Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) (34 page)

71

“VANESSA, YOU DON’T owe me any explanation. This is between you and Don. It’s a family decision. I’m all for whatever you feel is right for you.”

I got back to the condo and thought of Mr. Bernard. I need to check on him. Amazingly, the Bear didn’t kill him. Knocked him out and slid him under the greeting desk but apparently Mr. Bernard is one tough old bird. The kid working the lobby says he is going to be okay and come back to work. I notice he is nervous talking to me and looking around. He is probably wondering who else is after me.

“Did they do a good job on the new door?” he asked.

Admittedly—and I’m embarrassed to say—I hadn’t looked close, but answered, “It looks great.”

Klarissa’s bathroom in the master bedroom has a huge Jacuzzi tub. I soaked away the last nine days, starting in Central Park with a dying man. I wonder again how his wife is doing. Justine. I saw another picture of her with a news story. She is stunning.

I haven’t done a crossword in forever and planned to sit in bed and veg out doing a puzzle or two before falling asleep.

There’s an FBI agent in the living room. Torgerson takes his place at eleven. I had planned to be asleep already. Then Vanessa called. She is feeling bad for pushing Don to finalize a decision.

“Don’s a wonderful husband. I don’t care how much he makes. Money has never been an issue.”

She’s made sure of that with her career. Must be nice.

“But I don’t know how you guys do this work, Kristen. I really don’t. It’s an awful job. You work insane hours trying to keep the city safe, then you have to hear the media blast you for all the things you do wrong.”

The cleansing I felt after the soak is wearing off quickly.

“He’s a great father. Devon and Veronika adore him. But they’re getting older. The world changes when you go to middle school. They’re going to need more time from him.”

I think of Kendra. Does she go to middle school next year or the year after? Oh man. Time flies.

“I hear you, Vanessa, and agree.”

“But I want Don to be happy. And he’s miserable right now.”

“Maybe that’s because of the job, Vanessa. Maybe you’re making your own point. We’ve got some crazy stuff we’re working on. That won’t change.”

“I know, Kristen. I know. But part of it right now is you. You got shot for heaven’s sake. He feels like he can’t leave you in harm’s way.”

“He knows me well enough, Vanessa, and he knows I’m not his job. This has nothing to do with me.”

“His head knows but his heart doesn’t. He grew up being a star football player but his daddy was coach and made sure he knew it was a team game.”

“I know he was a star. My Huskies still remember him putting up two hundred yards against us for Ball State.”

I don’t know if Don could have made the NFL. I know he would have gotten a look if he hadn’t blown out his ACL his senior year. Part of the reason we are a good team is we have some things in common. I got a torn ACL playing soccer for Northern Illinois. Same conference as Ball State. I can fantasize about being the next Mia Hamm but I do know in my real world mind that I had no chance at the NFL or Team USA.

“Maybe if he moved up in management and wasn’t on the street, it’d be okay,” she continued, not sounding very happy or convinced.

“If he stays on the force that will happen sooner or later, Vanessa. He’ll be a captain and then commander is next. He’s a smart guy. Everyone respects him. The sky is the limit.”

I don’t think that’s what she wanted to hear. She wants a new start in California. She can feel the sun already. I bite my tongue and don’t mention they are running out of water out there in addition to their own problems with crime.

“Can I ask you one small favor, Kristen?”

“Anything, Vanessa. Name it.”

“It’s actually two things.”

“No big biggie, even if it’s three things. Anything for you and your family.”

“Just . . . I’m not sure how to say this . . . just do your best to let him know you support his decision.”

That stings a little. Did she think I was going to work against her?

“You got it, Vanessa,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can put in my voice. “That’s easy. I do support his decision. What else?”

“He’s worried about Debbie. He doesn’t want to leave Chicago with her the way she is. He feels responsible.”

That’s got to be tough. Don’s sister is a crack-head who has been in and out of jail for drugs and prostitution. He and Rodney try to get her into rehab at least once a year. She agrees and then bolts. I was there when she stood them up last Thanksgiving.

“I know this is too much to ask. But if you can let him know you’ll check on her from time to time, he might feel better.”

“Vanessa, you didn’t even have to ask. I’ll do it. I want to do it. I’m happy to do it. I know he’d do the same for me if our positions were switched.”

“Let him know, Kristen. It will help.”

I really like Vanessa. She and Don are wonderful together. She’s perfect for him—she understands his need for Italian silk ties. I don’t want to get into judging. I guess I’ll just say, Don may be the head of the family, but she is the neck that turns the head.

“This is Squires.”

No one spoke.

“This is Squires. Can I help you?”

“Donny . . .”

The broken voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Donny. I’se got myself in troubles again.”

“Where you at, Debbie?”

“Cook County Sherriff’s.”

“I’ll come get you.”

“You’re gonna have to talk to them. They might not let me come with you.”

“What’d they pick you up for, Debbie?”

“Some things I don’t like to say out loud. Just come down if you can and if Vanessa’ll let you’se.”

Squires decided to ignore the last jab, even if there was a hint of truth to it.

“Donny.”

“Yeah, Deb.”

“Don’t bring that skinny partner of yours. She’s crazy. I don’t like her. She gonna get you killed one day.”

