Secrets Inside Her: Running with the Devil Book Two

by Jasmin Quinn

  Finn moved as stealthily as he could on the crunchy snow, down the path he’d made, certain the Russian would follow. He wished he had his gun. He could shoot the fucker and the other Russians would think Finn had been shot, just long enough for him to kill them both. He wondered how long they would wait for their friend? Or if they would wait at all. He slipped further into the trees until he spied what he was looking for. A snow-covered log that a person could easily conceal himself behind. Then he took off his jacket and wool cap and set it up behind the log. It wouldn’t fool anyone for long, but he didn’t need long. He just needed the Russian to be distracted long enough for Finn to split his skull in two.

  He slipped behind a large tree, close enough to the path that the Russian would pass by within steps of Finn. Then waited, trying to keep his fingers from stiffening; trying to keep his hands from shaking. He heard the soft tread of shoes as the Russian made his way down Finn’s snow trail. He briefly wondered if the Russian had a wife he loved, children, but he rejected his empathy as the Russian saw the hat and pointed his gun towards it, slowly making his way forward. Finn stepped out from behind the tree and raised his axe overhead. The Russian let loose an unholy scream as the axe split his skull. Blood spattered back at Finn and hit him in his face. He’d seen worse, but this made him want to vomit. He had never worn parts of the men he shot, never killed a man this close up.

  But he swallowed his revulsion as he heard shouts from the Russians, calling out to their comrade. He grabbed the Russian’s pistol – he was armed now and on even footing with the other two assholes. He heard Nika screaming again and that spurred him into as fast a run as he could muster with his bad leg and the slippery snow. As he crested the line of trees, he saw the asshole carrying Nika throw her into the back seat of his car, slamming the door on her. The Russian turned as he heard Finn and fired off a badly aimed shot. Finn tried to drop and then he lost his footing, falling hard to the ground. He started to slide on hard snow, skidding down a slope. He couldn’t get a grip to slow himself down, the snow was too hard, nothing to grab onto to stop him. Until a large birch tree lurched in front of him. He heard the crack of his head as it hit the trunk, a sharp intense pain, and then blackness.

  ✽✽✽

  Michael arrived at the cabin, stepped out of his rental and knew instantly he was too late. The tires on the cop’s SUV were shot out. The cabin door was wide open, and there was no one to be found. He stepped inside the cabin and surveyed it. Rustic and unattractive. Why would anyone vacation in a hovel like this when they could go to Monaco or Venice. Nika had been here though – he saw her small shoes sitting neatly by the door and a jacket hanging on a hook. They took her without giving her time to get her shoes on, he mused. They must have been in a hurry. As he walked through the cabin looking in the bedroom and bathroom, he wondered out loud, “Where’s the fucking cop?”

  “Here,” a deep, angry voice growled. Michael raised his hands in the air and turned around slowly, thinking the cop might have a gun. He wasn’t wrong as McQueen, stood by the door, two hands on a pistol. He was shocked at the cop’s appearance. He had no coat or hat on, blood was spattered on his face, his arms and his chest. He had a gash on his forehead that was seeping down the side of his face. And he was shaking with cold.

  “I’m Michael Black,” Michael said looking at Finn impassively, his hands still raised. Not challenging him, not soothing him – neither would work in this situation. “You must be Finn McQueen.”

  “Where the fuck is Nika?” Finn snarled, the gun still pointed directly at Michael’s head. If what his analyst told him was true about Finn, the cop would not hesitate to pull the trigger and he wouldn’t miss. Michael could see the fury in Finn’s eyes along with panic and fear. The Russian’s had Nika and this cop seemed willing to give up his life for her. That would work to his advantage.

  “I’m here to find her too, Finn. My job is to bring her home safely.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?” Finn snarled.

  Michael was losing his patience. He didn’t like to deal with people he couldn’t reason with; they were few and far between in Michael’s world but every now and again he ran across someone who wouldn’t be reasonable. Usually he had to kill them. “And you, Mr. McQueen are doing such a bang up fucking job yourself!”

