by Roxie Rivera
“Not a problem.” Spider waited a moment before adding, “I didn’t come here to kill him.”
“I don’t have time for this right now. You can explain why you were here later.” Careful not to disturb the growing pool of still warm blood, he crouched down to search Marco’s pockets. There was nothing in them so he stepped over the body and retrieved the dead man’s phone. It needed Marco’s fingerprint to unlock the screen so he carefully picked up Marco’s hand and tried the right thumb. It unlocked the phone.
“Get an evidence bag and the pruning shears out of the duffel,” he ordered, glancing back at Spider.
A few seconds later, Spider returned with the items requested. With a quick snap of the shears, Kostya removed the thumb he needed. Behind him, Spider swore at the gruesome act. Ignoring him, he cleaned the shears and handed them back to Spider. “Put these away.”
He wrapped the thumb in a bit of gauze and sealed it in the evidence bag. He stowed the bag and phone in his jacket pocket before rising to search the rest of the house. He found a pale purple Jansport backpack on a chair in the bedroom. He glanced through it and saw only the normal paraphernalia he would expect in a teenage girl’s bag. In the bathroom, he gathered up the few things that seemed to belong to Tiffany and stuffed them into the backpack. He didn’t want to leave anything connected to her if he could help it. She would need a clean alibi to keep her off the police radar.
Taking the backpack, he finished checking drawers and shelves and cabinets and closets in the rest of the bedrooms and the other bathroom. Most of the house had been cleaned out prior to the Arizona move, it seemed, so there wasn’t much to dig through anymore. Finding nothing that seemed useful, he gathered up the weapons Marco had left.
As he passed a mirrored cabinet in the kitchen, he caught sight of his noticeably shorter hair and swore.
“What?” Spider asked, his voice tight with worry.
“My fucking hair,” he snapped back. “I got a haircut earlier. I’m dropping hair everywhere.”
“We could vacuum?” Spider suggested, clearly out of his depth.
“We don’t have that long.” Glancing around the kitchen, he thought about how much evidence he had unknowingly scattered around the place. There was only one option now. Wincing at the thought of how much collateral damage a fire in a crowded mobile home park could create, he nevertheless said, “Find some fuel.”
Spider hesitated. “A fire? You ever seen a fire tear through a trailer house?”
“That’s the point.”
“Fuck!” Spider made a rough and hard sound before stomping across the living room and the kitchen toward the back door. “There’s probably a grill or lawnmower out back. I’ll see what I can find.”
Spider wasn’t gone long. He came back with a box crammed full of flammable things. “You can tell there was a boy living here,” he said, handing over a gas can and bottles of lighter fluid. “Found some camping stuff,” Spider tilted the box to reveal the stack of camping stove canisters, “and fireworks.”
“I can work with this.” Kostya started parceling out Spider’s finds and formed a plan of attack. He had been building bombs by the time he was fourteen. Starting a raging fire out of all this would be like child’s play. “Did you see any propane tanks?”
“No, I checked the grill. It’s charcoal. I looked for a gas meter and didn’t find one. The whole neighborhood seems to be electric.”
“I sure as shit hope so.” He didn’t want a massive explosion on his conscience. He didn’t need the hassle of the investigation either. Glancing at Spider, he asked, “Have you done this before?”
“How the hell do you think I know how fast a trailer burns? You’re not the only one who’s done horrible shit for your boss.”
He handed Spider the bottles of lighter fluid. “Master bedroom and bathroom first. Then the other rooms. Pop all the smoke detectors.”
They worked quickly. All the long years of working in the shadows, doing terrible deeds for money, lent themselves to moments like this. The skills they possessed weren’t particularly glamourous, but they could be useful in terrible ways.
By the time Spider came back from the bedroom, Kostya was spreading the last of the combustible fuel gel on Marco’s skin. “Get out of here. Take your car and wait for me.”
“The streets in this park are laid out parallel to the main road. To Graham,” Spider clarified. “I can wait for you at the mailboxes by the second entrance. When you leave here, run four streets to the right and I’ll be there.”
“You fucking better be.”
Spider left quietly. Kostya didn’t even hear the car start or drive away. He got busy finishing his work, packing all the trash he’d created in a garbage bag he found in the cabinet under the sink after washing his hands. Glancing around the kitchen, he took a moment to go through his mental checklist, running through every step he needed to follow to make sure this scene was clean.
Satisfied he’d done his best, he started soaking dish rags and towels with the lighter fluid he’d reserved. Starting at the rear of the house, he began lighting and dropping them. The flames flickered before exploding as they followed the zigzags of fuel Spider had carefully placed through the house, a wandering path of destruction from one end to the other. Back in the kitchen, he dropped burning rags on the body he needed to destroy. Stepping back, he winced at the blast of heat that hit him in the face and the horrible stench of burning hair.
All around him, the fire burned fast and hot. The reputation mobile homes had for being fiery death traps was too real. The flames crackled louder and louder, almost a roar now, and he backed out of the burning house, taking every last trace of his presence with him. He left the door open behind him, giving the fire plenty of oxygen.
