The War King

by Jeana E. Mann

  My world collapsed at the sight of Roman in handcuffs. He stood tall and proud beside Agent Frankel’s sedan, expression stoic. The man guided him into the backseat. I hovered on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around my waist, nearly oblivious to the stares of passersby and their flashing cell phone cameras, and fought the urge to cry.

  I love you, Roman mouthed through the window. Seconds later, the car merged into traffic. I remained on the sidewalk, staring after it, until Spitz placed a hand on my elbow. Hopelessness swelled in my chest, threatening to crack my ribs.

  “Mrs. Menshikov, I need you to come back inside the building, please.” He guided me through the revolving doors and into the lobby, away from the cameras.

  “Can’t you do something?” Numbness settled over me, heavy and oppressive.

  “I’m afraid not.” He pressed the elevator call button. Defeat flattened the sharpness of his features.

  The ascent to Roman’s office floor took an eternity. Each passing second felt like a knife blade to my guts. I couldn’t stand by and watch Roman being unjustly accused of murder. There had to be something I could do, favors to be called in, or friends who could assist. “What happens now?”

  “He’ll be booked into the jail and held until his pre-trial hearing. The judge will set bail, and we can—hopefully—get him out.” When he looked at me, his gaze held the same disapproval he’d shown earlier. “He’s going to need an attorney. The best his money can buy.”

  We faced the elevator doors. Our reflections in the polished steel stared back at us. “You don’t like me.”

  “No, I don’t.” He clasped his hands in front of him, legs braced apart. “But I don’t have to like you to work for your husband.”

  “You can think whatever you want about me, but I’m telling you, I’ll do anything to help him. I need you to set aside your misgivings for now. We’ve got to work together on this, for his sake.”

  “Agreed.”

  When the elevator doors opened, I straightened my shoulders and prepared to do battle. Employees huddled around the reception desk and turned to gape at us. I met their scandalized stares with confidence, unblinking, until they averted their gazes.

  “Back to business everyone. We have work to do.”

  They scurried back to their cubicles.

  “Spitz, I need a new phone ASAP.” I strode down the corridor, purpose in my step. He caught up to my side. “Is there anyone you can call to see what’s going on?”

  “I’ve got a few contacts.”

  The heels of my shoes clicked on the pristine tile floor. “Who’s the best criminal attorney in the city?”

  “Kellie Laghari,” he said without hesitation.

  I’d heard the name before. She’d recently defended a movie star accused of killing his wife.

  I paused at Lorissa’s desk. Concern deepened the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. “Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Menshikov?” she asked.

  “Yes. Get Kellie Laghari on the phone. Tell her it’s urgent.”

  Inside Roman’s office, I laid my forehead on the desk, closed my eyes, and cursed. How had things gotten so far from the grasp of our control?

  Within a minute, Lorissa called into the room. “Mrs. Menshikov? I wasn’t able to get Kellie Laghari on the phone. Her assistant says she’s in court today and booked solid for the next thirty days. I left a message. And Everly McElroy is on line two for you.”

  I drew in a deep breath and tried to push aside the rising tide of panic. “Keep calling Ms. Laghari and get her firm’s address. I’ll go to her if she won’t come to me.” Placing a hand over my racing heart, I counted to ten, hoping to regain a semblance of composure before taking Everly’s call. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I tried to text you. Your phone isn’t working. I took a chance that you’d be in the office. I just heard about Roman. It’s bad, isn’t it?” Her voice, normally quiet and modulated, sounded thin and strained.

  “Yes.” I rubbed my forehead with two fingers, hoping to ease the dull ache between my temples.

  She sighed. “I need to talk to you—in person. It’s important.”

  “I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “I’m in front of your building. I’ll make it quick.” She paused. “Please, Rourke.”

  Five minutes later, she stood in front of Roman’s desk, shifting from one foot to the other. The blue hue of her dress intensified the color of her eyes. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the crown of her long, red hair.

  “So what’s the emergency?” I asked, unable to hide the hurt of her betrayal. She was supposed to be my best friend, the person I trusted most after Roman.

  After an audible intake of air, she said, “The day Lavender Cunningham died, I found out she was having an affair with my dad.”

  “I know—Spitz has photos of the three of you,” I said. She fell silent. I rested an elbow on the desk and gripped my forehead.

  “Is that why you were acting so weird at lunch?”

  “I was hoping you’d come forward to tell me.” We stared at each other. More than anything, I wanted to believe in her motives, to trust her again.

  “How long have you known?” She turned her back and walked to the wire-and-metal sculpture hanging on the far wall.

  “Since yesterday.”

  “It’s not what it looks like. I swear.” She pivoted on her stiletto heels. Her words gathered speed. “I was visiting a friend who lives in Lavender’s building and ran into them on the elevator. It was…upsetting to say the least.” The pain in her voice thawed some of the ice around my heart. “He didn’t apologize or anything. He said his relationship with my mom was solid, and he expected me to be an adult and keep it to myself. They gave me a ride home. We had a huge argument in the car. It was awful.” Tears softened the brightness of her eyes. She stopped beside me and placed her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her anguish brought a thickness to my throat. I stared at our hands. “You’re not responsible for his behavior. He’s a grown man. I just wish—I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “I threatened to tell Mom if he didn’t break it off, and that’s where we left it. Things have been strained between us since then.”

