Her Rocky Mountain Defender (Rocky Mountain Justice Book 2)

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  She waited for him to advance. Bracing her back on the door, Madelyn kicked out and caught him in the middle. He doubled over and retched. Cursing her name, he wiped his mouth.

  The nose. The eyes. The throat. All the pressure points that Roman had shared came back to her.

  She reached for the back of his head and drove her knee into his face. Bone connected with bone. Madelyn’s leg throbbed, but Oleg toppled backward and sprawled across the floor. He didn’t get up. Ava was still in the chair, catatonic, and Madelyn limped to her sister. She had to get them both out of there, but how?

  “Ava?” Madelyn pulled on her sister’s arm, trying to bring her to standing. Ava remained limp in the chair. Madelyn knelt and slipped her arm under her sister’s shoulder. She tried to stand, but Ava—though skeletal—was also deadweight, and she didn’t make it completely to her feet. A noise caught her attention but before Madelyn could turn, agony ricocheted through her skull.

  Then there was nothing.

  * * *

  Roman used back roads to get from Denver’s airport to Boulder, pulling into Madelyn’s parking space in record time. Pausing, he put the gearshift into Park and wondered how she might react to his return. Then again, he didn’t have the luxury of worry. If his instincts were correct, then Oleg Zavalov was alive, mobile and a danger to Madelyn.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he knocked on her door with force. “Madelyn,” he said to the doorjamb. “It’s Roman. There’ve been some developments. We need to talk.”

  He waited for an answer. None came. He knocked again, using the side of his fist. The door shook in its frame. “Madelyn. It’s Roman.”

  He tried the handle and it held fast. He knocked again. No answer. Slipping his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, Roman withdrew a credit card. After picking the lock, he opened the door.

  “Madelyn? It’s Roman. Sorry that I opened your door. I have news.”

  She wasn’t home, he could tell that as he stepped inside. It was as if her absence made the apartment duller or turned the air stale. He closed the door and examined his surroundings. A single table lamp illuminated the room. A towel, draped over the back of a kitchen chair, was still damp. Madelyn’s laptop sat open on the coffee table. Beyond those three minor details, the room was just as it had been when Roman left.

  He wandered to her bedroom. The clothes she had been wearing lay in a pile by the bathroom door and the fruity floral scent of shampoo hung in the air. Roman returned to the main living space. No books were scattered across the floor, nor were any broken dishes strewn about—nothing to make Roman think there had been a struggle, or that Madelyn had left under duress.

  If she wasn’t here, the question became—where had she gone? And was it his business to find out? There were several possibilities, groceries, class, hospital rounds, tearfully replaying the past twenty-four hours to a friend. Maybe an email or text would provide a clue to where she’d gone. He sat on the sofa and reached for her laptop. If her errand was innocuous, he told himself, he’d put her computer back and wait in the car for her return.

  The computer was password protected, but no match for Roman’s technical expertise. He did a hard shutdown, before rebooting with lines of code that circumvented her security. Madelyn would be unhappy, to put it mildly, with Roman looking at her computer without permission. But what if there was a threat? He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t try to find her.

  The screen came to life and Roman went directly to the most likely place for communication—her texts. Out of more than a dozen conversations, there was only one to which she’d replied. It was with her sister, Ava.

  Ava: I need help. Come and get me.

  Another text followed with a Boulder address.

  Sent 5:04 a.m.

  Ava: Maddie.

  Sent 5:05 a.m.

  Ava: Are you there?

  Sent 5:05 a.m.

  Ava: Why are you ignoring me?

  Sent: 5:05 a.m.

  Read 5:56 p.m.

  Madelyn: I’m here. Anything you need.

  Madelyn: Ava?

  Sent 5:56 p.m.

  Delivered 5:56 p.m.

  Read 5:56 p.m.

  Ava: I’m here.

  Sent 6:02 p.m.

  Read 6:02 p.m.

  Madelyn: Do you still want to meet? Are you at the same place?

  Sent 6:03 p.m.

  Read 6:03 p.m.

