Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (4 page)

Before getting out of her car at the cafe where she was to meet Dmitri, Jennifer Townsend popped open the container with gloved hands and took out two small triangular white pills, washing them down with water. Then she opened her compact and checked the bruise around her eye. She wished it would just be gone already. She hated the looks she got and the constant worried coos people made. It was nothing. A little argument, not that she'd tell them that. It wasn't like he meant to do it. She could have knocked him on his ass if she'd wanted to.

But frankly his anger had startled her. And he had a right to be angry. The pressure from his father about Viktor. She knew it made him feel miserable. Viktor. Even dead he was Oskar Kirov's first thought. Dmitri deserved better. She knew. She'd been the second child her whole life. And that was what Dmitri was. Second. Even to a dead first.

She glanced into the compact one last time. The theater makeup she'd been using did a pretty good job of covering it, but you could still see the bluish tint in strong light. She snapped the mirror closed and tucked it back in her purse. The heater was blowing on her feet and she wiggled her toes in her shoes. She leaned her head back and took in a deep breath before opening the car door. Bundling herself up, she wrapped the scarf around her head and zipped up her jacket. She felt the muscles in her neck start to soften and she strode toward the restaurant, anxious for a drink.

Dmitri was sitting at their table, wearing the gray cashmere sweater she'd bought him and black pants. His long black leather coat hung over the chair behind him. He looked positively edible. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulder as his eyes met hers. He smiled and lifted a cosmopolitan toward her. She took it in her gloved hand, clinked her cosmopolitan against his martini, and together they finished the drinks in one toss.

Sitting, she laughed as he leaned across and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Jenichka," he said. It meant "dear little Jen" in Russian. He spoke to her in Russian, and over the years she'd picked up some of the language. Russian always sounded so sexy to her.

She removed her gloves and laid them on the table beside her.

Dmitri ordered another round of drinks and then took her hands across the table. "You are beautiful, Jenichka."

She grinned. "I know."

He let go of one hand and reached into his pocket. "I brought you something." He pulled out a small red Cartier box with a white ribbon. It was a box every woman in America could appreciate.

He laid it in the palm of his hand, and she noticed how perfectly it fit there. The size of a ring box, maybe slightly larger. No. It couldn't be that. For a moment she was nervous. But she knew Dmitri better. They would be together eventually, but this was not how he would do it.

She laughed at her own ridiculous imagination and reached for the box.

Dmitri snapped his hand shut and she let out a high shriek as he laughed. She laughed again and they repeated the game until the waitress appeared with more drinks. Ruining the moment, the waitress set her cosmopolitan almost under her chin. Dmitri laid the box down and pushed it toward her.

She eyed him with a smile.

"Open it."

She took a sip of her drink and stared at the box.

"Open it," he insisted, pulling her drink from her fingertips and holding it away from her.

She scooped up the red box with a rush of adrenaline and let the silky white bow slip off between her fingers. She lifted the lid and found a small red velvet pouch resting on a cloud of cotton inside.

She raised an eyebrow as Dmitri leaned in to watch her. "What?"

He rolled his hand to move her along. "I want to see what you think. Hurry up."

She pulled open the pouch and let the contents slide onto her palm. Three cabochon rings she'd admired in the window once months ago—one sapphire, one emerald, one ruby. She'd never even mentioned them, but he'd been with her, walking down Michigan Avenue, when she'd seen them. She blinked back tears as she lifted them from her palm. "How did you know?"

He smiled and cocked his chin up in triumph. "I was right."

"I loved them in the window. They're beautiful."

"I saw you. I was so sure." He stroked her arm and laughed again. "Then I got nervous. What if you were looking at the diamond stud pin behind them?" He clapped once. "I'm so glad I was right."

"Of course you were. They're perfect." She started to slide them on when he stopped her. "There's a special order," he explained. He laid them on the pouch and picked up the ruby one first and slid it onto her ring finger. "The red is for blood, so it stays close to your skin. The green is for the earth, so it goes next," he continued, putting the emerald ring on top of the ruby. "Finally, the blue sapphire is for the sky, and it goes on last."

She smiled and leaned forward to meet his lips. She kissed him. He kissed her back in the same soft way that made her stomach dance. She touched his cheek and tucked her head under his chin. He had known. He'd been the only one who had ever known what her tastes were, who cared enough to pay attention to what she would like.

She sat back up and stared at her outstretched hand. "They're truly beautiful, Dmitri."

He waved his hand to dismiss it then lifted his glass and raised it toward hers. They clinked and drank again.

She moved her hand to watch the stones catch the light.

"Things are still bad with Papa," Dmitri said, watching her.

She stilled her hand and focused on him. "I'm sorry."

He finished the drink, then rubbed his eyes.

"Did you sleep last night?"

He shook his head. "I keep trying to think of ways to find her." He looked up at her, his eyes pleading.

Then he dropped his gaze to his hand. "I need to get this over with. It's all he talks about. The plans, the business, it's all going to hell because of Viktor."