  Finn stilled for a moment, indecision on his face. Then he dropped his hand, easing off the hammer, and tucking the gun into his waistband. He strode past Michael to a scotch bottle on the table, pouring two fingers of scotch into the glass next to it and tossing it back. “Want some?” he asked as he poured himself another shot.

  Michael nodded as he went into the kitchen and found a tumbler, passing it to Finn, who poured him two fingers and passed it back. “Nika said that when you found us, she thought you might kill me.”

  Michael took a mouthful of the scotch, savoured the burn in his throat as he swallowed it down. Not the best scotch in the world, but next to no scotch, it was pretty damn good. “I thought about it, but I need you, Finn,” he said as he studied the amber liquid in his glass. “To help me get Nika back. And then after that, we can discuss your future.”

  He watched as Finn’s gaze flicked over him, assessing him. “I need you too, Michael,” he growled dangerously, “To help me get Nika back. After that we can discuss her future.”

  “Whose blood is that?” He motioned with his glass to Finn’s shirt.

  “One of the fucking Russian’s. I split his head in two with an axe.”

  Michael grinned viciously. “I think I like you, Finn.” He swallowed the last of his scotch. “You realize there’s no going back after this. There are two of us – we can’t go in guns blazing, we can’t call for back-up. We may have to twist a few Russian arms or necks for the information we need. You being a cop is only going to get in the way.”

  Finn looked at Michael impassively. “You don’t have to be concerned about where my loyalties lie. I’ll blow up every fucking Russian who stands between Nika and me.”

  Spoken like a man in love, Michael thought grimly to himself. Which was never a good thing, but he sure as well wasn’t going to lecture this outraged cop on the inadvisability of being attracted to Jackman’s Disappearist. He knew of two men who tried their hand at seducing Nika. It took them both a very long time to heal. “Perhaps you should clean up, change your clothes. Rusya Savisin won’t hurt Nika badly at first. He’ll try to turn her. Get her to give the information up willingly. Then when that doesn’t work, and it won’t – Nika is as tough as any field operative – he will resort to threats of violence, and then to violence. Nothing horrible right away, but eventually, he will make it too excruciating for Nika and she will have to share.”

  Finn was looking at him like he was a lunatic. “Thank you, Mr. Black. I feel so much better now.” As he stalked into the bathroom, he growled, “Give me 15 minutes.”

  While Finn attended to himself, Michael stepped outside and surveyed the area. He was going to have to send his cleaners up here, remove all signs of Finn and Nika, get the SUV fixed up and moved. Back to Finn’s house in Vancouver. The sun was starting to edge its way behind the trees casting long angry shadows in the snow. But Michael wasn’t deterred by the threat of darkness, he had to see what lay at the end of the snow path. His cleaners got fussy sometimes when the clean-up was particularly messy. He had to let them know what to expect.

  He walked down to the edge of the clearing, and then followed the snow path until he found what he was looking for. The Russian, dead black eyes staring at the sky, blood arcing across the snow, bits of bone and brain splattered out like a halo against the snow-covered ground, the axe beside him, a shrine of mortality. Fuck, this was going to take charm and money to get his cleaners out here.

  He walked with indifference past the body to Finn’s coat and hat and looked at them. Maybe the Russian’s were that stupid after all, he thought as he retrieved them. It was an amateurish ruse but probably the only one
the cop could think of in the moment. If it hadn’t worked then maybe the cop would be lying where the Russian was, with a bullet hole in him.

  As Michael retraced his steps, he saw Finn standing outside by the rental SUV, waiting for him. Michael walked up to him. “I don’t know whether to admire you or be afraid of you,” He handed Finn’s jacket and hat to him. “Let’s go. We have a long drive ahead of us and then that fucking ferry ride.”

  As Michael turned the car around and headed back to the main road, Finn asked, “How did they know where to find us? How did you know?” Michael knew what he was thinking.

  “You’re family’s safe. Doug’s boyfriend gave the information up to the Russians – apparently it was a revenge share.”

  “Fucking asshole,” Finn snarled. “The next time I see him I’ll break his fucking neck.”

