Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) (27 page)

M
inutes later footsteps clattered up the stairs again. By the sound of it, more than one set. Keys jangled, and Georgia’s door swung open. A guard she hadn’t seen before crooked his finger, and when she rolled off the bed, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her out the door. In the hall a second guard, the man who spoke perfect English, fumbled a key into Savannah’s room. His entry was cut short.

“Fuck you,” she yelled. “Don’t you dare come in. I’m not ready.”

“Well, get ready. Vlad wants you downstairs pronto.”

The guard holding Georgia uttered something sharp in Russian. The guard who spoke English rolled his eyes. Georgia’s guard pushed Georgia toward the stairs. Her wrists were still cuffed, and she was off balance. She had to focus to keep from falling. When they got to the bottom, the guard turned her away from the kitchen into the living room.

It was a good-sized room with bright track lighting at one end. The rest of the room lay in deep shadow, but she made out a couple of easy chairs with a small table between them. A man filled one of the chairs. The guard pushed her into the lit area. The illumination from the track lights was blinding, and she squinted. She needed to shade her eyes. The guard released her but stayed a few feet away, his hand on his holster.

Out of the darkness came a male voice in heavily accented English. “Welcome, Georgia Davis.”

She kept her mouth shut.

“It is long time.” There was a rustle and the man disentangled himself from the chair.

Unlike the other night, he was now in the light. Georgia took a good look. She recognized the high cheekbones, the sharp Slavic features, and the pale blue eyes that glittered like diamonds. His hair was more silver now, but on him it looked good. He was casually dressed in a sweater and leather jacket. He just missed being handsome, but she could see why women were attracted to him. Still, something was off. She tried to figure out what. Was it his flat expression? The smile that didn’t reach his eyes? No. Something else.

She turned, mentally calculating how many steps it would take her to get to the kitchen.

“I wait for you long time.” Vlad blocked her view by moving in front of her. He crossed his arms.

“I’ll bet,” Georgia said.

“You and other woman took my life.”

He was referring to Ellie Foreman, who was the first to discover that the money Max Gordon had been laundering was Vlad’s. And with that Georgia realized what was off. They had ruined his life; he’d barely escaped and had returned to the Ukraine, humiliated and broke. Yet now he was behaving in a restrained, almost pleasant manner, as if they were chatting about the weather, not his undoing. The degree of self-control that required had to be enormous.

“You seem to have survived,” Georgia said. “Like a cockroach.”

He gestured to the guard in the room with him. “Bring me water.”

The guard scurried out and returned with a filled glass from the kitchen.

“Not that,” Vlad knocked the glass out of the man’s hands. It fell and smashed into pieces, spilling water on the hardwood floor.

The guard jerked back. Georgia winced at the sudden violence.

“Bottle. Bottle water,” Vlad seethed. He gazed at the broken shards of glass, ground the heel of his boot, crushing them into smaller bits and pieces. “Pick up. Now.”

The guard nodded, bent down, and tried to sweep up the pieces with his hand. Blood oozed from his palm.

“Stop. Stupid. Get bottle.”

The guard bolted from the room with the remnants of the glass.

Vlad reverted to the icy calm he’d shown earlier. Georgia pressed her lips together. His unpredictable mood shifts were going to be dangerous.

“Yes. I survive,” he said pleasantly. He hadn’t reacted to her cockroach remark. It must have sailed over his head. “And now…how do you say in English? Turn around we play?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” Georgia said, her voice low.

“Yes. Turn-around is fair play. You see, I not forget.”

Georgia remembered Vlad had been a soldier. He could be ruthless, but the men in his unit were devoted to him. His wife, Mika, had said he would rule the world one day. She was only half joking. Georgia decided her only option was to make him lose his cool. If he did, maybe he would make a mistake. She just needed one. A tiny misstep would give her an opening.

“Did you have a nice swim in the river?” she asked.

He smiled lazily, as if he knew what she was trying to do but wouldn’t let her bait him. “They say cockroach survive World War Three.”

A
pair of heels clacked down the stairs, and Savannah’s voice called out. “Vlad, baby? Is that you?”

A second later, Savannah sashayed into the room, followed by her guard. Vlad turned around and gaped. Georgia did too. It was the first time she’d laid eyes on her sister, and her appearance left little to the imagination. She was wearing next to nothing: tiny glittery pasties on her nipples, a pair of slinky black panties, fishnet stockings, and four-inch stiletto heels. Her long blond hair shone in the light, and her makeup had been carefully applied. Her skin, and there was a lot of it on display, was rosy, taut, and smooth.

She was drawn to her sister’s face. It was a young face, a face that needed to mature. Still, she was a knockout. Big brown eyes, a tiny nose, a perfect complexion, and full lips that were bowed in just the right way. Despite what she’d gone through, she still wore an eager, hopeful expression, and when she broke into a smile, as she did now, she couldn’t have looked more alluring. Georgia understood why Vlad kept coming back to her.

