by Linda Ladd
“She’s next, Novak. Then Blackwood will find himself a new little girl in some other foreign country, and she’ll end up just like Irina. We’ve got to stop this.”
“We will. He’s going down.”
Lori glanced at him, then returned her attention to the road. “Well, I’m getting a little nervous. They don’t seem to leave loose ends, and that’s what we are.”
“I’ve been watching. Nobody’s following us.”
“So far. Everything about this mess stinks to high heaven. Here we’ve got a revered former Senator involved in felony child abuse and sexual exploitation of his own underage, adopted daughter. God only knows what else he’s doing. Now we’ve got an assault and battery with intent to kill, an attempted murder with the victim still alive to identify who did it. Irina’s going to end up dead if she goes back there. We should call in law enforcement before they kill her.”
“We should but we can’t. We don’t have any proof that they’ve done anything. They’ve got a record of me being inside their make-believe jail after assaulting the Senator. They’ll put me up as the perpetrator. They’ll make sure I take the fall. After we get Justin to the hospital, we can go back and find a way to get Irina out of that house. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know. She feels safe, but they’ll end up killing her, even though she won’t believe it’s possible.”
Lori sighed and shook her head. “And to think I expected us to have a nice quiet getaway at that Victorian bed and breakfast. Damn it, you’re a trouble magnet.” She looked down at the instrument panel and groaned. “Oh, God, we’re almost out of gas. I should’ve filled up yesterday. We’ve got to stop at the next station.”
“We don’t need to take the time.”
“No, we don’t, but it’s better than to get stranded on the side of the road with an empty tank. I’ll make it fast.”
Ten minutes later, Lori turned up the next ramp, where there was a tourist stop with a big BP gas station and a Subway restaurant next door. Both looked busy, sitting off to the left side of the outer blacktopped road. A farm implement company sat just across from the filling station, but that was it as far as business concerns. The rest of the area looked like privately owned property, mostly covered in thick woods. Lori swung into the big graveled parking lot and pulled up at an open pump. Novak climbed out and searched the road for black Volkswagen SUVs or white BMWs. He saw nothing suspicious. His head told him it was unlikely Blackwood’s men could find them this fast, but he was nervous because Irina had gone back there. If they made her talk and thought Justin could identify them, they would come after Lori and him, and it wouldn’t take them long to catch up. He told Lori he would pump the gas while she went in and paid for it. Since the station was busy like most pit stops along the major Interstates, they didn’t stand out.
Novak scanned the other people who were pumping gas. He saw nobody he recognized, nor anyone who seemed to be watching him. He pulled out the nozzle and gassed up, while Lori hurried across the busy lot and disappeared inside. Justin was not moving, but at least his chest was still rising and falling. The morphine was doing the trick now, but the difficult breathing was getting worse. Novak propped the nozzle to continue gassing the Jeep, and then opened the back door and gently moved Justin farther onto his side, so that he faced the front seat with his broken arm on top. He took off his windbreaker and draped it over the boy. The kid was alive right now, and that was about the only good news Novak had to hold on to.
After the tank was full, Novak got back into the Jeep and watched for bad guys. He knew they were coming. He just couldn’t shake the idea that something terrible was going to happen before they could get the kid to Richmond. Lori was back within minutes with some bottles of water and a dozen glazed donuts. She started up the engine, and Novak grabbed a water bottle and drank down most of it. It had been a long, cold night lying on that jailhouse bunk, and his day was only getting worse. The station was crowded now, all the pumps engaged. The person waiting in the car behind them beeped his horn, so Lori pulled out in a hurry and headed for the exit lane.
The nice day had started going to hell, along with everything else they faced. Clouds the color of gunmetal hunched together like a massive frown on an angry sky. The portended storm had arrived and dulled the fall scenery, like a pall of depression settling over a deathbed. The temperature seemed to plummet all at once, with a hard wind blowing up out of nowhere and sending rain in windswept sheets against the Jeep’s windows. People standing at the pumps zipped up their jackets and turned their backs to the blowing rain sweeping in under the canopy. Then a deluge hit all at once, as if released from a giant open spigot. A hard downpour pummeled the windshield in blurry sheets, sliding down the glass and running off the hood. Thunder cracked somewhere in the distance. Novak cursed—a storm was all they needed to slow them down. Recapping the bottle, he could not get his mind off Irina Blackwood and what was likely happening to her at that moment.