  Michael glanced at Finn briefly and then returned his attention to the snow-covered road, which was giving it more credit than it deserved. It really was just a trail. Again, he wondered why anyone in their right mind would think a remote shithole cabin in the middle of nothing was a good holiday. The silence stretched between them, two strangers with a common purpose. And when the purpose was no longer common, then what? Michael was liking this cop – former cop. After today, Finn’s status as clean cop would be irrevocably tarnished. Michael wondered about that. Finn was tough, smart and not hesitant about killing someone. He had potential, but he also had ties – Jackman didn’t like his operatives to have family bonds. It got messy.

  Finally, as he reached the intersection to the highway, he said to Finn, “I’ve read your dossier.”

  Finn glowered at him, “I have a dossier?”

  “You do now. Anyone that gets involved with us gets a dossier. We need to know who you are and what you’re about. It helps us make decisions”

  “Like if I’m harmless or at the end of the day you try to put a bullet in my head.”

  Michael pressed his foot to the gas, driving faster than the speed limit, innately knowing how far he could push the road conditions. “Maybe,” he murmured.

  “And what exactly did you find out about me?” Michael could hear the curiosity in his voice, along with anger at Michael, at himself, and at the Russians.

  “Finnigan Donald McQueen, part Irish, part Scottish. Age 31. After graduating high school, obtained a bachelor’s degree in criminology. Joined the Vancouver City Police Department at age 22. A fucking prodigy. Several citations, clean arrests, climbed the ranks fast, two kills under your belt, both clean according to internal affairs. The first one, during a hostage situation, you shot and killed the suspect. At age 25, you were transferred into the Organized Crime Unit. Stayed there until you were age 29. Second kill was Frances Overton, a dealer of little girls and boys, also a diplomat and untouchable. You were shot three times, in the right shoulder, the stomach, and the leg, shattering your femur. Which is why you limp.”

  “Not always,” Finn interjected. “Only when it’s raining.”

  Michael smile was subtle. A bit of information to file away, a vanity that bothered Finn. “After you recovered, you were promoted to staff sergeant, responsible for your unit, but no longer in organized crime. By all accounts, you’re a good cop.”

  Finn grunted. “Used to be. I think my law enforcement career is about to come to a screeching halt.”

  Michael nodded, his respect growing. Finn was smart – he knew there was no going back to before. There would be no warnings, no flashing of badges when they found Nika’s captors. “What I find interesting, Finn, is how the second kill went down. The official story is that you had Overton cornered in an airplane hangar. You identified yourself, and then Overton’s lackey opened fire. You were able to get off one shot, and miraculously, the bullet hit Overton squarely between the eyes.”

  “That’s what happened.”

  “Yes, and it would be quite plausible to almost everyone who knows guns but doesn’t shoot at people very often. But I think it is quite impossible to hit a man squarely between the eyes after you’ve been shot, even by accident.”

  Finn swivelled his head toward Michael, his face impassive, but his eyes said it all – he might be in a corner, but he was a predator that would fight to the death before backing down. Michael was glad he was driving, and that Finn had a small modicum of survival instinct, otherwise he was sure Finn would try to snap his neck. Michael continued, “This is what I think happened, Finn. You gave Overton the chance to turn himself in, but he refused. It was a draw obviously – you were aiming at Overton; his man was aiming at you. Your back-up was late, it was just you and Overton. And you decided you would rather die than let Overton walk free. Admirable,” he added, clearly meaning stupid. “So you shot him between the eyes from 35 paces away.” Michael thought about the impossibility of this. Of anyone having the ability to shoot someone that precisely from that distance with a pistol. “As Overton fell, his man shot you three times and then took off, probably because the cavalry finally arrived.” He paused and looked at Finn. “I think you are a crack shot; I’ve met very few people that can do what you did.”

