Leverage (19 page)

I dropped the phone and sank to the floor in a tremulous heap of tears. I looked around at the home I’d made and kept over the last five years. It was gone. All of it. I’d have to leave it all behind. The Russians were back. Ty was sure of it, and so was Aaron. The FBI had a team on the way, ready to sweep us into protective custody. I was supposed to pack only what was absolutely necessary and be prepared to leave in thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes! God, this can’t be happening! Not again!

My vision blurred and my breathing hitched. I tried to gulp in air, but I started to hyperventilate instead. Then, from deep within, a scream erupted. I slammed my fists against the carpeted floor and howled in frustration.

“No, no, noooooo!” I wailed. “You can’t do this! Not again! Please, please…” My cries tapered off to moans. “Oh God, no, no…”

With my head tipped back and my eyes shut tight, I hugged my bulging belly and rocked back and forth on my knees, until I felt fingers brush along my arms. I pulled back with a squeal and tried to clear my vision. Katy was kneeling on the floor next to me, her face a mask of concern.

“Hannah, my God, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it the baby? Are you in labor?”

I pushed at her shoulders and fell back on my butt, scampering away backwards on my hands and feet. “You! You knew, didn’t you? All this time, you’ve been in on it, haven’t you?
Haven’t you?
”

I turned over and tried to crawl away, but Katy scooted across the floor and tugged at my waist.

“Hannah, please, you need to calm down.”

I swung around and slapped her hands away. “Don’t you dare touch me!” I ordered and looked up to see my ever-vigilant next-door neighbor rushing through the front door. “Roman, please, get her away from me.”

He ran over and pulled Katy to her feet, brushing her aside and standing between us.

“Hannah, what is wrong?” he asked, worry scrunching his brow into a score of creases.

I pointed at Katy. “She’s involved, I know it.”

“Involved with what?” Katy asked as she looked back and forth between me and Roman. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“With Conner’s boss, Greg,” I explained. “I know you’re working with him. You tell me the truth.”

Katy and Roman exchanged glances then focused back on me.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Hannah,” she said. “Yeah, sure, I know Greg. He’s Conner’s boss, but—”

“No, no, no, I don’t believe you. It’s more than that. Conner said he was English like Ty. Is that true?”

She glanced at Roman again, her expression twisted like she thought I was crazy. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s not like we’re friends or anything. I only spoke to Grigory a couple of times. He never said—”

“
What?
” I shrieked and froze.

She slid her gaze to Roman who scowled back. “I said, we weren’t friends, but—”

“No, not that,” I interrupted. “His name! What did you call him?”

Katy shook her head and shrugged, her eyes locked on Roman. His mouth was pressed into a hard, angry line.

“You heard her, Roman. She called him…what? Grigory?” I turned back to Katy. “Is that Russian? It sounds Russian.” I stood up and stared at her. “I knew it. I knew it!”

With her mouth slung open, Katy’s face crumpled in concern. She twisted her hands one over the over as her head swung in denial. “No…I mean, we never… You’ve got this all wrong. I misspoke. That was a mistake.”

I took a step in her direction. “No, not a mistake. A slip. Isn’t that right?”

She shook her head. “No… No…”

I advanced another step and raised a finger at her. “You’re lying. You slipped up and used his real name. Admit it.”

“I…I… Please, Hannah. It was just supposed to be this one job,” she explained.

Roman swung around in Katy’s direction. “You should go,” he said and scooted her toward the front door.

“I was just supposed to keep an eye on Conner,” she continued. “But I…I really liked him. I fell in love with him.” She twisted in Roman’s grasp. “Let go!”

Roman pointed a finger in her face. “That’s enough,” he ordered, his speech much clearer than usual.

“Hannah, please understand,” Katy implored, “Greg threatened us if we didn’t do as he said. He knows our families.”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes, me and Leo.”

“What happened to him, Katy? Was Leo pushed like Conner said?”