Savannah hurried over and threw her arms around Vlad. “I’m so happy to see you. Where have you been? I’ve missed you!” She flashed him a brilliant smile.
Too much,
Georgia thought.
Tone it down.
But Savannah pressed her cheek against his, nuzzled his neck, and dropped kisses on him. The second guard, who had come back in the room with a bottle of water, stood by helplessly, apparently unsure what to do.

Vlad shoved her away. “Stop! You pregnant!”

Undeterred, Savannah continued to flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, and it’s your baby! We made it together.”

Georgia frowned. It didn’t sound like she was faking.

“I do not fuck woman with child. Go. I talk with sister.” He took the bottle of water and waved it dismissively in her direction.

“But, Vlad, I want you to come upstairs and make love to me. Just us.” Her voice was pleading now. Almost begging. “You love me. I know you do.”

“Love? Who can love a whore?”

“That’s not true.” Savannah stiffened, and her voice grew shrill. “I know you love me. The earrings.”

Vlad’s expression was steely. “I take them off dead girl.”

Savannah’s lips tightened into a thin, grim line.

Vlad motioned to the guard, but before he could grab Savannah, she spun around to Georgia. Bitter hostility spread across her face. ”It’s
your
fault he doesn’t want me,” she cried. “Why did you come here? I don’t want you. No one does.” She raised her hand and slapped Georgia across the face.

She’d expected it, but the force of the blow brought tears to Georgia’s eyes. She reeled back, her cheek stinging.

Savannah slapped her again. “Get rid of her, Vlad. Now!”

Georgia swayed unsteadily. She would have collapsed, but the guard hurried over to break her fall.

“Take her away.” Vlad pointed toward Savannah.

Savannah’s guard grabbed her and tried to drag her out of the room, but in a surprising show of force, Savannah struggled.

“No! I hate her. She’s the reason you don’t want to be with me!”

Vlad set the unopened water bottle on the table and rubbed the back of his neck, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Savannah kept ranting, sounding hysterical now. There was a thin line between acting and real life. Had Savannah crossed it? Finally, Vlad spat out something in Russian, and the guard dragged her sister across the room. Vlad motioned to the stairs.

Georgia’s spirits sank. Their chances had been slim to begin with, but she’d hoped the ploy of having Savannah attack Georgia would force him to remove her from the room. Then Savannah would have the chance to find a gun. But the strategy had failed. Georgia’s stomach churned. But she had to try.

“You’ve had a good run, haven’t you, Vlad? Women falling all over you, a lucrative operation, lots of money, whores, and drugs. And, of course, babies.”

Although Savannah was no longer in the room, they could hear her crying. It sounded like she was in the kitchen. Definitely not upstairs. How had she managed that? Georgia felt a flicker of hope.

Vlad ran one hand up his other arm, stroking himself in a self-conscious way. Only athletes did that, she thought. And narcissists. But the action helped him regain his equilibrium, because when he turned back to Georgia, he smiled. “It is good business.”

He was back in control.

She kept going. “Business? Is that what you call a baby-breeding ring where the babies and their mother’s organs go to the highest bidder?”

His tongue snaked over his lips. His smile broadened. “You know nothing about my business. People are happy. They get baby. Other people live because of me. I run—how you say—unselfish business. For others.”

Georgia wanted to spit. “Sure it is. And I guess that absolves you for killing their mothers and selling their body parts?”

His smile vanished.

Good. She was getting to him. “Well, Vlad? What do you say to that?”

He was quiet. Then, “I lose ten years because of you.”

Keep him talking. Something would happen.
“You’re about to lose a lot more. I know about Chad Coe. And Dr. Lotwin. And the woman at the hospital who scouts transplant organs. They’re all being picked up as we speak. How long do you think you have before the cops get here?”

“I let you find out.” He shrugged. “And if cops come, my people know what to do. So do I.” He shot her a smug look.

Savannah was weeping in earnest now, loud, wracking sobs that knifed through Georgia’s heart. Vlad gazed at Georgia with a curious look. It wasn’t desire or lust or even hate; it was more like satisfaction—satisfaction that he held the ultimate power. That he could get people to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He was so absorbed in his self-importance that he failed to notice a distant whine whispering through Savannah’s cries.

I
t was faint, but it sounded like cars approaching. The sounds grew louder and more distinct. Definitely car engines—more than one—closing in on the farmhouse. Now Vlad cocked an ear. Brakes squealed. Car doors slammed. Men’s voices shouted. Vlad gestured to the guard holding Georgia.

“Who is here?”

The guard flipped up a hand.

“
Zhopa!
” he hissed. “Go see.”

The guard pulled out his gun and hurried into the kitchen. Savannah’s cries stopped. Georgia heard the guard shout something in Russian. The screen door squeaked as it was flung open.

Vlad glared at Georgia. “It is cops?”