  The enormity of her confession hit me with full force. Not only did Mr. McElroy have a motive for Lavender’s death, Everly did also. In my heart of hearts, I knew she didn’t have the capacity to harm someone, but a spark of anger flared at her reluctance to come forward. “I understand why you didn’t say anything, but it might have saved Roman a lot of trouble.”

  “I know it was wrong.” She hung her head. “But it gets worse. He didn’t come home at all the night Lavender died. I know, because Mom mentioned it the next day. He left a voice mail for me later and said the situation ‘had been resolved’ and not to worry my mother with it.” She drew air quotes around the words with her fingers.

  “Do you think he could do something like that?” Even with photograph evidence of his dalliance, Mr. McElroy still seemed like the all-American hero.

  “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You have to tell the police.” My pulse began to pound between my temples. I reached for the phone.

  “No.” She placed a hand on the receiver, blocking me. “Rourke, he’s my dad.” Her blue eyes grew rounder, reminding me of the way she’d looked as a child.

  I studied her downcast face, debating my next move. “I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me.”

  “I do trust you. More than anyone.” Tears continued to gather in her eyes. “That’s why I’m telling you now. As much as I love you, I don’t want to betray him. Can’t you understand? I’m in a tough position.” Sincerity rang in her words.

  “And Roman is my husband.” The futures of two important people depended upon the truth. My frustration continued to escalate. “You’d let an innocent man go to prison for a crime your father committed?”

  “It’s not going to come to that. If Roman is innocent, his l
awyers will prove it.”

  “If he’s innocent? If? Do you hear yourself?” The cap on my temper exploded. I paced across the room, fighting the urge to throw something. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  “We don’t know that Dad did anything wrong,” she said, frowning. “I’m not going to throw him under bus for no reason. What kind of daughter would do that?”

  “But he had the means, motive, and opportunity. His relationship with Lavender would be enough to cast reasonable doubt on Roman.” Despite the recent ugliness and deceit introduced into my life, I needed to believe there were still good people in the world. She’d always been a true friend. In the end, I knew she’d do the right thing. “Go to the police, Everly. You have to do this for me.”

  “And say what? My father, the beloved former Vice President and war hero, had an affair with Lavender?” She lifted her palms into the air. “I don’t have any evidence. They’ll think I’m insane or out for publicity.”

  My hopes plummeted. Fate attempted to thwart me at every turn. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, coldness seeped into my bones. “If you don’t do this for me, we’re done, Everly.”

  “What?” She jerked as if I’d struck her. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it. Every word. Either you take care of this, or I will, and I guarantee you won’t like my methods.”

  She left the office, wounded and angry. The old Rourke would have gone home to wallow in misery, but Mrs. Menshikov didn’t have time for self-pity. As soon as the door closed behind her, I summoned Spitz.

  “Lance has been terminated,” he said, expression grim.

  “What did he say?”

  “Not a damn thing. Just took his paycheck and left.” He ran a hand through his grizzled crew cut. “I’ll have Graves step in for him. He’s a good guy. Served under me in the military.”

  “Okay. Thanks for handling that.”

  “And here’s a phone for you.” He pulled a new iPhone from his pocket. “I had your contacts and email transferred over. You should be ready to go.”

  We might not like each other, but I had to respect his competency. “Great. I’ll need the car brought around. I’m going to Kellie Laghari’s office and hound her until she sees me. And do you have those pictures of McElroy and Lavender?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Make two copies. Take a set with you. Put them somewhere safe.”

  “And the other one?”

  “That set is for Mr. McElroy. An insurance policy.”

  His eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “My respect for you has escalated to a whole new level.”

  Chapter 22

  Roman

  Around mid-morning following the day of my arrest, the guard pulled me out of my cell and led me to a visitation room. An unfamiliar man peered at me from beneath unruly black eyebrows. He sat on the edge of the metal table, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The hem of his pants rode up his legs, showing a swath of hairy calf and black socks. He stood when I entered.

  “Mr. Menshikov, I’m Mr. Green. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” A thick Bostonian accent couched his words. “Have a seat.”

  I pulled out the chair across from him and rubbed my wrists, grateful to be free of the handcuffs.

  “Help yourself.” He nodded toward a second cup of coffee and a box of donuts. “How’d you sleep last night?”

  “Like a baby.” I winced as the hot coffee scalded my tongue. Because of my fame, I’d been given a solitary cell, separate from the other inmates. The unfamiliar sounds of the jail and the hard metal bunk had kept me awake, but he didn’t need to know that. “You?”

  “Great, thanks for asking.” His tone was light and conversational, but he watched me with predatory intent. “I was up late watching the Celtics. Are you a basketball fan?”

  “Not really.”

  “No? Too bad. Great game.”

  “I want my phone call and an attorney.” I didn’t give two shits about this man in his cheap suit with the broken capillaries around his nose and bad haircut. I wanted to go home to Rourke. Immediately.

