Rori strolled over to the table, where a platter of water bottles stood. She grabbed one and twisted the top off. “What? She’s fine. Trust me. If she didn’t want to go in there, she wouldn’t have. Give her a few minutes and then I’ll knock on the door.” She drank deeply. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have no privacy when you really want it? To be so terrified that you distrust those who would help?”
His droll expression told her it was a stupid question.
She took another drink and glanced around the room. “Where’s John?”
“Went out for a few things.”
“Like?”
“Clothing. Unless I’m mistaken, you don’t have any, nor does the child.”
She shook her head. “You have inconspicuous down to an art.”
He shrugged, glanced back into the darkened room, then turned back to her, but paced to the window, then back to the doorway of the room. “We needed a secure place to stay for a few hours and this was the best we could do under the circumstances. Until you both have passports, she can’t leave the country. You know as well as I do that if I left the country with the child alone, that would raise suspicion. And we can hardly take her photo or drag her through Germany wearing an eyelet nightgown and my coat.”
He stalked to the table, ripped the zipper back and pulled his bag open. He quickly flipped through the passports, then grabbed one. She saw several stacks of bills and raised a brow. Man knew how to travel.
“What else have you got in your bag of transformation?”
He ignored her and sat again behind the computer.
“Aren’t you a jolly conversationalist?” Rori went back to the room and listened at the door. Splashes and trickles echoed. The little girl was taking a bath. She grinned, turned and yelped.
Ian stood directly behind her, listening himself. She’d never heard him or felt him approach. She frowned.
He frowned.
“She’s taking a bath,” she told him.
“I can hear, thank you very much,” he snapped, his arms crossing. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, then the back of his neck. “What if she has injuries we’re not even aware of? Was it only her sister they abused? Did they rape that little girl before she got away? How the hell long was she . . . was she . . .”
“Held prisoner?” Rori asked.
He raked a hand through his hair, the long strands sliding back down on either side of his forehead to hang to his chin.
She noticed as he talked, his voice lowered, softened. Where most would yell, she could see his rage left a frozen wake. His tone, bladed to a point, could slice even as his eyes all but burned.
“She’ll be all right,” she heard herself say.
“How would you know?” He looked again at the door.
Rori looked away, walked to the window, and cursed the fact her pulse leapt at his simple question. No cars moved below. No people strolled along. The only movement was the black snake of the River Tepla as is meandered through the town.
“Who hired you and why didn’t you kill me?” he asked.
She didn’t turn; like the child earlier, she could see his reflection in the window.
Rori waited, not knowing how exactly to answer him. “The contact was bogus. I’ve tried running it.”
“You do that to all your . . . clients?”
She shrugged. “Those that are a bit too secretive, yes. I like to know everything I can about any job.”
He nodded and paced away from his stance by the bathroom door. “Less complications that way.”
“Exactly.” She sighed. “And after a botched job a couple years ago, I learned to rely more on instinct than what a computer might say.” She turned to him then. “Besides, the fact the computer had very little to say about Dimitri Petrolov, there was something about the whole situation that didn’t fit.”
“Lucky me.”
“Yes, you’re just a jammy bugger.” She heard the slip of skin squeak on the marble tub. “Now, I have a feeling your ward will be coming out and I’d rather her not dart back in and relock the door.”
He took the hint and walked out of the room. She sat back on the windowsill and waited.
She heard the rustle of things in the bathroom. Heard a whispered something, but couldn’t make it out.
Then the click of a lock and a crack of the door.
Silently, she waited.
*****
The room was dark. Monsters were in the dark. But they were in light too.
She reached up, stood on her tiptoes and flicked the light off.
Her breath panted out and she waited. Was anyone here?
What about the lady?
The man?
Would they hurt her as well? The others had hurt her.
She looked at her arm where the spots itched. The spots where they put the long silver needle in. She shivered.
No. No. She’d think of something else.
Her stomach rumbled and she was thirsty. Maybe they had some juice.
She pulled the door open a little more. Nothing moved and her toes were cold. The air was cold against her wet skin and hair. Water trickled down her back from the wet strands.
Her teeth chattered.
Maybe if she was really good, they’d go back and get Zoy.
She wanted Zoy.
She opened the door wider and stepped into the cool room, pulling the towel tighter against her.
The woman still sat at the window. Slowly the woman turned.
She stopped by the bed and looked to the doorway of the room. She could run. Maybe she’d get away.
But if she left, the snakes would eat her. That’s what the other lady had told her. If they ran away from the adults snakes would eat them. And spiders. The lady said spiders too.
She didn’t like snakes or spiders.
The deep rumble of voices floated from the other room and through the door she saw the man . . . the man who helped her.
He hadn’t hurt her. He gave her his coat and he spoke to her. Telling her she didn’t have to be afraid, that no one would hurt her. But he still looked mean. Maybe he could scare away monsters, snakes and spiders. He looked like he could. She nodded to herself. He would. Spiders would run away from him and he could probably shoot a snake.