“Sit tight, Deb. I’m on my way.”

“I ain’t going nowhere. They got me locked up again, Donny.”

Squires felt sick to his stomach. What in the world had happened to his smart, witty, and beautiful little sister? Problem is he knew what happened to her, but how? She might have been smartest of the three kids. Deb was definitely smarter than him. About the time he was off at college and Rodney was finishing law school, their dad got sick. Cancer. Their mom was so busy taking care of him that Deb was left to her own devices. She got in with the wrong crowd, hooked up with a bad guy—now deceased—and spiraled into drugs and the crimes required to support the habit, robbery and prostitution.

He would call Rodney on the way over. It was two hours earlier there.

Deb sounded bad. Vanessa would put up a stink if he even considered bringing her back to the house. She had never let Devon and Veronika see their aunt, not that Debbie had ever made an effort. He needed to take her somewhere else tonight. After her disappearance at Thanksgiving, Rodney put a couple top-notch rehab centers on retainer, ready to take her 24/7, no advance notice.

Debbie would squawk and cuss Vanessa up and down the whole way over, blaming Vanessa for not welcoming her into the home. The more Don defended Vanessa, the louder Debbie would get. The truth was, he didn’t want her around the kids either.

She hates Conner—since the first day she set eyes on her—and KC is my one go-to when we move to LA.

72

“SO YOU ARE saying no one else in New York was involved with PathoGen?”

Reynolds was still in the room, but now as a spectator and maybe a prop, not the lead questioner. A senior interrogator was working Boyarov.

“No one,” Pasha answered. “I’ve told you that twenty times—at least twenty times. Ask twenty more if you wish, but I’ll answer the same each time. The messenger boy, Teplov, brought the deal to me.”

“Directly?”

“No. I told you already. He had his own messenger boy. Ruchkin.

“Why you? Why did Teplov and whoever he worked for pick you, Pasha Boyarov?”

“He said that Genken had turned it down. The Pakhan had a lot of power and freedom, but not that much power anymore. He couldn’t say no to Moscow—that simple.”

“When did the New York
bratva
start answering to Moscow?”

“Always. Never. I don’t know.”

“I thought you were Genken’s right-hand man?”

Pasha smiled. Did they think they could work him so easily?

“I was a brigadier, nothing more. I was never sovietnik. I didn’t have enough gray hair. I knew next to nothing about Moscow. Really, I knew nothing. That’s the way Genken wanted it.”

“But you think he worked with Moscow.”

“Things changed after the breakup of the USSR. Relationships were reconnected. But everyone in Moscow was still weak and poor. No one could order Genken to do anything. Ten years later, the oligarchs got half the country’s rubles and weren’t so weak and poor anymore.”

“Do you think this goes all the way up to the president?”

“Can I give you some advice?”

The interrogator didn’t answer.

“There is only one real Pakhan and one real
bratva
now. So sure. It goes all the up to the man himself. Putin. But here is my advice. You should ask me about New York. I moved from Russia when I was thirteen. I’ve never been back. All I know is New York and the way we are here. Now I know that will make you think I’m tricking you so I don’t have to tell you who is in charge in Russia. So ask all you want. I’ll make some things up for you if it will make Willingham happy. But I think you know more about Russia than I do. I know New York.”

Reynolds frowned to keep himself from smiling. Maybe Boyarov was going to work out better than he first thought.

“So the deal with PathoGen was all you?”

“Yes. I told no one else anything. Genken taught me that the fewer who know the better.”

“Not even Vladimir Zheglov?”

“No, not even Vlad. But you can ask him yourself.”

“Why do you think that, Pasha?” Reynolds interrupted.

“Because I handed him to you on a silver platter when I made the deal with you. He’s probably next door right now.”

The room was silent.

Boyarov began to smile and chuckle softly.

“Is something funny?” Reynolds asked.

“You didn’t get Vlad, did you?”

“Maybe we’ll let you ask him yourself,” Reynolds said.

“Tsk, tsk,” Pasha said. “Agent Reynolds, you need to let the real interrogators do the talking. You are much too obvious. But I like you, even though if it was only the two of us in this room, only one would walk out alive. Two trained killers? It would be interesting. Who would win Agent Reynolds?”

The two men stared at each other. This time Pasha broke it with a laugh.

“Here is more free advice from me,” he said, looking at the interrogator. “You need to tell Willingham to put his torpedo back in the field. If Vladimir Zheglov is loose, we all have problems. He is very good, you know? I would claim I taught him everything he knows— but he’s got some special tricks I don’t know. He’ll know how to stay alive and free—that’s obvious. And he’ll know how to reconnect with whoever the puppet masters are in all this. When he does, he will become the triggerman to solve any problems. I think I might be their number one problem.”

That’s one mystery solved, Reynolds thought. I think we have a pretty good idea who killed Teplov.

So where is Vlad now? Figuring out how to get to Boyarov? Teplov was dead. It had to be Zheglov who killed him. If so, the two men were together close to Dulles. Better have them run passenger manifests there and Reagan International.

I was going to save Nancy. She obviously doesn’t know what I am capable of. If I get out of this mess, I might kill her myself.