  Ava: Yes meet. Diffr’t plc.

  Sent 6:03 p.m.

  Read 6:03 p.m.

  Madelyn: Where?

  Sent 6:03 p.m.

  Read: 6:03 p.m.

  Ava: Are you alone.

  Sent 6:04 p.m.

  Read 6:04 p.m.

  Madelyn: Yes. Why?

  Sent 6:04 p.m.

  Read 6:04 p.m.

  Ava: Meet me at University Memorial Center.

  2nd floor study lounge. 6:30.

  Sent 6:04 p.m.

  Read 6:04 p.m.

  Madelyn: OMW

  On my way.

  There were roughly a million things Roman didn’t like about this scenario. The first, and most obvious, was that there had been contact at all. Ava had been in Boulder for months, Roman knew that fact firsthand. She hadn’t contacted her sister in all that time and then the same day that Madelyn runs awry of Oleg, Ava needed help?

  And yet, how would Oleg make the connection? Unless you knew the two to be sisters, the resemblance wasn’t noticeable. Then again, someone—presumably Oleg—had been in Madelyn’s apartment and taken great interest in a photo of Ava and Madelyn. For someone with as many street connections as Oleg, finding Ava wouldn’t be hard. But could he get one sister to betray the other?

  The location was also off. The University of Colorado’s student union was not a place Ava would know well. But someone like Oleg might. His men sold drugs on the campus regularly.

  Before he added any more oddities to his list, Roman was on his feet and out the door. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Tires screeching, he used the car’s phone system to call Ian.

  As soon as the ringing ceased, Roman began to speak. “Oleg’s not dead,” he said. “Somehow or another, Zavalov survived. Her sister contacted her and wanted to meet. I think it’s a set-up.”

  “An interesting theory,” said Ian, “but doubtful.”

  Doubtful? Roman wanted to bellow. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re assuming a lot.”

  “That’s part of my job, to take information and make an analysis. I hate to break it to you, but all analysis is based on assumptions.” Along with gut feelings—and Roman’s stomach was sick with the possibilities.

  “True,” said Ian, “but we just got word from the Colorado Bureau of Investigation’s search and rescue team. Oleg Zavalov’s jacket was found tangled in some debris about five miles downstream from where the bridge washed out. There’s a bullet hole through the chest. The shot would’ve been fatal.”

  “Are you sure the jacket’s his?”

  “His name is embroidered on the inside pocket.”

  Roman cursed. “I’m telling you, he’s out there.”

  “And I’m telling you, he’s not. Oleg Zavalov is dead. It’s only a matter of time before his body is found. What we do have is a new lead on Nikolai Mateev. The Transportation Safety Administration just came in with a report. Photo recognition has a 78 percent match for Mateev on a flight landing in Colorado Springs within the hour. I’m on my way now. Are you coming?”

  Roman exhaled and considered his options. A bullet to the chest was a hard wound to survive under the best circumstances and Oleg’s situation had been far from optimal. Maybe Oleg’s car had simply been stolen. The timing of Ava’s contact might also be coincidental. If that was the case, then he’d have a long list of petty crime
s against a woman he was trying to protect—breaking and entering, hacking into her computer, stalking.

  Madelyn wouldn’t be flattered.

  If he turned south now, he could meet Ian in Colorado Springs and be there to arrest Nikolai Mateev. The point of the spear, gleaming in the sunlight, beckoned to Roman.

  But what if he wasn’t wrong? Until he saw Oleg’s dead body on a slab in the mortuary, there was a possibility that he was out there. What if Ava had been used to lure Madelyn into a deadly trap and Roman ignored his hunch?

  Amid the rush hour traffic, Roman saw the sign for I-25 South, the road to Denver and then Colorado Springs beyond. It was the same intersection that led, when taken to the left, to CU’s main campus. The light turned red and Roman pulled to a stop.

  “Are you there?” Ian asked. “Are you coming? Can we count on you to see this Mateev business to the end?”

  Madelyn. Nikolai. Oleg. Roman wanted to be in three places at once.

