Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (29 page)

As she lifted herself off the floor, she heard him growl.

She swung her head to the dining room in time to see him lunge for her again.

Letting out a trapped sob, she ran for the stairs to her bedroom. He dropped his glass and was right behind her. He caught her ankle halfway up and she kicked him back. He stumbled down a few stairs, but it was only a couple of seconds before she could hear him coming again.

She reached the top of the stairs just as he did. He snatched her ankle and yanked her off her feet. She hit her chin on the top stair and fell onto her back against the hard wood.

As he reached out to grab her other foot, Jennifer lifted it and kicked him in the chest as hard as she could.

She watched the stunned expression on his face as he fell backwards and rolled down the stairs. He landed with a loud thud on the floor below, and Jennifer slowly pulled herself to her feet.

From the top of the landing, she looked down.

He didn't move.

Her heart pounding, she crept down three or four stairs until she could see his face. A small stream of blood oozed from one corner of his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus." She looked around at the broken glass and at the blood on her hands and on her pants. Oh, God. What if he was dead? A part of her prayed he was. He would have killed her. But if she had killed him, Oskar Kirov would kill her.

Just then she heard him moan.

She shrieked and jumped to her feet. She ran to the office and locked herself inside. She was shaking as she found the key to her file cabinet under the desk pad and unlocked the bottom drawer.

She pulled out her 9mm Berretta and the magazine. She grabbed the box of rounds, her hands shaking.

The floorboards on the stairs creaked and she dropped the clip. He was coming. Scrambling to pick it up, she told herself to keep it together. She emptied the box of rounds on the floor and fumbled to load them into the magazine. Her thumb slipped and the spring fought her. For every one she got in, she dropped at least three. "Come on."

Her mind flipped through the possible problems. It had been forever since she'd even used the gun. What if it didn't work? What if she couldn't shoot?

She heard Dmitri in the hall. He spoke in a low, savage tone that sent a barrage of shivers over her.

"Go home," she shouted as she pushed the magazine with the four rounds into the gun. It made a solid click and she felt a bit better. He would go away. He would go away and she would get help. Someone could help her. She didn't need to let him kill her. She wouldn't.

"We're not done yet."

"Go home." She released the slide and held the gun pointed straight at the door. It was heavier than she remembered and the gun quivered in her grasp. She pulled it to her belly to rest her arms, leaving it aimed.

"Tei bila plakhaya dyevushka."
He told her she was a bad girl and then continued in Russian. He said that she had to be punished. "You should know better than to treat me like that, Jenichka." His voice reached the edge of the door.

Trembling, she lifted the gun with both hands and waited for him to force the door open.

It sprang back and slammed against the far wall. Her finger slipped off the trigger and the gun swayed sideways as she jumped. She wedged herself against an old school desk in the far corner.

"What do you have there?" he slurred in Russian. "My Jenichka is going to shoot me?"

"I'll use it," she said, her voice cracking.

He laughed.

She kept the gun aimed, waiting for him to attack.

He widened his eyes and switched back to English. "You would not shoot me."

"You need to leave, Dmitri." Her voice felt stronger. "You're not making sense now. We're finished talking."

Dmitri marched closer and threw his hand out at her. "I will tell you when we are finished."

As he moved, she jerked the gun, trying to keep it pointed at the center of his body.

"I don't care about Viktor. Fuck him. He's dead. Worry about me." He pressed the palms of both hands to his chest.

"Not anymore. We're done."

He stared at her and then at the gun. Finally he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. Fine. We're done." He nodded. "It makes me sad, Jenichka, but you're right. You did what we asked." He headed back to the door. "Come walk me out."

She shook her head. "Just go."

"Come on. Just come say good-bye. Some of our times were good. It wasn't all bad, right?"

She saw the image of the man she'd fallen in love with then. She started to tear. Not now. "Just go."

"You don't love me at all anymore? Is it all gone?"

"You need to leave," she said, blinking to clear her vision.

"Please, Jenichka. Just a good-bye. Then I'm gone forever."

She shook her head again.

Dmitri looked hurt, but he finally turned his back. As he left the room, she took the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wiped her eyes.

As she opened them again, she saw Dmitri coming at her.

"You cunt," he yelled.

Before she could think, she lifted the gun and pulled the trigger twice. The first shot hit him in the side of the gut, but he took the second square in the chest.

She watched as he fell backward, his arms waving through the air.

His head hit the ground hard, and she stood with the gun pointed at him for what felt like an hour.

Finally she moved slowly across the room, the gun still pointed at him. She should have been terrified, but suddenly her legs felt steady. She stared with an odd indifference at the blood that seeped from his chest.

She stepped over to him, then pushed on his body with the toe of her shoe. His chest didn't rise and fall. His eyes, still wide open, didn't blink. She watched them for almost a minute before she was sure he was dead.

Just like that. He'd made almost no sound. There was no pleading for help, no begging for forgiveness. And when she finally sank into the chair at her desk, the first thought that came to mind was how disappointed her father would be. She started to cry.

She thought about whom to call and wondered how she was going to explain this. She'd killed a man. She'd killed a man she'd once loved.