“Yes!” she admitted, “he was, but…it wasn’t Greg who pushed Leo. I don’t know who that man was, but Greg didn’t do it. He was there though.”

Roman gripped Katy’s shoulders. “You need to go. Now.”

I rushed up from behind Roman and tried to pull him away. “Please, Roman, stop. I need to speak with her.”

He looked me deep in the eye for a long moment then bowed his head as he stepped away from the girl. Katy rubbed her hands along her arms where Roman had held her so roughly. I slid my hands over hers, stooping down to gain her attention.

“Why, Katy? Why is he after Conner? What does he want?” I squeezed her hands. “Tell me who this Greg person really is?”

Katy’s anxious gaze broke away and focused over my shoulder. I froze when I heard the unmistakable slide and click of metal against metal then felt a firm tap against the back of my shoulder. I loosened my grasp on Katy and slowly turned around.

Roman stood barely a foot away, his head tilted to the side and his eyes smoldering in anger. I stared at him, this man I’d confided in, who’d embraced and comforted me during some very dark moments. He was not who I thought he was. He stood taller than I’d ever seen him, his shoulders wide and square, and his eyes firm and confident. He tapped the barrel of a handgun against his lips and shook his head as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Really, Hannah? You’ve no clue at all?” he mocked in the most natural Americanized English.

I sucked in a slow breath and shook my head.

With a sigh, Roman shrugged his massive shoulders. “You were right. Greg is not who he appears. He’s Grigory Dmitriev, Chernov’s heir, come to reclaim his legacy.”

I followed Conner and his escort out the hospital exit and watched as the sheriff’s deputy pushed his prisoner into the squad car for transport back to jail. He had only forty minutes until his arraignment. Instead of fighting rush hour traffic and searching for a parking space, I left my truck at the hospital and jogged the five blocks downhill to the old county courthouse, passing beneath the skywalk bridge that connected the court to the jail some nine stories above the teeming city street.

Inside, the halls were crowded with people waiting to appear before the myriad of judges. Toller’s office had texted me the courtroom assignment, and I wandered around until I finally found it. With twenty minutes until the hearing, I parked my butt on a bench in the hallway and checked my phone.

It had been well over an hour since I’d spoken to Hannah. Even longer since my last conversation with Moody. His team should have arrived at the house by now and collected Hannah and Katy. I wondered why no one had called me yet. My phone showed no missed calls or texts. I cycled it off then back on again, but still, nothing.

I called Hannah’s cell, unsure if the FBI had even allowed her to keep it while in custody. It went straight to voicemail. Next, I tried Aaron’s cell, but it, too, went straight to voicemail, though it only beeped at me and I was unable to leave a message. His mailbox was full. I tried each number again three more times with the same result and was starting to creep into full-blown panic when I heard my name mentioned. I peeked up and saw a middle-aged man with wavy, silver hair and dressed in a dark grey wool suit meandering down the hall in my direction.

He stopped every few feet and quietly asked, “Tyler Karras?” only to be greeted by bewildered headshakes from those he addressed.

I raised my arm. “Mr. Toller—Ezra, over here.”

After making eye contact with me, he thanked the last gentleman he’d spoken to and walked over with his hand out. “Mr. Karras,” he greeted with a robust handshake.

“Tyler, please, and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Ty. I’m Ezra. Sorry it’s under such exigent circumstances.”

“Something I imagine you’re more used to than I."

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

“So, are we ready?” I asked.

He nodded and sat down next to me. “Yes. I just saw Conner across the street. Real nice kid. Hate seeing him so roughed up. Anyway, I introduced myself, briefed him on the case, and told him what he might expect inside the courtroom.”

“Which is?”

“Well, we’re pretty lucky. We have Judge Green. Very fair. Been known to give a wayward kid a break more than a few times. With no priors, we’ll likely be fine. But really, I don’t even think we’ll get
that
far.”