He walked back in front of the door, talking to the other man.
She looked over at the woman.
Carefully, to see if the woman jumped at her, she stepped toward the doorway.
There, she saw the man again. He glanced up and stopped, then he smiled.
Pulling the towel tighter, she darted a look around the room, saw the other man. And behind them was water. On the table.
She swallowed. She’d sipped some of the water in the bathtub, but it tasted like soap.
Would they let her have any? The other people wouldn’t let them. She stared at the water.
The nice man picked up a bottle and held it out to her. She didn’t understand what he was saying.
She stared at him and he squatted down, holding the bottle out to her and talking softly. His voice rumbled over her and reminded her of her papa’s.
But Papa went to Heaven. She knew that. But still, this man hadn’t hurt her. He’d helped her. Even if he did look mean.
Still, she watched him, kept the towel held tightly to her. Watching him, she scratched again at the red dots on the inside of her arm.
Then he spoke and she understood him.
“U tyebya vsyo v aryadke?”
She stopped, snatched the bottle from him, trying to open it. Slowly, he put his hands on top of hers. She froze, her heart kicking against her chest, holding her breath. He twisted the cap.
His eyes were nice. Very dark blue . . . like hers. And Zoy’s.
He smiled at her and asked the question again. “U tyebya vsyo v aryadke?”
She shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t feel okay. She was tired and hungry and wanted Zoy.
His eyes might be blue like hers, bu
t they were hard. But he hadn’t hurt her, so maybe he would help her. And since he’d picked her up, he’d kept the monsters and snakes and spiders away.
Chapter 9
Pink-fingered and yawning, dawn crept over the night sky. Elianya sat in her car, parked down the street, watching all the activity of her town house.
Rage flowed thin and quick through her, a fast striking adder.
Damn the man. Damn him to everlasting hell.
They had dumped the body near the first stream they’d come to. When her guards had not checked in, she’d finally had her driver turn around so that she could check things out for herself.
Her driver said nothing. There were six police cars, their yellow and blue lights flashing in the early morning. Men in nylon coats and others in long dark trenches walked in and out of the front door. She looked up, saw people in the upper levels as they stalked back and forth in front of the windows.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was glad she’d told the driver to turn around.
“We should go if we’re going to make Austria at a decent hour.” She didn’t look at her driver. “You called in the reservations?”
“Yes, madam.”
She nodded. Now what to do? She had another passport, complete with another identity in case this little eventuality ever arose. Elianya sniffed, she was not about to spend any time in jail. She pulled her white fur tighter around her.
The problem was that if they found the cache of videotapes, which she was certain they would, and some of the paper files, then the authorities would know most of the places she would go.
Of course, they probably wouldn’t know them all. They couldn’t know them all. Not all were on file, or even operating yet. She could drive up to Cheb, but that was dangerous. Too many of her brother’s people up there. Too many bosses and enforcers who would love to make her pay.
She sighed. That had not been planned well. She should have made it look as though Viktor had been killed in an accident, or at the very least by his own enforcer. Then the bosses would be helping her and aiding in trying to kill one Dimitri Petrolov. Of course, they would undoubtedly be looking for him regardless. He knew too many of their secrets. Too many shipment dates, too many meeting places, too many names.
She grinned.
All men.
She should have planned to just take them all out, but this worked as well. There had been an opportunity and she’d taken it. She just needed a bit of time. She had enough money in her Swiss and Cayman accounts already under another name.
Now it was simply time to become someone else.
She sighed again. “Go.” She sat back as he pulled away from the curb and drove in the opposite direction of the chaos behind her.
Overall, it wouldn’t matter. She still had the main client list on her CPU in the back of the car. She still had account numbers. All she needed to do was find someplace to download it all onto her laptop and then back it up on disk.
Her phone rang.
“Yes?” she asked.
“You idiot!” the voice said.
She waited.
“What in the hell have you started now?”
“You told me to leave Petrolov alone and I haven’t even touched him.”
“No, you blew his damn cover. Do you have any idea the amount of manpower you just put on this damn case? Everything will be blown way the hell open. Fuck.”
She tsked. “You worry too much, my friend.” She picked at the fur. “Perhaps I rushed things with Viktor, but—”
“Perhaps. We’ve now got a vacuum there. You know as well as I do, there will be war over who gets his holdings.” The other person muttered something she didn’t catch. “And since you decided to leave the guards alive, they know who killed Viktor Hellinski. The guards knew he was alive before you went in. Then he’s dead. Not real bright.”
She frowned. “I saw no reason to kill them. It will work out. I’ve money, and connections. If they want to fight over my brother’s holdings, let them. I have my own.”
A sigh answered her. “You may now. Tomorrow who’s to say?”
Elianya knew she’d make it through this. She had undoubtedly rushed Viktor’s demise, but he was gone, she was moving on. And to better things.
But there was one thing, one she would take care of before she completely turned her back on the past.