  Finn was gazing straight ahead out the window, his jaw working angrily. “Shut the fuck up, Black and drive faster.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nika lay in the back seat of the Russians’ black sedan. She was tied up hand and foot, and not initially gagged, but she wouldn’t stop yelling and screaming so the Russian called Lukov finally yanked her to him from the front seat and stuffed a rag into her mouth. He was strong, and broad and ugly, his face twisted into a sneer. He was already angry at her because she bit and hit him repeatedly as he struggled to carry her from the cabin, so he was not gentle with his handling of her. As he held her, trying to knot the cloth, she almost succeeded in kicking the driver, a man called Peter, in the head, with her bound feet. Peter ducked, causing the car to swerve on the snowy road, but he managed to regain control before it crashed. This made the pig, Lukov, furious and he slapped her again, but because he was holding her head, she had no choice but to absorb the full impact of the blow.

  Blood filled her mouth as her teeth bit down on her tongue and sliced her cheek. And Nika knew that her lip was split, could feel the pain and the stickiness on her chin. She wanted to spit on Lukov, bite him, but he was too strong, and she was easily overpowered. He pushed the gag into her mouth and flipped her over with no regard for her comfort, tying the cloth firmly in place. Then he tossed her in the back seat like she was a sack of potatoes and her head bounced off the window before she thudded to the seat.

  She lay there stunned, trying to catch her breath. She told herself that she had to calm down. She didn’t want to choke on the rag and die. She didn’t want to choke on her blood. She stopped struggling and took deep breaths through her nose. She should not have provoked them – that wasn’t very clever. What would Finn do? Three came to take her, only two left. Did that mean Finn got one? But then what happened to him?

  Her throat closed and tears burned her eyes as fear for Finn crippled her. She took more deep breaths to make herself settle. She was afraid to cry. She was afraid she would choke, or her nose would close up. She needed to think, not react. She needed to be smart.

  She turned her attention to the men in the front seats, tried to focus on their conversation. They talked of the third man, Igor. Thought he was dead. Decided that was the case – the scream that echoed in the forest was a dying man’s scream. But they weren’t sure about Finn. Lukov thought he might have hit him when he shot but didn’t know. They weren’t too worried, he had no means of following them. Lukov disparaged Finn, called him stupid for choosing that spot to hide.

  Nika wished she could stick a knife into Lukov’s neck, watch him bleed out. Decided she would when she got the chance. She’d never been so angry in her life. It overshadowed her fear and her discomfort. She would kill anyone that tried to hurt Finn; even Michael Black. And she would die before she gave any information to Rusya Savisin, a man she d
espised despite never meeting him. But she loathed him and everything he was about because Mr. Jackman did. She would always be loyal to Mr. Jackman. Unless he hurt Finn. Then she would kill him too.

  She turned her fury inward as the car jarred her, causing her to almost roll off the back seat. She was so stupid, walking away from the compound without protection. She had been willful and inconsiderate of Mr. Jackman. She would have to beg his forgiveness when she returned. If she returned. She couldn’t understand how Rusya Savisin knew she was in Vancouver. She was better at hiding people than anyone she knew. Of course, her absence, once noticed, would have raised an alarm at the compound. But Mr. Jackman was discreet, he would find a lie to tell the people who dared to ask.

  Perhaps someone in her organization was leaking information to the Russians. Her mind couldn’t wrap around that thought. Mr. Jackman selected his people carefully. He didn’t make mistakes. But then, Rusya Savisin probably did the same. And he made two mistakes, one he tried to rectify and one he didn’t know about. At least she thought he didn’t know. Maybe Anto Kharzin was the leak. But that didn’t make sense. Anto had very little knowledge of Mr. Jackman’s operations; his job was to be a loyal member of the Russian mafia and pass along pertinent information to Mr. Jackman. Anto was on a need to know basis because what he didn’t know he couldn’t tell.

  Nika groaned as the car hit a rut in the road and bounced her around hard. She had no means of catching herself with her hands tied behind her back. Lukov glanced back at her, a cruel twist to his lips. “How are you doing, you little bitch? Still alive?”

  Don’t provoke him. Don’t provoke him. Don’t provoke him! But Nika couldn’t help herself. She turned her back to him and raised her middle finger. Lukov laughed cruelly and caught her finger in his hand, giving it a hard twist. “Do you think it is a good idea to tell the man who’s holding your life in his hands to fuck off? Perhaps I should break this finger to teach you a lesson.”