  Yet, as he stared at the traffic light, he knew there was only one decision to make. Flipping on his blinker, he gave Ian his answer. When the light changed from red to green, Roman stepped down on the gas and rocketed toward the one thing that mattered most.

  Madelyn.

  * * *

  Madelyn knew she was injured before her eyes opened. Her head hurt and her tongue was thick, her eyes gritty. She was lying on her stomach, her face to the ground. Short, rough carpet imprinted on her cheeks. A damp and musty smell was overwhelming and she gagged. Cold from the floor seeped through her clothes. All these facts she knew as absolutes as well as her name and her enrollment in CU’s medical school. What she didn’t know was where she was or what had happened prior to this moment.

  She searched her memory for a specific instance to gauge the passage of time, like a thumbtack on a map. Threads of memories came to her, but nothing substantial to which she could cling and begin to weave a cloth that made up the past few hours. Or maybe it had been days.

  Not knowing where she was—or when—was a common side effect of head trauma. Of that fact, she was certain. She recalled counseling the mother of a middle school football player with a concussion that her son might lose two or three days leading up to the injury. At the time—she didn’t know when—Madelyn had said that it was common and that something could trigger the boy’s memories.

  Madelyn allowed her eyelids to flutter open and saw only the seam between the gray carpeted floor and a cinder block wall of the same color. Had she fallen? She tried to picture herself upon a ladder and then losing her balance. The image came to her, but held no truth.

  She rolled to her side and pushed up to her elbow. Pain shot through her skull and a wave of nausea swelled. She breathed deeply and the queasiness ebbed. The pain remained, though, becoming a throbbing ache at the back of her head that mirrored her heartbeat.

  From behind, came the scuffing sound of shoe leather on the carpeted floor. She turned. The movement released a rushing tide inside her head. Blood filled her ears and light flashed through her field of vision. Madelyn sucked in a deep breath and waited for the symptoms to abate.

  An attractive man with slicked-back dark hair knelt next to Madelyn. He looked as if he’d been in a car wreck. Bruises and scrapes covered his face. Maybe the car crash was where she’d been hurt, as well. In her mind’s eye Madelyn saw a black luxury sedan on a dirt road. The image was like quicksilver, gone as soon as she tightened her grasp. It left her with nothing and wondering what she had held in the first place.

  The man moved closer. His eyes were as black as coal and she was positive that she’d looked into them before. She tried not to shiver. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “You don’t remember me?”

  Madelyn’s mouth went dry. “Not at all.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I wish I could remember...” The tingling sensation of panic danced at the base of her spine. “But, I can’t.”

  “I’m Oleg. Oleg Zavalov.”

  “Oleg Zavalov.” Madelyn let the words roll around in her mouth. “Your name sounds familiar.”

  But from where? For some reason, she didn’t think that she liked him—never mind that he’d left her on the cold floor. Or maybe she’d just fallen and he was waiting for paramedics to arrive.

  Oleg sat back on his heels. In the toes of his expensive shoes reflected the overhead light. The glare cut through her scalp and intensified her pain. He whistled low. “I’ll be damned. You don’t recall a thing, do you?”

  Irritation overrode her confusion and she snapped. “You think I like not being able to remember the last day or two?”

  “Calm down,” he said as he held up his hands. His palms soft and white. Madelyn immediately decided that Oleg was like his shoes, too polished to be anything beyond show.

  She must’ve recently met Oleg. But where? It brought up an interesting question, though—who was he to her? She couldn’t imagine herself interested in Oleg romantically. He was nothing like the last guy she dated. What was his name?

  In a flash, she saw a man with hazel eyes and a day’s growth of beard. He stood by a window and looked out at the mountains. She caught a whiff of pine and rain. Without question, she knew that she had loved the other man, might love him still. Yet could bring up nothing more about him.

  “Did you call the ambulance?” Madelyn asked.

  “What?”