Lori noticed his agitation. He could tell she knew what he was thinking, which was not unusual. They’d spent several months sailing the Caribbean, just the two of them on the boat. They’d gotten to know each other’s moods well. “You’re worried about the girl. Go ahead, try to text her. You’ll feel better if you know she’s okay.”
“I’ve just got this bad feeling, I can’t help it. I trust my instincts. I think they’re going to kill her.”
“Text her, right now. Rest your mind. I can’t see him just up and murdering his own daughter. She’s been with him since she was six years old, or so he says. Maybe he went after Justin because he didn’t want to have to hurt her.”
Novak didn’t believe any of that to be true.
“Do you really think they’re going to murder her?”
“She’s nothing but trouble for them now. She knows a lot about their business. She can name names and places. I know Petrov won’t want to keep her breathing. He’s hiding from the law, as it is.”
“I still think Blackwood loves Irina too much to kill her. I guess that’s what you call what he feels for her.”
“That’s not what you call it. Not even close.”
“I know.”
With the rain creating havoc on the metal roof, Novak got out the phone Irina had given him and punched in u ok?. He sat back and waited for a reply. “She’s not answering. She’s dead. I know it.”
“No, you don’t know it. Maybe Blackwood took the phone away from her. That’s typical punishment for teens nowadays, I hear. Or she’s hidden the phone and will check her messages later.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he beat her to death with it.”
“C’mon, Novak, quit thinking the worst, will you? He’s obsessed with her in his own perverted way. He’ll beat her, but killing her would create more questions that he wants to answer. You know, she has to know people in the area, like her high school teachers, friends, maybe social media connections. She should have come with us. I agree with you there.”
Lori braked at the highway and looked through the beating windshield wipers for oncoming traffic. Cars were approaching slowly from both directions, so they waited for a gray Dodge truck to pass them. The rain began to let up a little, and the wipers were working better. Novak hoped the rain would stop completely. He could not get Irina off his mind. Lori had a point, though. Irina had been with Blackwood for years, had most likely disobeyed and angered him a million times, and she was still alive and breathing. After raising her for a decade, he had to care about her. Although that sounded reasonable, Novak didn’t buy it. He tried texting again. There was still no answer. There was nothing else he could do about Irina, not until they got Justin checked into the medical center. They were about halfway there now. Novak turned to look at the traffic coming at them from Lori’s side. That’s when he saw a big white cab of a semi-truck, roaring straight at Lori’s driver’s seat.
Lori saw it, too, and tried to st
amp down on the accelerator to get out of the way, but it was too late. The giant cab rammed the side of the Jeep so hard that they went sliding and scraping sideways across the gravel, pushed like snow in front of a plow. Novak’s head whiplashed from the initial impact, and his airbag exploded against his face and chest, a devastating punch to the heart. Stunned at first, all he could hear was the shrill grinding of rending metal and smashing glass and flying shards. He heard Lori scream as the Jeep went over, tottering there a moment before crashing down on Novak’s side. The passenger window shattered under him, and the windblown rain drenched Novak where he was strapped to the seat.
The truck’s cab did not stop there, but kept gunning its motor, pushing the Jeep harder and harder until it began to overturn. The resistance finally gave way, and the Jeep landed upside down on its roof. The metal shrieked under the weight of the Jeep and then crumpled, crushing down to within inches of Novak’s head. Novak’s mind went reeling around like cartwheels, desperately trying to latch on to consciousness, but he couldn’t seem to grab it. He hung upside down, held in place by the seatbelt harness.