  “We’ll get to that.” Green sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded me down the length of his hawk nose.

  “You’re not with the FBI,” I said, realizing he’d failed to identify his branch of employment.

  “No, I’m not.” The soles of his shoes left black scuff marks on the concrete floor. “I’m here on behalf of an independent contractor, a former business associate of yours.”

  “And who might that be?” I feigned disinterest while my blood pressure began to climb.

  “You know I can’t name names. Kind of like that kinky club of yours.” His thick black eyebrows waggled, mocking me.

  “Just get to the point. What do you want?”

  “I saw your wife this morning.” His lazy smile suggested he enjoyed prolonging my torment. The hairs lifted on the back of my neck. “She’s an attractive woman.”

  My fingers curled with the urge to pin him to the wall by the throat. “Lay one finger on her, and you’ll die.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Menshikov? Because I’d be happy to add a few additional charges to the ones already pending.”

  “Anyone who knows me knows I don’t make threats, Mr. Green.”

  He shrugged. “From where I’m standing, you’re fucked. My employer is a very powerful man, more powerful than you. In fact, he fabricated this little mess to teach you a lesson. If you continue to interfere in his business, he’ll take you out the same way he took out Ms. Walenska and your friend Ivan.”

  “I don’t know who your employer is, but you can tell him to kiss my ass.”

  “Are you sure about that? What you’re going through right now is nothing compared to the hell he’s prepared to rain down on you and your family if you don’t cooperate.”

  His ominous words knifed through me. It was one thing to gamble with my own life, but another to jeopardize the safety of my wife and children. Their wellbeing meant more to me than my mortality. “I want my attorney.” Although I’d been in a cell for almost twenty-four hours, I hadn’t been given a phone call nor a visit with legal counsel.

  He took a sip of his coffee and regarded me over the rim of his cup. “Give me your word that you’ll cut ties with Prince Heinrich, and this can all be over.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I mimicked his casual pose.

  Mr. Green laughed. “I’ve been given the authority to do whatever is necessary to stop you. I can be very creative when I need to.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else. I’m just a simple businessman.” In a show of bewilderment, I lifted my open palms in the air. “When word gets out that I’ve been denied my basic rights, your ass is going to be in a world of hurt.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Well, you should be. I bet my Lear jet that your boss’s boss has no idea I’m here. And when he finds out? He’s going to be pissed.”

  “My boss’s boss is the President of our great nation.”

  I shrugged. “Like I said.”

  Someone banged on the door. Both our heads snapped in the direction of the entrance. “Come in,” Green said. “What is it? I’m busy.”

  The man cast a worried frown in my direction. “Sir, we have an issue.”

  “Unless the goddam Pentagon is on fire, I don’t care.” Green returned his attention to me, but the man persisted.

  “I think you’ll care about this.”

  At that exact moment, Green’s phone buzzed. He frowned at the caller ID before placing the phone to his ear. His expression drooped, and his jaw clenched. “Are you sure?” I couldn’t make out the identity of the person on the other side of the line, but they were definitely shouting. “Fine. Right away.”

  “Your wife?” I asked.

  He sighed, a heavy, gusting exhale of a man whose patience had been tried to the limits. “Your attorney is here.” He sl
ipped out of the room moments before the door opened for a second time.

  A woman stepped into the room—Kellie fucking Laghari. We’d never met before but I knew her by reputation and by her frequent television appearances. She nodded to me and extended her hand. “Mr. Menshikov, good to see you. I’m Kellie Laghari. Your wife has retained me as your legal counsel.”

  “Ms. Laghari, it’s a pleasure.” We shook hands. Her firm grip encased my fingers. Few people intimidated me, but she became a serious contender for the title. Only a few inches shorter than my six-four, she exuded strength and authority in a severe red power suit and blue-black hair shorter than mine. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Please call me Kellie.” Her mouth remained in a firm line, but her eyes were filled with warmth. “Have you been mistreated in any way?” Her dark gaze slid over my face, looking for signs of battery.

  “Not really. Although I haven’t eaten since I arrived, and no one offered me a phone call.” I scratched a my fingers through my beard.

  “We’ll make sure they’re held accountable for that.” She claimed the chair across from me at the table and pulled a file from her briefcase. “I’ve spoken with the judge and the District Attorney. Apparently, most of the evidence against you is circumstantial. They’re building a case strictly around your DNA found at the crime scene.”

  “That’s not possible.” My tired mind fought to process the information. “I haven’t been to Lavender’s apartment in over two years.”

  “According to the evidence, they also found a dresser drawer in her bedroom containing personal items identified as belonging to you—clothing, cufflinks, a watch, condoms—all with your fingerprints.”

  “Like I said, impossible.” I ran my hands through my hair.

  She thumbed through the paperwork, frowning. “I need you to be honest with me, Mr. Menshikov. Everything you say to me is confidential under attorney-client privilege. Do you have any knowledge of Ms. Cunningham’s death?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “And yet, you can’t provide an alibi for the night of her murder?”