“What of Petrolov?” she asked.
“He’s our problem now. Your little stunt has alerted everyone to the fact we have a mole. Whether or not Petrolov dies is moot. The problem is much bigger than him now.”
Not the way she saw it. Perhaps the powers that be would figure out who their snitch was, maybe she would help them there.
But no matter what, Petrolov—until she learned his real name—would remain foremost in her mind.
“I’ll contact you later,” she said.
“Don’t. I shouldn’t—”
Elianya hung up and cut her phone off. She didn’t care to talk to the informant. She looked at the small piece of technology and realized how stupid she was. They could trace her by her cell phone. At the first opportunity she would destroy it. It was tempting to simply toss it out the window. But that would be stupid.
She took a deep breath and wondered how to find out Petrolov’s real name. She would. The contact had to know it, and she would obtain it.
Elianya was not above blackmail and obviously her contact was worried. They should be, she could ruin them. She would unless they told her what she wanted to know.
And what she wanted was very simple.
A name.
His name.
Not just another alias.
Petrolov’s true identity.
*****
The sun over the city glinted a dark silver off the river, mirroring the glass windows across the way. The men behind him talked in low voices. Rori stood behind the minibar cutting up fruit room service had delivered. Cinnamon and baked pastries filled the air from the streusel and kolaches brought up, coffee swirled within the scents of the baked goods, reminding him he’d had nothing to eat since lunch yesterday.
Snake, a medium-sized Latino, originally from New Mexico, had looked over the little girl, noted her eyes were still a bit glazed from drugs or shock, and decided against giving her anything else. Though cautious, the child moved with ease, belying any injuries she might have. She sat quiet and still now, sucking her thumb. So, Snake, ever the efficient man, had gently placed his hand on her neck and squeezed a pressure point until she merely slumped to the side on the couch cushions.
Ian bit down. “Was that necessary?”
Snake, his dark eyes narrowed, stared at him. “Probably not, but it was a hell of a lot quicker than waiting for her to go to sleep or waiting until whatever drugs are in her system to work their way out.”
Snake started to reach down and lift the child, but Ian stepped forward and mumbled, “I’ll do it.” He scooped her up, ignoring the stares the others threw him. “Where do you want her.”
They went back to the bedroom and he laid her gently on the bed.
“She’ll be out for a few minutes, and considering what you’ve told me, I’d rather not have her come to while we’re examining her,” Snake muttered, pulling out a stethoscope, some vials, a blood pressure gauge.
Ian stood at the foot of the bed, thrumming his fingers against his thigh as Snake quickly checked her heart, her pulse.
The harsh bruises on the back of the girl’s neck yelled at him from her pale skin. And as Snake quickly undressed her, more bruises and injuries made themselves known.
Ian fisted his hands, cursing, “Son of a bitch.”
Snake’s head whipped up. “Wait in the other room.”
He started to. God help him, he almost turned around. Instead he swallowed, walked to the window and sat on the sill, looking out at the morning activity—at people who may or may not have a care in the world.
Not like the poor soul on the bed.
Snake tended to whisper to himself, muttering as he examined, and Ian ignored him, or tried to. He didn’t even turn around when he heard Snake’s oath, and wasn’t surprised when the man softened his voice, as if calming the little girl who couldn’t hear him.
“Well,” Snake’s voice didn’t pull his attention from the street below, “she’s been bound, given injections in the arm, from the needle marks. Not too many, so I would have to say they didn’t have her too long, as the last one is still somewhat fresh. Probably last night’s. I’m taking some blood samples to see what she’s been given.”
He closed his eyes, thinking of the evidence he’d knowingly washed down the drain. “She took a bath.”
“I know, but from what I can tell it doesn’t matter. She wasn’t sexually abused from what I can tell. Of course, where she was, what she saw . . .” He trailed off. “As for suffering as the poor girl on the video, no. This one here’s still a virgin, no bruising, no tearing, no signs of any sexual assault.”
Thank God.
Ian turned, breathing deep, controlling the rage that had roared up in him through the last few minutes. He cleared his throat. “When will you have the results back on her blood work?” He walked to the bed, sat on the other side, reaching out and grazing his finger down her pale cheek.
“Hard to say. Probably in a few days.” Snake tossed his stuff back into the bag, carefully set the vials into a small tray and placed the tray in a miniature cooler. He quickly zipped all the compartments shut.
Voices floated in from the other room.
“Poor kid. Bastards,” Snake said, taking her pulse again.
Without taking his eyes off of her, he reached out, took her other hand and said, “How old do you think she is?”
Snake laid her hand gently on her chest and pulled the covers up. “Hard to say. Some kids are really small for their age, malnutrition, genes, whatever, others larger. But going on average, I’d say probably five. But she could be four or even six.” He shrugged, grabbed the discarded shirt and pulled it back over the girl’s head. Ian helped him put her arms into the garment.
Deadly Games Page 10