Jagged streaks of light flashed in a strobe effect inside his skull, and he blinked as blood from a laceration on his head burned his eyes and blinded him. He wiped it away, his mind still reeling with shock. Then he remembered Lori. He found her in the driver’s seat, also suspended upside down from the roof. Her nose and ears were flooding out scarlet streams of blood. She was hurt bad. Her eyes were closed, but he thought she was still breathing. Then he remembered Justin. The kid had not been strapped in. Justin was lying on the smashed-in roof of the car behind Novak. He was covered in blood, and definitely not moving.
Trying to shake off his confusion, Novak became aware of the big semi cab. It was still there. It had backed up and was sitting a few yards away. The driver kept revving the motor in a continuous threat, as if preparing for a second run at them. Novak couldn’t think quite straight enough to know what to do, so he just hung there, his head bleeding onto the roof, his ears ringing over the roar of the truck’s motor. After a few seconds, he got his bearings and tried to spot the attackers. The cab was still sitting there, looming over them like a vulture over a trapped rabbit. He tried to wipe away the blood blinding him, and saw a man’s legs step down out of the cab.
It was Vasily Petrov. The Russian started walking through the rain toward the wreck. He had a silenced Ruger in his hand. The fear that brought up cleared Novak’s head, and he scratched at his belt holster for his own weapon. Twisting desperately, he couldn’t reach it because of the shoulder harness. Petrov had stopped on the other side of the crushed Jeep. He squatted down and peered inside the broken back seat window. When he saw Justin, he raised his weapon and pumped a double tap into the boy’s head, and two more into his back. Novak clawed desperately for his weapon. Then Petrov turned his gun on Lori where she was suspended limp and unconscious on her harness. He lifted his weapon and pointed it at the back of her head. Novak touched the cold metal, pulled the .45 out, and held down the trigger. His slugs shattered what was left of the window glass, filling the Jeep with caustic smoke and the smell of gunpowder, the loud explosions of the guns nearly deafening him.
Petrov had ducked down. Novak saw the Russian scrambling back toward the truck. Novak started firing again, emptying his magazine, but he knew he’d hit Petrov because the man fell, got up, and limped heavily as he pulled himself up into the truck cab. The last thing Novak heard before daylight dissolved behind a black velvet curtain was the immense roar of the killer diesel truck fading away down the highway, and the last thing he saw was the concerned faces of people outside the windows. They were yelling and trying to pry open the door beside him. Then it got dark and quiet as all light and sound faded away to nothing.
Chapter 6
When Novak regained consciousness, he hurt all over and couldn’t remember where he was. He tried to lift his head, but a debilitating onslaught of nausea hit the pit of his stomach. He gagged and lay still with his eyes squeezed shut. He sucked in deep breaths until the sickness subsided. After a couple of minutes, he opened his eyes and stared up at a white ceiling. Everything around him was white, like a snowscape. It wasn’t the first time he’d awoken with no memory of what was going on, but this time his temples pounded whenever he tried to move his head. It felt like burning ropes pressed into his waist and across his chest.
He finally realized his bed was surrounded by white curtains. It looked like an Emergency Room cubicle. Someone outside the drapes was saying something he couldn’t quite discern, and then there was a loud crack of thunder that rattled the curtain rods. Once that happened, Novak’s recollections kicked in. The scenarios clicked through his mind in rapid succession like flipping pages of a book: the crash, the overturned Jeep, then the rest of the accident, rushing through his mind like storm waters sweeping down a steep rock canyon. Lori was hurt bad, he thought, alarmed. She had been hanging upside down and bleeding heavily. That memory scared him. His thoughts scraped like broken shards of thin glass as he tried to piece it all together. Then he relived Vasily Petrov striding toward the Jeep, peering inside at him and raising his gun. Oh, God, he’d shot Justin Dalton, but Novak couldn’t remember about Lori. Had Petrov shot her, too?
Novak’s confusion sent him into panic mode. He shot to an upright sitting position, and paid the price as his brain seemed to explode inside his skull. A hammer-hard pulse attacked his temples, and his stomach rolled. Groaning and holding his head in his hands, he saw the young red-haired nurse in green scrubs standing at the foot of his bed. A man was standing beside her. She walked around the bed and stood on his right. She placed a hand on his heaving chest and pushed him back down.
