Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) (28 page)

F
ive minutes later, thanks to Boris’s men, Vlad’s body was moved and Georgia’s cuffs were off. Savannah couldn’t stop shivering, and her teeth chattered; she’d spent the last ten minutes lying practically naked on the snow. Georgia took her upstairs and helped her into dry clothes.

Her sister was unusually passive and gazed at Georgia as if she was a stranger. Shock, Georgia thought. “Savannah, you were a hero out there. You saved my life. Do you get that?”

Savannah didn’t answer.

“It’s over now, baby. And it’s all good.” She smiled at her sister and ran a hand down her cheek. Savannah’s expression didn’t change.

The sound of distant sirens split the air. Her sister tensed.

“Shit!” Georgia said. “Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

Savannah took her time. “They’re all dead,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Zoya. Jenny. Sergei. Vlad.”

“But we’re okay. You and I. We made it.”

Her sister didn’t answer, and Georgia wasn’t sure she understood. The sirens grew louder.

“Listen. You stay up here. I’ll deal with the cops.”

Georgia hurried down into the kitchen. Zoya’s body lay on the floor, oozing blood from a gaping wound in her back. Georgia felt a spit of pity. Zoya didn’t know it, but when Lotwin had killed her son, he’d doomed her, too.

Savannah hadn’t had time to find the guns, Georgia realized, so she grabbed a knife instead. How had she managed to kill Zoya? She figured they’d have time to talk about it. Months. Even years.

She looked around and found a broom closet. Opening it, she saw it was filled with assault rifles and pistols, among them her baby Glock. She snatched it, then opened the door and went outside.

T
he night was cloaked in darkness. The only illumination came from the floodlights on the barn and the muted light from the kitchen. Still, Georgia counted eight Russian mobsters in the shadows, their weapons drawn. She made out a few assault rifles and a long gun; the rest were pistols. A different shade of black that didn’t quite belong hugged the ground near the barn, and when she squinted, she spotted two bodies. The guards. The faint odor of cordite lingered. Georgia placed her Glock on the ground and raised her arms in the air. “I’m Davis.”

One of the men, apparently the leader—he could have been the one who shot Vlad, but she wasn’t sure—barked something in Russian. The others holstered their weapons.

“Thank you. You took down a really bad guy.” The wail of sirens was loud. “Now, get the hell out of here before the cops show up.”

The men didn’t need to be told twice. They hurried to their cars, both Beemers, Georgia noted, threw open the doors, and keyed their engines. Once they got to the road, both cars raced toward the highway, passing two squad cars hurtling toward them from the opposite direction.

The squad cars careened up the driveway and screeched up to the farmhouse. Six officers spilled out, their weapons drawn. The first one out was Jimmy.

He spotted Georgia, then the two bodies near the barn. He raised a megaphone to his mouth. “Police. Drop your weapons and get your hands in the air.”

Georgia threw her hands in the air. “It’s over, Jimmy.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was ice-cold. “There are two bodies over there.”

She glanced over. A dull pain throbbed against her temples. How was she going to explain them without giving up the Russians? She owed them. She looked back at Jimmy. His face was sliced into shadow and light, but she could tell he was angrier than an F5 tornado. His furious breaths clouded the air.

The screen door behind her banged, and Savannah emerged, already shivering. Jimmy stared at her, then back at Georgia, as if to say, “This better be good.”

“I’ll explain everything at the station.”

He took almost a full minute to reply, and when he did, his voice was still tight. “Okay, men. We’re good. Back off.”

“You sure, Chief?” one of the officers called.

He nodded. “Take these two to the station. The rest of you start working the scene.”

Georgia let out her breath. She trudged over to Jimmy and handed him her Glock. “You’ll find more bodies inside. One is Vlad. I shot him. My sister stabbed the woman in the kitchen. Her name is Zoya. We were held prisoner and threatened at gunpoint. We managed to turn the tables on them. It was self-defense.”

“And them?” He swept his hand toward the bodies on the snow.

Georgia glanced over, hunched her shoulders, then gazed evenly at Jimmy.

“I guess they had an accident.”

B
ack at the Lake Geneva police station, Jimmy recused himself from the case, and Georgia was interrogated by his second-in-command. A detective from Harvard questioned Savannah in a separate room. Georgia laid out the story: the sex trafficking, the baby breeding, the harvesting of organs. The officer, stunned at first, grimaced as she continued, gradually moving his chair away from her, as if Georgia and the story she was telling him were both contaminated.

She told him about Chad Coe, Claudia Nyquist, Richard Lotwin, Bruce Kreisman, and the Glencoe couple. He told her Riverwoods police had picked up Chad Coe, who’d decided not to talk; Northbrook cops arrested the doctor, who did. Detectives paid a visit to the Glencoe couple but concluded they were innocent dupes.

It was afternoon the next day before she and Savannah were allowed to see each other.

“Are we going to jail?” Savannah asked nervously.

Georgia saw the dark rings under her sister’s eyes. Neither of them had slept. “I doubt it.” She shot Savannah what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Because Jimmy is your friend?”

“He is. But he has a job to do.” Georgia changed the subject. “Let’s talk about you. Did you tell them about the trafficking ring and what Vlad did to you?”

“I told them everything.”

“Good.”

“At least that creep Lazlo will be off the streets,” Savannah added.

“He’s just the beginning,” Georgia said. “I hope they wipe all of them off the map.” She hesitated. “Savannah, at the farmhouse, how did you manage to stay downstairs after Vlad told the guard to take you up?”