Head down, he moved with stealth, hopping a fence and keeping to the shadows of the dark streets. The burned out street lights were his saving grace tonight. It was so dark he couldn’t even see what was in front of him as he cautiously hurried along. A barking dog drew a whispered curse from him, but he moved at the same speed, wary but quick.
When he spotted Spider’s car idling, he hastened his pace. He opened the back door and tossed everything he’d brought out of the trailer onto the seat there. Sliding into the front seat, he put on his seatbelt and nodded at his driver. “Let’s go.”
A police scanner chirped from the console. Spider gestured toward it and said, “Nothing yet.”
“It won’t be long. The smell of smoke is starting to reach this far.” Glancing back through the rear window, he could just see the faint glow of fire in the sky. Soon, the whole neighborhood would be awake.
Not another word was spoken as they sped away from the scene of the arson they had just committed. The static and chirp of the police scanner filled the void. His mind was racing forward, compiling a list of tasks that had to be completed before sunrise.
“I need you to drop me off.”
Spider eased to a stop at an intersection. “Where?”
“Alexei Sarnov has a buy-here-pay-here lot in town.”
“Yeah. I know it.” Spider switched lanes. “You don’t want me to drive you back to Houston?”
“If we get picked up together, we’re fucked, and our bosses are fucked.”
Spider agreed with a nod. “We still need to talk about tonight.”
“Later,” he replied with a sigh. “Find me tomorrow.”
When they reached the car lot, he got out of the car and took his things from the back seat. Spider left as soon as he was out of the car, clearly wanting to get the hell out of town before trouble caught up to them. Kostya made quick work of opening the gate and shutting down the security alarm before entering the small office building for a set of keys to a gold sedan.
Leaving the car lot as he had found it, Kostya pulled onto the street and drove out of town. A few miles outside of the city, he texted Max and asked her to meet him. She would be pissed off to be summoned this late at night, but he needed
her help. Everything had gone to shit tonight, and he had to figure out why.
Chapter Eleven
IN A BLISSED stupor, I leaned against the wall of the salon and stared into space after Kostya left the salon. I had never had an encounter like the one we had just shared. Wild. Hot. Fast. Hard.
And good. So damn good.
My knees were still a little wobbly as I pushed off the wall. I returned to my station and tidied up the clipped ends of his hair before disinfecting the shampoo basin and drying it. One by one, I turned off the lights heading back to my office.
Standing at my desk, I stared at the phone Kostya had just used and tried to ignore the voice that told me to hit redial. A louder voice told me to leave it alone, but I didn’t listen. Curiosity got the best of me.
After two rings, an automatic answering service clicked on the line. A pleasant female voice said, “You’ve reached Sunrise Sunset Delivery Services. We’re away from the office at the moment. To check the status of a delivery, press…”
I ended the call. Sunrise Sunset? I had never heard of them. Picking up my iPhone, I opened the Google app and searched for the courier service. There was no website or any other social media presence. Odd for a delivery company, but maybe they were a specialty type of courier service.
Or a front for something dark and illicit.
It was a possibility I couldn’t dismiss. Wasn’t that how the mafia operated? Shell companies and fake businesses? Was this one of his companies? Was this how he laundered money? What exactly was he doing for Nikolai tonight?
I jumped as the phone started to ring in my hand. Glad to have a reason not to think about all the bad things Kostya was probably up to right now, I glanced at the screen and smiled as I answered. “Hey, Mom!”
“Holly! Are you home?”
“No. I’m at the salon? Did you just get back?”
“We landed about half an hour ago. I just cleared customs and got my bags. Are you busy tonight?”
“I’m not busy. I was just about to lock up and leave.” Missing my mother after not seeing her for almost two weeks, I asked, “Do you want to meet for dinner?”
“Come to the house. I’ll make you something.”
“Mom, you just stepped off a ten-hour flight!”
“Fourteen, but who is counting?” she laughed in that carefree way of hers. “Holly, let me cook for you. We hardly see each other anymore.”
Certain my mother was feeling homesick, I agreed. “All right. I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you at the house.”
“Drive carefully.”
“I will.” Hanging up, I grabbed my handbag and coat and shut off the last lights. I set the alarm before stepping out of the building and kept my hand inside my purse, right on top of my craftily hidden holster. This wasn’t a dangerous area by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d woken up the last few mornings with this strange, aching pit of worry in my stomach.
I couldn’t discount that feeling. The last time it had hit me, I was fourteen and on vacation with my mother in Providenciales. I had woken up from a nightmare with a sick feeling in my stomach and had told her that I thought something was going to happen. She had given me a hug and promised that she would always keep me safe and not to worry. But, sure enough, our hotel room had been broken into and ransacked while we enjoyed the beach that day. Ever since then, I had listened to my gut.
The drive to Mom’s new townhouse on San Felipe didn’t take long. We arrived at her house almost exactly together, with her pulling into the garage only moments after me. As soon as I stepped out of the car, she engulfed me in a bear hug and squeezed me so tight I could hardly breathe. My mother had never been like other mothers. There wasn’t much soft about her. Even now, in her sixties, she had the physique and strength of a woman half her age.
Mom pulled back suddenly and gave me a strange look. Nervous, I asked, “What?”