  “I assume that I fell,” she said. She cast her gaze around the room, looking for the ladder from which she had toppled, and found none. She was in a windowless office. The carpeting was the cheap industrial kind and there was a desk with a chair, a set of filing cabinets and another metal chair in the middle of the room. Overhead, strips of florescent light hummed.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” said Oleg. “You slipped. I called the ambulance and they’ll be here any minute.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “You want to sit in the chair? It’s better than the floor. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

  Madelyn placed her hand in his. Oleg’s flesh was cold, damp, and she wanted to recoil at his touch. Instead, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her equilibrium was off and she listed to the side. Oleg placed his arm around her shoulder, helping her to stay upright. Though he had been nothing beyond courteous, something was wrong. But what? She couldn’t concentrate—not through the pain and nausea and the lights that danced in her vision.

  Arm still on her shoulder, Oleg led Madelyn to the chair. Her legs gave out and she practically fell into the seat. Madelyn was exhausted and she longed to lie down and sleep. Somehow, her brain remembered that slumber was the worst idea with a head injury.

  “Can I see your hand?” Oleg asked.

  She hesitated and glanced at her palms. They looked normal and nothing hurt. “They’re fine,” she said.

  “Your hand,” he said again. “Let me see it.”

  Even in her confused state, Madelyn found his question odd. Yet she had no reason to argue. “Sure.” She held up her palm.

  Oleg grabbed her and wrenched her hand hard behind her back. A band encircled her wrist. The stiff plastic tightened and bit into her flesh. She flailed and tried to stand to run. Oleg kicked her in the chest, driving all the air from her lungs and slamming her into the chair. He straddled her, pinning her down. He grabbed her other hand and soon it was cuffed behind her, as well.

  “Madelyn.” Oleg moved to stand before her. He sounded so calm, she couldn’t help but focus on his face. A lock of his hair fell over his forehead. He smoothed it back into place. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?”

  “I’m positive. I don’t know anything.”

  “If you’re telling me the truth, then more’s the pity.”

  Her pulse raced, sending white flashes spiraling through her vision. Madelyn jerked her arms. They were held tight to the legs of the chair. She pushed up to s
tand. The chair remained steady.

  “Your seat is bolted to the floor,” Oleg offered. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  If she couldn’t escape, then she needed to have him see her as a person. “Why is it a pity if I can’t remember you?” she asked.

  “Because your suffering will be much worse if you don’t remember your sins.”

  Oleg drew back his fist and hit Madelyn in the face. Her mouth throbbed and filled with blood. Her heart seized as her veins filled with icy terror. He hit her again and again, relentless. She no longer had time to feel fear, only pain that exploded like fireworks each time he struck her.

  Oleg stopped and stepped away from Madelyn. His knuckles were bruised. He cupped his injured hand with the other. “I’m going to ask you this once,” he said. “Where’s Roman?”

  “I don’t know anyone named Roman,” Madelyn said.

  “Bull. You do.”

  Oleg struck her with the back of his hand. Her head snapped as her eyes filled with tears. She was desperate to make the beating stop. What did he want? Some guy she’d never even heard of? What did it hurt her to tell Oleg what he wanted to hear? “He’s gone,” she said quickly, before he had a chance to strike her again. “He left town. He’s afraid of someone, it might be you. But that memory’s fuzzy, too.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Oleg said. He shook out his hand. “Well, then, you will have plenty of time to beg for forgiveness for the both of you.”

  Madelyn tensed, bracing for another blow. It didn’t come. Oleg walked away from her. He turned off the light and closed the door, entombing Madelyn in the darkness and the silence.

  Chapter 10

  Tires screeching, Roman rounded the corner. The entrance to CU’s campus lay directly ahead. A traffic light hung above the intersection and changed from green to yellow. He accelerated, crossing the road just as it turned to red. He barreled past the information booth and skirted the outside of campus, recalling the news reports of the planned protests by the student body.

  He pulled into a parking place in front of the student union and turned off the ignition. Roman was through the front doors and on the second floor before the engine quieted. He slid a gun into the small of his back, letting his waistband hold it in place and his shirttail hide it.