Sanctuary (22 page)

“What about my husband? I can’t just leave him.”

“Your husband will be safe. Trust me.”

“But—”

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice adamant. “Your life is in grave danger. I’ll explain everything when you call.”

She hung up, nearly hysterical, found her overnight case, and scribbled a note to Ryan. Saying good-bye to their dog, she hurried to the car.

Once on the highway, she gave in to her fear and desperation. More than that, though, was her concern for Ryan’s safety.

“You poor thing,” Lela said, brushing tears from her eyes. “What you’ve been through.”

Melissa had surprised herself by sharing so much. Yet now, looking into the face of the Mennonite woman, she knew Lela would keep her secrets, guard the truth. In the very core of her, she knew.

“When you called the FBI agent yesterday, what did he tell you … about your husband?” Lela asked, her eyes compassionate.

Melissa folded her arms at her waist, holding herself against the sadness that swept over her. How could she voice the words? Breathing deeply, she leaned forward, revealing the startling information. “Ivanov wasn’t the only reason I had to leave Connecticut.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lela frowned.

Melissa shook her head, tears falling fast.
Just like Daddy
… “It’s about Ryan,” she whispered, then stopped, unable to speak.

Lela touched her arm gently. “What is it?”

Struggling with the reality, she said softly, “Ryan is—is one of
them
.”

“I don’t understand.” Lela’s frown seemed to encompass her entire face.

“Ryan works for the same people who killed my father.”

  
Part Two
  

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;

what is essential is invisible to the eye.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  
Chapter Twenty-Six
  

THE DAWN WAS BRIGHT, the sky clear. Mystic River flowed effortlessly toward the ocean. Several ducks waddled to the edge, hoping for handouts. Ryan had none to give as he leaned against the railing, hours before he was expected to arrive at work.

He had come to Mystic River Park, as he often did, to ponder the past few days. To question how everything had gone so wrong; how he might make it all right again.

“Hey, Mister Ryan.”

He turned to see Stevie, a brown-haired boy, holding two fishing rods in his right hand and a tackle box in his left. Several months ago they’d met at this very spot. Ryan had bantered with Stevie, and the lonely boy had haltingly invited Ryan to fish with him. Since then it had become an oft-repeated event.

Ryan smiled at him. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I’ve been here. Every morning,” his young friend replied with a slight tone of reproach.

“Sorry. Been busy.”

“Too busy today?”

“Give me that pole, young man. Let’s wake up the fish.”

Stevie broke into a grin. All was forgiven. Together they attached their bait and tossed the lines into the water. They fished for over an hour, enjoying each other’s company, talking about guy stuff.

“Catch anything?” someone said behind them. Ryan turned to see Jim Ivanov leaning up against the retaining wall.

Ryan was surprised to see him. “Thought you were coming next week.”

Jim shrugged, staring at the water. “Something came up.”

“Bernie know you’re here?” Ryan asked.

“Not yet.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Ryan asked, making small talk.

He glanced at Stevie, whose face was crestfallen. He twitched the fishing line.

Ivanov ignored Ryan’s question. “You going to be in the office today?”

“For a few hours. Have to take a friend to the airport this afternoon.”

“I need a meeting with you and Bernie. Say about nine o’clock?”

Ryan frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“Nah,” Jim replied casually, walking away.

“That guy’s creepy,” Stevie said once Ivanov was out of earshot.

“He just doesn’t have any friends to play with,” Ryan said.

Stevie giggled, pulling back on his fishing pole.

“God will help us,” Lela whispered as early-morning rays danced on the kitchen wall. She bowed her head, thinking of Melissa, still asleep upstairs. “Dear Lord, I stand on the promises of your Word. I rest in your care, confident of your mighty power. Thank you. Amen.”

Mellie’s words echoed in Lela’s mind:
“You’re in danger if I stay here.”
She felt the slightest shiver of fear again. But she remembered the Scripture: “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him.” Renewed peace flooded her heart. She was doing the right thing, encouraging Melissa to stay put. Whatever danger lurked outside her doors, God was in control. Both she and Mellie were safe.

Melissa had not slept well. Her thoughts whirled with memories of the man she had believed in, trusted, and married. How could it be that her beloved husband was in league with the same group who’d taken her father’s life? Part of her rejected it, disbelieving that her support system, all wrapped up in one wonderful man, could have been false.

She recalled one event after another where Ryan was true and good. Always forthright and decent. Never once had she doubted him or suspected that he might be less than honest in his business dealings or with her. She wished she could phone him and ask him for herself, yet she dared not.

Pushing back the covers, Melissa rose to face the window. She stared past the curtains to the sky, blue as a robin’s egg. Ryan’s words came back to haunt her.
“I have money you know not of,”
her husband had playfully teased her when first they’d gone to Lord’s Point to see their house. At the time she’d wondered about his comment, but only for a flicker of a moment. The shine in his eyes, that spontaneous look of expectation and joy, had erased even the slightest hint of doubt.