Her sister beamed. “I pretended to fall and twist my ankle. You know…in those heels. I said I couldn’t get up the steps. That I needed to sit for a while. Then when all the shooting started, the guard ran outside, and I grabbed the knife.”

Georgia grinned.

T
hat afternoon just before dusk the Lake Geneva police released them. Jimmy wasn’t around, but Georgia understood. She had broken so many rules even she wasn’t sure on which side of the law she belonged. She’d asked a Russian Mafioso who loved Barry Manilow for a favor; she’d helped his men go free after they complied; she’d tampered with evidence; she’d lied about who killed whom.

But somehow it had worked. Vlad and Zoya were gone, and her sister was safe. The only unknown was Jimmy. She’d failed to keep her promise to communicate; she’d gone right back to her guarded ways. It wasn’t going to be easy—this relationship stuff. It would take time. She only hoped once he realized why she’d done what she did, he’d forgive her.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and settled Savannah on the couch. The girl fell asleep almost immediately. Georgia went to a closet, pulled out a blanket, and draped it over her. Her sister was a train wreck. She would need a lot of healing. But under that tough-girl exterior was a vulnerable young girl who just needed to be loved unconditionally.

Hell, you could say the same thing about
me
, Georgia thought. Maybe they could help each other heal. She had much to learn about her sister. How they were alike, but how they were different, too. She suspected Savannah was stronger than she was. She’d survived sex trafficking, a heroin addiction, and Vlad’s control, and she was still mostly sane. That indicated a powerful resilience Georgia wasn’t sure
she
possessed.

In the kitchen she ran cold water, cupped a hand, and drank directly from the faucet. After the baby came, Savannah ought to go back to school, but Georgia wouldn’t force it. The past nine months had been quite enough of an education. Maybe Georgia would call Reggie Field. Have him hire Savannah to work part-time at his store.

She dug out her cell, ordered a pizza, then at the last minute added a salad—Savannah needed healthy food. As she rummaged in a cabinet for plates, she looked around. She was going to need a bigger place. She took out plates and utensils, marveling at what life could throw at you. In a month she’d gone from a loner to a woman with a sister, a niece or nephew on the way, and a boyfriend she wanted to keep. What was next—a frigging dog?

She went to the window. It had begun to snow. Soft, plump flakes that glittered in the light and eddied to the ground where they knit a blanket of white. Georgia pulled the shade down and went back to her sister.

Special thanks to Jerry Silbert for his legal expertise; Jim Bentley and Tim Thoellecke Jr. for their help with DNA reports; Mike Green, former deputy chief of police, Northbrook, Illinois, for police procedure; Pam Hutul and Rosemary Mulryan for information about adoption procedures in Illinois. To Cara Black, too, for her advice, suggestions, and generally being the best traveling partner around. Finally, to my friend Tania Tirraoro. You are one of the most talented women I know.

Any mistakes are mine alone.

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AN EYE FOR MURDER

 
A PICTURE OF GUILT

AN IMAGE OF DEATH

A SHOT TO DIE FOR

“Libby Fischer Hellmann has already joined an elite club: Chicago mystery writers who not only inhabit the environment but also give it a unique flavor… her series continues in fine style… (Ellie)… lights up the page with courage and energy.”
—
Chicago Tribune

“Not only has Hellmann created a compelling group of believable characters, but the mystery she places them in is likewise plausible and engrossing. Highly recommended, even if you don’t live in Illinois.”
—
David Montgomery, Chicago Sun-Times

“Hellmann owes a debt to fellow Chicagoans Sara Paretsky (complex plotting) and Barbara D’Amato (excellent research)—but she’s the brash young thing making this formula new again. I can’t wait for the next book!”
—
Robin Agnew, Aunt Agatha’s

“Hellmann has surpassed herself. Well-crafted, intense and exciting, right up to the last page… a must read!”
—Laurel Johnson,
Midwest Book Review

“A masterful blend of politics, history, and suspense… sharp humor and vivid language… Ellie is an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—
Publishers Weekly
, November 4, 2002

“Ellie is a particularly believable protagonist… she’s a pleasure to spend time with.”
—
Reviewing the Evidence

“Libby Fischer Hellmann has indisputably crossed the line into the realm of great crime fiction writers.”
—
Crimespree Magazine

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TOXICITY

DOUBLEBACK

EASY INNOCENCE

“Hellmann brings to life the reality of hazing and bullying among teenage girls in a story with enough twists and turns to keep you reading to the end. Highly recommended.”
—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“Just what’s needed in a mystery… Depth of characterization sets this new entry apart from a crowded field.”
—
Kirkus Reviews

“Libby Hellmann can get into the mind of a character, whether the character is a mentally ill man or a teenage girl. PI Georgia Davis, the no-nonsense heart of this tale… finds a darkness I didn’t see coming. This is good stuff, very good stuff.”
—Stuart M. Kaminsky, Grand Master, Mystery Writers of America

“There’s a new no-nonsense female private Detective in town: Georgia Davis, a former cop who is tough and smart enough to give even the legendary V.I. Warshawski a run for her money… Hellmann knows how to distill the essence of a character in a few unadorned but dead-right sentences.”
—Dick Adler,
Chicago Tribune

“Hellmann’s done her homework here and it shows: the writing is assured, the voices authentic, and the understanding both of criminal investigations and relationships among cops, lawyers and prosecutors come to life with great urgency. Davis’ arrival on the mean streets is long overdue.”
—Sara Paretsky, author of the V.I. Warshawski series