“Why’s that?”

“With the heat from the federal boys up the street, the prosecutor’s not inclined to move forward.”

“People versus Conner Maguire,” announced a flat, male voice from the courtroom doorway.

Ezra gathered his briefcase and stood. “That’s us. Let’s go,” he said and hustled into the courtroom with me on his heels.

It was a bland-looking room with grey carpet and three plain white walls, with the fourth taken up, end to end, by large windows. Opposite were twelve empty seats that made up the jury box. There were six short rows of pew-style benches in the gallery, three on each side of a wide center aisle. They were stationed behind a well of tables that sat halfway to the judge’s bench and witness stand, both of which stood on a raised dais. And on the wall behind them was the great seal of King County.

Toller directed me to the front row on the left side of the gallery. He took a seat at the table just beyond that and opened his briefcase, removing a file folder and placing it on the smooth wood surface. As Toller remained standing, a limping Conner, dressed in a blue jumpsuit, was escorted in and directed to the seat next to his attorney. He turned around and glanced at me with a small, uncomfortable half-grin on his bruised, stitched-up face. I nodded and returned a similar smile as the county prosecutor rushed in and stood at the table on the other side of the aisle from Toller.

A bailiff appeared in front of the bench, and Toller assisted Conner to his feet as Judge Green was announced and the proceedings were called to order. The judge immediately ordered both attorneys to the bench where they discussed the matter in hushed tones and a flurry of nods. The judge excused them, and they returned to their seats as the judge declared all charges dropped and the defendant free to go.

Conner turned to his attorney with his mouth open. Toller smiled and whispered in his ear. Everyone stood as the judge left the courtroom and the hustle of bodies started shifting around once again. Conner turned to me and flapped his uninjured left arm in wonder.

“Congratulations,” I offered with a handshake and a huge smile of relief.

Conner took my hand and leaned forward, and we embraced in a rare manly hug.

“Thanks,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, then asking, “Where’s Mom?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, the panic sitting on my chest like a rock, “but she’ll be happy to hear the good news.”

A deputy approached, grabbed Conner by the elbow, and began to pull him away. Conner looked at Toller with his eyes wide, but Ezra just patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he reassured Conner. “They’re just going to process you out. We’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Conner raised his left hand and Toller shook it just before the kid was pulled out of reach. Then Toller gathered his files and repacked his briefcase. He turned and held out his arm to escort me back down the aisle. When we were out in the busy hallway, I grabbed my phone and turned the ringer back on, checking to see if I’d received any messages. But there were none. I turned to Toller.

“Ezra, have you heard from Aaron? He was supposed to call once his team had retrieved my wife.”

He checked his phone for texts, voice messages, and email, but he’d received no further word either. We both started dialing. I tried Hannah, and Ezra called Aaron, but the results were the same.

“I’m getting nervous, Ezra. No way Aaron would leave me hanging like this. He was impatient to bring us all in. His team was assembled and ready to go when I arrived at the hospital.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “That was ninety minutes ago. Christ! Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Toller patted my arm. “Just relax. These things take a lot of coordination. They’re probably just regrouping somewhere, making sure they’re safe before they call out.”

I shook my head. “No. Aaron knew something was in the works and was anxious about it. He would
not
go silent now and make me worry. Something’s definitely wrong.”

I scrolled through my address book, searching for contacts and friends of Hannah who might have seen something at the house. I cursed myself for not having Roman’s number on hand. He seemed to always be watching Hannah.

And then it hit me like a bullet to the head. He
was
always watching her. He was always there, always showing up when things weren’t going well, whenever we happened to be fighting. What if Roman was a plant, like Leo or Katy, an accomplice of Greg’s or whoever was behind all this? What if Roman’s job was to get close to Hannah, become her friend, make her trust him? It fit too perfectly. If someone had gone to all the trouble to plant Leo and Katy in Conner’s life, then surely they would have gone even further and installed a mole in my own life, someone to watch over the very person who’s closest and most important to me, and who’d also thwarted the
Bratva
back in San Francisco, as well.