She laid her hand on his. It was her fault. Dmitri had never told his father that Jennifer had been the source, but she and Dmitri knew it. He wouldn't mention it, of course, but it was true. She had let the location of the warehouse slip. The drugs were there. It had been a stupid mistake. Megan had never known about Jennifer's affair with Dmitri. She knew better than to admit dating anyone connected to the mob. Dmitri had his own business. He'd been clear about wanting to stay away from his family's mob connections. But then Viktor had been killed and everything had changed. It was getting harder and harder for Dmitri to stay out of it.

But Jennifer had told Megan a story about Viktor Kirov. Viktor was considered quite a playboy in Chicago, and many of his escapades made the society section of the paper despite his questionable business dealings.

When the girls' night out had led to discussions of local bachelors, Jennifer had simply told a story about a friend who had gone to a party at a warehouse with Viktor Kirov. She'd been there too, but she couldn't say that. She was FBI and he was a felon. They'd been drinking, Megan as much as Jennifer, and she'd thought it was all in good fun. Jennifer didn't know Mark Riggs was working a case involving Viktor.

Without even thinking, Jennifer had told Megan all about the warehouse. And Megan had called her husband and used it. Both Mark and Viktor had died that night. Mark's death didn't make Megan's betrayal any easier. And Megan never knew that Viktor's death meant anything to Jennifer. She'd seen Megan only one time after that, at the funeral for Mark. Through it all, Jennifer had held her anger against Megan. It was still there, just under the surface.

At least Dmitri had never been implicated in anything. It was always Viktor. Dmitri ran an importing business—alcohol mostly.

Oskar Kirov wanted Megan Riggs dead.

"I'm working on it."

He looked up. "I know you are. But he's risking everything on this. Why can't he just let it go?"

She squeezed his hand. "I'll get something soon. I promise."

He nodded and ran his thumb across her rings. "You should get back." He pulled a small paper bag from his pocket. "You asked for these."

She took the bag and put it in her purse.

"I'll see you tonight."

"It might be late." She stood and took the box and ribbon and tucked them in her purse, too.

He grabbed her hand. "Not too late, I hope."

She leaned over and kissed his brow. "Not too. In the meantime, go back to the house and get some rest. We'll order something when I get home."

He nodded, lost in thought as she left the bar. She looked at her rings in the fading sunlight. They were gorgeous. And what other man would buy his girlfriend Cartier for no occasion?

Back at her car, she opened the door, put her key in the ignition, blasted the heat, and drove three blocks before stopping the car again. She opened the tin of mints she kept in the glove compartment, chewed three until her mouth burned, and then pulled out the plastic pill container from her purse.

She rolled a pill onto her palm and then thought twice and added another. Popping the two into her mouth, she leaned back against the seat and swallowed them dry.

She lifted the pill container and toasted the air in front of her. "You can't hide forever."

Then she pulled away from the curb and headed to the office. It was late enough in the day now that she hoped to be able to go in without seeing anyone—or at least not anyone important. She hadn't wanted to have to answer questions about her eye. She looked down at her rings and considered again how incredibly thoughtful Dmitri could be. She was lucky to have him.

Chapter 3

They were so close. It had been that way for three weeks. What was he going to tell them?

It was one little glitch, one bug, and yet no one could figure it out. How he would have loved to go and find a bar stool and drink until the bug disappeared into a bad memory. Those had been the days, when he could leave a problem at work and drink it away. Now it was always there. He was the CEO, not some programmer. "It" was his life.

He looked at the clock on the dash and pushed the accelerator down. He was barely going to make it to the school by three. He hated to be late. He wasn't supposed to let that happen. He was a good father. It was practically the only thing he hadn't struggled with. And the one thing the media gave him an ounce of credit for was his ability to raise his son on his own. That was it. He couldn't go screwing that up, too.

He sped off the exit and turned up the small winding road that cut to the back of his son's school.

The day had gone to hell from his first cup of Peet's coffee. He'd managed to spill some of it on his pant leg in the car. Traffic was a nightmare because of the rain. Then Tofigh, who had promised the kinks would be worked out, had called to say they weren't having any luck. His PR people were having a heck of a time with what to tell the media. And his CFO had been by twice about a strategy with the VCs. Because they were going to need the venture capitalists again. The current investors were starting to panic. Not that he blamed them. Of course they were nervous. There had been a lot of rough going in the start-up market, but he believed in this product. If only they'd give him a little more time to sort out the bug. But they had a stake in the company and they'd weaseled some language into the loan agreement that allowed them to do more than just sit by and watch the money drain away. The latest was some PR plan.

They'd hired an outside PR agency and were devising a plan they hoped would shine some positive light on TecLan. That was what they said the company needed. Travis was trying to focus on getting the product out and they were working on some media scam.

But no matter how he sliced it, TecLan needed a cash infusion. It used to be as easy as getting blood at a hospital. VC money had become very hard to obtain, and Travis would need to prove they would launch before he'd get any more.

Legal was still stressed about vendor contract renegotiations, and his head of operations, Carson, was losing sales staff left and right because they weren't able to tell potential clients that the product even worked.

It had to be something simple. But he'd sat with Tofigh; he'd gone through the troubleshooting. He had no idea what he was missing.