In the distance, she could hear the
tick-tock
of her grandmother's old clock. The one Jennifer had gotten because Tiffany hadn't wanted it. With each click, she wondered how long it would be before Oskar Kirov realized his third son was dead. How long before he came to avenge Dmitri's death? In a strange way, she was jealous that Dmitri had a father who would even care.

With her own father in mind, Jennifer lifted the loaded gun to her temple.

She felt the pressure build under the pad of her finger. She thought about who might be affected by her death. Only one person came to mind. Setting the gun down, she stepped over Dmitri's lifeless body to try to undo what she'd already done.

Chapter 28

It was pitch-black when they finally reached the body's location. The wind whistled and the cold stabbed right through her layers of clothing, reminding Cody of Chicago winters. The colonel and Florence waited in the car, but Cody had needed to walk. Landon had joined her for a while, trying to make conversation, but she had almost completely ignored him. She was thinking, planning. She needed to prepare herself, not be distracted.

"I'll leave you alone," he'd finally said.

"Thank you," she'd replied.

He'd quickly retreated to the warmth of the Porsche, which had slid and skidded its way to this spot. She didn't worry about how he would get it out. There was only one thing on her mind as she paced along the edge of the woods, desperate to go in and find the crime scene. The snow made loud crunching noises beneath her tennis shoes and she stepped in rhythms of eight, counting each step.

This was not Ryan, she kept telling herself. It was not. She repeated the mantra as though somehow her belief might control whatever reality was waiting for her.

The wind picked up and sliced through her fleece, goose bumps covering her skin. Her eyes watered, more from the memories the cold brought than from the cold itself. She saw Mark and baby Ryan playing in the snow in the small rectangular backyard of their Skokie home.

Without a hill of any kind within miles, Mark would pull Ryan in circles on a bright red saucer. Even when the snow had turned to slush and the ground showed the dull green grass, Ryan would run to his dad and yell, "Sausa, Daddy. Sausa." Saucer.

One day when they'd had a lot of snow, Mark had even built a small ramp for Ryan to sled down. Cody had told him it was dangerous, but Mark couldn't be deterred and Ryan was too excited. Sure enough, Ryan had fallen off one side and broken his left arm. They'd spent most of that Sunday in the emergency room. But the very next weekend, cast and all, Ryan was standing at the window, chanting "Sausa, Daddy. Sausa."

Ryan hadn't seen snow since he was three. They had discussed the idea of skiing once or twice. She and Mark had loved to ski. They'd honeymooned in Whistler, and she remembered the broad expanse of the mountains and the thorny, patched texture of the huge pines, the crisp smell of snow. But somehow she hadn't been able to bring herself to take Ryan. Now, as she looked around at the lightly dusted mountains and white-peaked trees, she wished she had.

After almost forty minutes a ranger's car joined the pack of police cruisers and SUVs parked in the small clearing. For Cody, it felt like an eternity. But the instructions had been clear: If they came into the area without a police escort, they would not be allowed access to the body. Someone had to take them through a very specific path to avoid destroying the crime scene. Cody hoped to God that this was their escort.

A car door opened and out came a burly, gray-haired man with a thick Santa Claus-like beard and the round belly to match. As he straightened himself, he laid a hat just like Smokey's on top of his head.

The colonel and Landon got out of their cars.

Cody moved in first. The ranger's tan uniform fit like the skin on an apple, and a small brass-colored pin identified him as Sam Uldrich.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, folks. We're a bit short-staffed." He motioned toward the woods. "Don't get this kind of action much in these parts, and we don't have the men to handle it. They're getting ready to bring the body out now."

"We can go in?" Landon said, blowing hot air into his hands.

"If you still want to." Ranger Uldrich studied Cody. "Were it my kid, I wouldn't want to see him." He rolled a shoulder toward the woods. "Not like that." His body twitched as he shuddered.

Cody didn't respond.

"We'd like to go in," Landon said.

The ranger eyed Cody, then Landon. He leaned toward Travis and spoke in a half whisper, but his deep voice made the words as clear as anything else he'd said so far. "Animals got to it," he said. "One of my rangers found it. Couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. You sure you want her in there?"

Landon's gaze didn't flicker. "We're ready to go in, please."

Cody inhaled and felt the colonel's hand on her arm.

"You want me to come with you?" he asked.

She shook her head and didn't meet his eyes. "Stay with Florence. We won't be long."

He tugged on her fleece until her gaze met his. "You sure?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"I'll come," Landon said. His gaze focused on the woods as he spoke, and she could tell from the crease in his brow that he was dreading it.

She didn't stop him. She actually wanted him there. She didn't try to identify the reasons. Instead she nodded at Travis.

"We're ready," he said for her.

The colonel patted her back. "We'll be right here, waiting."

"Okay, we're right this way." The ranger pulled a heavy lambskin coat from the car, wrestled into it, and zipped it up. He took a flashlight from the holster on his waist and flipped it into his palm and snapped it on. Then, as though they were setting off on a guided walk instead of preparing to see a dead body, he led the way.