, but I’ve never really . . .” She took a deep breath and he wondered if something else was going on here.
He focused on the small girl trying to hide. There wasn’t even enough room to reach in and get her, unless he pulled her out by her feet. He really didn’t want to force her to do anything. God only knew what she’d witnessed.
“Máte přání?” he asked her softly in Czech. When she continued to stare, he tried again, “Jmenuji se Ian. Jak se jmenujete?”
Not a flicker of recognition. Nothing. Just that fast panting, wide staring eyes as she sucked her thumb.
Damn it.
He wanted to coax her out.
He tried German. Then Russian next, “Privet. Govorite li vy po angliyski?”
Still nothing. All the while he wondered if he should just reach in and grab her. She sat unmoving, hardly blinking, her small face pale, her eyes . . . God, those eyes.
Gently, he reached in and felt her cheek. She was cold, and clammy. Just as easily, he took her wrist, red and abraded, to feel her pulse. He frowned at the fragile bones. There it thumped, a bit too quickly. How old was she? Four? Five? Six? Too damn young.
He told her again in different languages that he was going to give her his coat. “I’ll take you out of here.”
She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared ahead.
He shifted directly in front of her, shielding her as he stood and shucked off his long coat. He had no idea if she had any other injuries and didn’t think this was the time to check them out. Being careful not to startle her, he reached inside, surprised there was more room in the cubby than he’d realized. He grasped her under the arms and pulled her toward him. When he had her out, he wrapped his coat around her and picked her up.
At first she was stiff, then she slumped against him, her head dropping on his shoulder. Her thumb still in her mouth, he felt the motion of her jaw as she suckled. Ian pulled her back far enough to see the eyes still stared past him to the room beyond. Covering her head, he stood.
“Come on,” he told the woman, who was taking the video from the camera within the hidden chamber.
They walked out of the blue room and back down the hallway to the yellow room, where John stood pacing and barking into the phone.
The little girl roused in his arms, trying to get down and looking toward the bed.
She frowned and looked at him. Her eyes, God, those eyes. They weren’t vacant now, but asking questions, confused and terrified.
Ian tightened his hold on her, even as her breathing quickened and whimpers crawled up her throat, squeezing inside him.
“I want those cameras,” he said softly to Lenora.
She nodded and looked from him to the child in his arms.
Lenora, or Rori as her friends call
ed her, stared at this man.
Earlier he’d been quick, fast as a striking snake, and now he was as gentle as a breeze. He held the little girl as if he were used to holding a child against him, wrapped in a coat, as he muttered soft things into her hair.
He walked into the hallway. She grabbed both cameras, staring at this room, the empty bed—and she remembered. That poor kid . . .
Rori muttered a prayer for the lost ones and turned her back, following Ian out into the hallway.
He and John Brasher were talking, the girl still squirming in Ian’s coat.
Again he said something softly to her. She stilled in his arms.
John got his first look at the little girl and shook his head, his don’t-screw-with-me face hardening even more into a mask that would send most running in the other direction. His flat gray eyes darkened.
And she knew if it was the last thing any of them did, they would find the buggering bastards who had committed this crime.
Ian shifted his gaze from his whispered conversation with John to her.
“We’re leaving and you’re coming with us,” he said. His dark blue eyes dared her to object.
John looked quickly from Ian to her, then back to Ian. “I think we should discuss—”
“She’s coming,” Ian said, still not taking his gaze from her.
Rori returned his study, wondering what he wanted.
She shrugged. “What the hell, the car was nicked anyway.”
Ian cocked one brow and John muttered something, drawing her attention to him.
What was John Brasher doing here? Just her luck, when she didn’t take a bloody mark, she was made, and by none other than someone she had worked with.
Christ.
They all headed back downstairs.
Ian stopped in the entryway and said, “What if there are more locked here in the house? This wasn’t a one-time affair, John.”
Rori agreed. “It’s probable she has them locked in here or nearby. They . . .” She cleared her throat and looked away, taking a deep breath.
“I’ve already taken care of it,” John said. “Our first priority is to get you”—he pointed to Ian—“the hell out of here, and her.” He motioned toward the little girl, who lay quietly in Ian’s arms. “A team is on their way to tear this place apart. And find whatever evidence we can to dismantle this ring.”
Deadly Games Page 8