“Everything’s okay, Mr. Novak, please, you must remain lying down. You’re all right. You’re being taken care of in a hospital. This is the Emergency Room at VCU. You’ve been in a terrible car accident, but you’re going to be fine. You’ve had a shock to your brain and cuts and abrasions from the flying glass. Your car overturned, and the exploding airbag hit you very hard in the chest and head. Please, calm down and try to lie still. Do you remember anything about the accident?”
Novak frowned, trying to remember as he massaged his aching temples.
“Please stay calm. You need to take things nice and slow for a while. The doctor has ordered a mild sedative in case you became agitated. I’m going to get it for you. Don’t worry about being confused or frightened. Victims of head traumas often awake feeling like that. You’re safe here. We’re treating you for your injuries.” She glanced at the man at the foot of the bed. “This is a police detective. He’d like to ask you a few questions about the accident if you feel up to it. Is that all right?”
It was not all right. He didn’t know this guy or who he really was. Then he remembered Charles Blackwood’s face and his Gestapo jailhouse. He was the one who’d sent Petrov after them. He wasn’t going to tell this guy anything. The nurse leaned closer and examined the bandage wrapped around his forehead. Novak saw two of her, and knew then that he was still in bad shape. He wasn’t fine yet, no way. Closing his eyes, he found that helped with his dizziness. His ears were ringing and his heartbeat was racing. He heard a slow, discordant clanging inside his ears, like the tolling of a cracked cathedral bell. Lori’s bloody face came to mind and piled on more anxiety. The bell inside his head was killing him.
“What about Lori?” he asked the nurse. “She was in the car with me. Is she okay?”
The nurse continued to hold him down. “You’ve got to calm down, Mr. Novak. Yes, your friend survived the accident. She’s not awake yet, but the doctors think it won’t be much longer. The EMTs said she got the worst of the impact on the driver’s side. You both have suffered concussions. You’ve got a deep cut on your forehead and another one on your chin. We’ve cleaned and stitched them, and they should heal up just fine. The doctor ordered X-rays and MRI just to be safe. The airbag hit you with su
ch velocity that there could be internal damage, but we don’t believe there is. But you will be sore for quite some time. Please try not to worry. Ms. Garner is upstairs in the CCU. She’s doing well and breathing on her own. She should wake up at any time now.”
“What about the boy in the back seat?”
Even as Novak voiced the question, he knew Justin was dead. Novak and Lori were lucky they weren’t lying in the morgue with him. They were targets. Petrov now knew that Novak had watched him murder Justin. They would come for him soon. Details were coming back into focus now. He and Lori had survived the crash. They were alive. How long they would remain so was the question. Petrov could be inside the hospital right now. He could be standing outside in the corridor, waiting to get Novak alone. Novak had to get out of there. He and Lori both had to get out.
The nurse was talking about Justin. Her voice had gentled and gone quiet. “The young man that was found in the back seat of your car didn’t make it, I’m afraid. He was pronounced dead at the scene. I am so sorry to have to tell you that. Was he your son?”
Novak’s stomach kept pitching and dipping and rolling. He shut his eyes and fought down the queasiness. He kept seeing Petrov shoot that poor kid in the head, watching it happen over and over, stuck like a faulty video. He opened his eyes when the officer spoke for the first time. He was standing beside Novak’s head now, but on the opposite side of the bed. He was leaning close. He smelled like cigarettes. “I’m Detective Phil Harmon with the Richmond Police Department. We need to get a full statement from you, just as soon as you feel up to it, Mr. Novak. Do you think we could possibly do it now?”
Novak wasn’t going to tell him anything, not until he figured out what to do. Justin had died from gunshots to the head. They could, and probably would, blame it on him. He had to be extremely careful with what he said. “I can’t tell you. I don’t remember much. Did a truck hit us? Tell me what happened.”