“You smell like a man.” There was a slight accusatory tone to her voice. “I can smell his aftershave all over you.”
“And?” We had always had an open relationship when it came to men and sex. I wasn’t going to lie to her. “I’m not allowed to have a little fun on a work night?”
“Well, that depends on the man, I suppose.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do I know him?”
“You’ve met him.” Leaving it at that, I reached for her rolling luggage. “How was Qatar?”
She was onto my game but didn’t press for information. “Hot. Dry. The shopping isn’t nearly as nice as Dubai, but I found a few small things for the girls at my office.”
“And how was your flight?”
“Long, but those new first-class cabins on Emirates are wonderful. The next time we go abroad, we’ll fly with them.”
As we entered the house, I was struck by how empty and cold it felt. There weren’t any memories here, not like our old house. No memories of tearing through wrapping paper on Christmas mornings and snuggling on the couch with hot cocoa while we watched movies in our pajamas. No memories of giddy excitement as I got ready for homecoming or prom.
Although she’d been living here in this outrageously expensive townhouse for almost a year, it still didn’t feel like home to me. I understood why she had sold our old house, especially now that she had taken the leap from the C-suite to consulting internationally and flying all over the world, but it had been an unexpectedly hard adjustment for me. I hid my feelings, threw myself into helping her decorate her new place and had even hosted her housewarming party.
“On the flight, I read an article about the world’s best beaches. I thought we might go somewhere warm for our winter trip.”
“You know I’m always up for a beach trip. I have to be back before or leave after the Denim and Diamonds gala.”
“Let me know what I need to donate to help your chapter hit their goals. I have some colleagues I can hit up for donations, as well.”
“Savvy is already hustling,” I said with a small frown. “I’m going to get dragged onto a committee. I can feel it.”
My mother laughed. “You love this gala!”
“I like dressing up and drinking champagne,” I countered. “The gala is just the price I have to pay to get those things.”
“Well, it’s a worthy price,” she said. “You know, I was also thinking about going to Amsterdam in the spring. Just a short trip,” she added. Smiling gently, she asked, “Do you remember how much you loved the tulips when we were there?”
“Yes.” But only barely. I didn’t tell her that. From her wistful expression, she seemed to be having a sentimental moment, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
“I can still see you in that pretty little pink dress at Keukenhof.” She took a bottle of white wine from the cooler built into the island. As she reached for the wine bottle opener, she admitted, “I still have that dress upstairs. I kept it all these years thinking that someday your daughter might wear it.”
It was the first time my mother had ever talked to me about grandchildren. I was taken aback by it and wondered what in the world had brought on this strange conversation. “Did something happen on your trip?”
Her gaze was unnaturally focused on the wine bottle. “No, of course not.”
A terrifying thought struck me. “Are you sick?”
She laughed hard at that. “Oh, Holly, I haven’t even had a cold in three years!”
“Then what’s with the trip down memory lane and the grandbaby talk?”
She popped the cork and glanced at me. “I’m sixty-six years old, Holly. My doomsday clock is ticking just as loudly as your biological clock.”
I rolled my eyes. “My biological clock is not ticking. I have plenty of time to make babies.”
“But I may not have plenty of years left to enjoy them,” she replied soberly. “I started my motherhood journey late.”
“You had your reasons, and they were good ones.”
“I suppose they were.” She poured wine into two glasses and pushed one toward me. After a long
drink, she exhaled and said, “Well—tell me about this man of yours.”
“I don’t think he’s the fatherhood type,” I warned carefully before she got her hopes up. Saying that aloud made my stomach feel funny. It was a sharp, painful stab that surprised me. Someday I wanted a family. I wanted kids, pets and a noisy, messy house, but I had a hard time picturing that future with Kostya, who wouldn’t even adopt a damn dog.
“It’s good that you see that from the beginning,” she decided. “It’s fine to have a good time with those types of men—and they can be awfully fun—but you should be looking for a man who wants to build a future with you.” She raised her wine glass to her lips but lowered it before taking a drink. “You still have your IUD?”
“Yes, Mother,” I answered with a roll of my eyes and a long drink. I didn’t tell her the part about Kostya not using a condom. She would have gone ballistic about that—and rightly so. He was my friend, but I had absolutely no idea what his health situation was.
“You said I’ve met him?”
“I did.”
“The football player? The big, sexy one that comes for his buzz cut?” There was no mistaking her excitement at the thought of me getting together with an athlete who had a bright future.
“No, it’s not Levi.”
She nursed her glass of wine while thinking. Her lips thinned as a thought occurred to her. “It’s your neighbor isn’t it? You’re sleeping with that Russian?”
I might have imagined it, but I thought there was a bit of a sneer to her question. Straightening my back and lifting my shoulders, I held her gaze. “Yes.”
She sighed and poured more wine into her glass. “Do you remember what I told you about Russian men?”
She had given me this lecture a hundred times. I really wasn’t interested in hearing it tonight. “Not this again.”
“Yes, this again.”
“Mom, I really don’t think it’s fair to judge an entire country of men based on whatever horrible crap went down between you and my dad.”