That was it. I knew it instinctually. It was as if all the puzzle pieces suddenly moved around and slid perfectly into place. Roman was a shill, a decoy whose sole intent was to con Hannah into dropping her guard, to make her vulnerable when it came time to strike. And now was that time. She was alone with Katy, and because I’d tipped off both Nova and Greg, Roman would have surely been advised to move on her before I had time to call in the cavalry.

“Oh my God,” I whispered to myself. “It was me. I just set the worst-case scenario into motion.”

Ezra’s head popped up from scanning his phone. “What’s that?” he asked.

I turned and grabbed him by the arm. “I have to get out of here,” I declared and absently scanned the hallway before I focused back on Toller. “Ezra, I need you to get Conner and take him up the street to the Federal Building, up to the FBI’s office, and don’t let him leave, all right? I think these bastards might be trying to make a move on my wife.” I was already stepping away before Ezra could answer, walking backwards as I called out to him. “Call somebody up there. Anyone. Have them escort you. But do not let anyone get to Conner, okay? Please, Ezra!”

He nodded and waved me on. “Go,” he ordered, “go!”

I fisted my hands together and bowed them in thanks then spun around to flee. But before I could take another step, a familiar face appeared before me, someone I hadn’t seen or heard from in nearly four years, and just as he’d looked all those years ago, his face was grim, his thin lips pressed together and his brow drawn low over his sharp nose and large, sunken eyes. It was Special Agent Maksim Sidorov of the FBI. He kept his gaze nailed on me, and with his chin dipped low, he shook his head ever so slightly. He walked up and rested his left hand along my shoulder as he offered me his right. “Ty, I’m sorry, we need to talk.”

I just stared him in the eye, the word
‘why’
forming on my lips but unable to escape.

Ezra appeared at my side. “Is there a problem,” he asked. “I’m Ezra Toller, Mr. Karras’ attorney,” he added, pulling out his card and handing it to Maks.

Sidorov stuffed the card into his pocket without even looking at it, but held out his hand in greeting, his expression anything but welcoming. “Maksim Sidorov, FBI. You’re Moody’s man, right? Here for the boy, Conner?” he asked Toller, and Ezra nodded. “All right, both of you, come with me,” he ordered and spun on his heel.

He pushed his way through the crowd and led us down the hall to a set of double doors, well-guarded by a serious-looking gentleman who looked as though his last position had been as lineman for the Oakland Raiders. But he moved quickly despite his hefty size and opened the doors for us to enter, then closed them behind us. The room didn’t even register with me. I kept my eyes pinned on Sidorov. Finally, he spun around and faced us, but his attention was focused solely on me.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

Maks took a deep breath then sighed heavily through his nose. “It’s Aaron.” With a shake of his head, Maks dropped his gaze to the floor and hitched his hands onto his hips.

“Where is he? What…what happened? Is he okay?” I asked then yelled, “Maks!” when he didn’t answer immediately.

“No!” he replied, his attention back on my face. “He’s not okay. He’s…he’s dead. A tourist riding the Great Wheel spotted his body floating in Elliot Bay up at Waterfront Park.”

“What?” I asked. “You sure it’s him?”

Maks nodded solemnly. “Yeah. His ID and badge were on the body.”

I spun away with my hands atop my head. “Oh my God.
Oh my God!
”

Then, from behind, Maks put both his hands on my shoulders. “Ty, it’s them.”

I pulled away and turned to face him. “How do you know? I mean, how can you be sure?”

“Because they left their calling card.”

When I continued to stare in confusion, he elaborated.

“They cut off his head, Ty. They cut off his fucking head, stuffed it in a goddamn bag, tied it to his body then threw everything into the water. It’s them, Tyler. The
Bratva
is back.”