Georgia shook her head, but she knew who had arrived. The Russians. Her call had gone through. Vlad started toward her, his hand raised as if he was going to hit her. At the same time they heard a commotion in the kitchen. A series of shots rang out. They came from outside, but close enough to cause alarm. A woman shouted in Russian. Zoya.

His arm still raised, Vlad listened. His eyes widened. He pulled out his pistol. “Come!” He shoved Georgia across the living room away from the kitchen, one hand jabbing the pistol into her back. When he reached the other side, he swept aside a pair of drapes with his free hand. Behind them was a patio door. He slid the door open. Georgia shrank back at the rush of frigid air.

“Go,” he ordered. “Outside. Now!”

Georgia took a tentative step. A floodlight flicked on. Georgia wheeled around and yelled toward the kitchen. “Do it, Savannah! Now!”

Vlad pushed her through the door, which caused her to stumble and fall into the snow. But before she could use her fall to knock him off balance, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back upright. Then he shoved the barrel of the gun against her temple.

“Vanna!” Vlad called out, his voice tight. “Come back and watch me kill sister.”

A grunt came from the kitchen. A rustle and thud followed. What was happening?

Georgia tried to take stock. They were in the backyard of the farmhouse. But the throw of the floodlight was dim, and she couldn’t make out how big the yard was. Or whether there was a way out. She began to shiver. She had only seconds before Vlad pulled the trigger.

“Vanna…,” Vlad insisted. “This is last chance.”

Goddammit,
Georgia thought. Where was Savannah? Had she found a gun? Or was she taken down? Why didn’t Boris’s men come around to the back?

More shouts from the front. A burst of machine-gun fire. The lights inside the house flickered. Then silence. A shout here and there broke through, but then a vast stillness reclaimed the night.

Though the light wasn’t the best, Georgia saw patches of red flare on Vlad’s face. A bright anger suffused his eyes. Georgia sensed he was waging a fierce internal struggle. Why didn’t he pull the trigger? Was he trying to assess the damage? Perversely, that gave her a burst of courage. She hadn’t followed his bread crumbs all the way out here just to lose everything. Could she throw him off balance with a jab of her elbow or foot?

Vlad called out in Russian. It was clearly a question, but all she could make out was the word “Zoya.” He was asking Zoya what was going on.

There was no answer.

G
eorgia fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. She was preparing to land a karate kick in his groin when Savannah entered the living room from the kitchen. She’d taken off her heels, but she was still practically naked. Her face was ashen, and her eyes had a glazed sheen. She was clutching a large butcher knife, but she was trembling. She walked toward the patio door.

“Zoya is dead.”

Vlad moved Georgia in front of him as a shield. His voice was unsteady. “Good job, Vanna, my love. She was bitch. Give me knife. You right. We together now.”

Savannah didn’t move.

He thrust his pistol hard into Georgia’s temple. “Okay. Then watch. I shoot sister.”

Before Savannah could reply, Georgia bent forward, drew her foot up, and smashed it into Vlad’s groin. He staggered back. His pistol fired and fell just beyond the pool of light. Georgia checked herself. No wound. The shot had gone wild. She shouted to her sister. “Grab the gun, Savannah!”

But Vanna was still brandishing the knife. She closed the distance between herself and Vlad and tried to thrust the knife in his chest. He twisted away at the last minute, and it only nicked his arm. He lurched forward and snatched the knife from her.

Panic streaked through Georgia. “The gun!” Georgia tried to motion with her chin. “Over there. Shoot him. There are bullets in the chamber.” But as she said it, she realized Savannah didn’t know what that meant.

Savannah spun around and headed toward the gun. She was fast, but so was Vlad. Brandishing the knife, he reached the spot where the gun had fallen at the same time as Savannah. Savannah fell on top of the gun, but Vlad threw himself on top of her and tried to plunge the knife in her back.

Georgia screamed. “Stop! Kill me instead!”

Suddenly a series of shots rocked the air, sending a stream of sharp, deafening retorts across the yard. Vlad let out a groan. The knife fell from his hand. A pool of blood seeped out beneath Savannah, staining the snow pink. His? Or Savannah’s?

Georgia spun around. One of Boris’s men stood at the edge of the yard in deep shadow. She couldn’t see him clearly, but she could see his assault rifle still aimed at Savannah and Vlad.

She let out a breath.

The man lowered his weapon, dipped his head as if to acknowledge a debt paid, then melted into the darkness.

Georgia hurried over. Neither Vlad nor Savannah moved. She approached with caution. The wounds on Vlad’s body—she could see three or four—bled freely. The Russian mob guy was some shot. But what about her sister?

“Savannah. Are you okay? Say something. I need to know that you’re alive.”

There was no answer.

“Savannah?” Georgia was desperate. “Please. Answer me, baby. Are you okay?”

This time she heard a whimper. “Get him off me,” Savannah said. “I can’t breathe.”