Finally, she had to face something she hadn’t thought about in years.
Eighty million dollars
. Where
was
it? If only she knew the answer to that, perhaps then, and only then, would this nightmare cease. As long as men like Ivanov suspected she knew where her father had holed away eighty million dollars, as long as they were watching her every move, she would never be truly free.

Does Ryan know about the money?
Melissa wondered.
Did he trick me into marrying him, hoping I might reveal something someday? Has everything about our marriage been a lie?

Marge was at her desk when Ryan entered the reception area. “Mr. Personality is in town,” she whispered grimly.

Ryan smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

Her eyes darted toward Bernie’s office. “They’re in there.”

“Hmm.” Ryan headed for his own office and began preparing for his daily trading routine, turning on his wall of monitors.

Several minutes later Marge peeked in. “Bernie wants to see you—ASAP.” She jerked her head toward Bernie’s office, giving Ryan a look that said,
Pretty weird, eh?

Ryan stood up quickly, trying to remember the last time Bernie had called him to the executive office. He followed Marge across the reception room to the door with the words
Bernard Stanton
etched in gold.

Ryan rapped twice on Bernie’s door and opened it. Immediately to his left, Ivanov stood up. “Have a seat.” Ivanov gestured toward his now vacant chair, as if it were
his
office Ryan was entering. “I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.” The client slipped out.

Ryan quickly appraised the seat that Ivanov had just vacated, choosing instead to sit in the chair opposite Bernie’s desk. Glancing at his boss expectantly, their eyes met, then Bernie dropped his gaze to his hands, rubbing them together, as if preparing a speech.

“You wanted to see me,” Ryan ventured.

Bernie didn’t speak at first, allowing an uncomfortable silence to fill the room. A room nearly twice the size of Ryan’s office. The floor, covered in deep forest green carpet, accented the mahogany bookcases and desk that the boss seemed to hide behind.
No wonder he escapes here every day
, Ryan thought fleetingly.
It’s a paradise
.

Bernie stood tentatively, turning his back on Ryan to look out his tall windows. It was obvious by his awkward movements that the older man was deeply troubled. The ever-lengthening silence only served to unsettle Ryan’s nerves.

Ryan frowned. “Everything okay, Bernie?”

His boss turned to face him, tracing his finger along his desk.

“Did we lose a client?” Ryan asked, thinking of Ivanov.

Bernie sat down again, steepling his fingers. He paused again. “Do you have any idea what we’ve been doing here all these years?”

“What do you mean?”

Bernie met his gaze. “Don’t play games with me. I’m talking about our
business
… those stock symbols I feed you from time to time.”

Ryan, loath to voice the words, replied softly, “Insider trading.”

Bernie snorted, dropping his hands to the desk and giving Ryan a look of disgust. “For starters, yeah. Throw in money laundering, and you’ve got a better picture. Don’t say you didn’t figure
that
out years ago. If you didn’t, then you’re not as smart as I give you credit for.”

Ryan had tried to ignore the occasional suspicious nature of their transactions. “It was none of my business,” he replied, hoping Bernie would drop it.

“Why rock the gravy boat, eh?” Bernie stood tall, considering Ryan cynically. “You’ve been well paid to look the other way.”

“What’s your point?” Ryan asked.

“I’m getting to that.” Bernie angled his head toward the reception area and lowered his voice. “First off, Ivanov isn’t just a client. He
owns
us.”

Bernie’s admission sent shock waves through Ryan. “He
what
?”

Leaning forward, his boss continued. “He and his partners run an extensive interstate network. Our company, New England Asset Management, is only a front, with a few
real
clients tacked on to make things look legit.” Bernie dropped his gaze to the desk again. “And … do you remember a little more than three years ago, when we were interviewing potential secretaries?”

Ryan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

“I sent you out to Watch Hill to interview Melissa for the job,” Bernie said. “Did you think I’d merely picked out a cute waitress and decided to hire her as office dressing? Truth is, Melissa’s
father
used to work for Ivanov. I figured the best way to keep an eye on her was to have her work for us. We never expected you to
marry
her.”

Ryan’s mind reeled with Bernie’s rapid-fire revelations.
Keep an eye on her….

Before Ryan could respond, a single knock came at the door. Ivanov ambled in, carrying a coffee mug. He sat down and fixed Bernie with a smug smile. “My turn?”

Bernie shrugged and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his brow.

Ivanov chuckled, seemingly aware of the crackle of tension in the room. He picked up the story without missing a beat, his slight Russian accent becoming more conspicuous. “Your wife’s father and I were business associates. Then one day he got cold feet and betrayed me. He was an
izmyenik—
a traitor.”

And then it came to Ryan, as if putting the pieces of a puzzle together. This “truth session” had to do with Melissa’s disappearance. “Where’s my wife?” he asked, sitting forward abruptly.

“Don’t jump ahead of me,” Ivanov said, taking a long drink of coffee before continuing. “Quite an amazing thing, you know. What’s the word for it—irony?—that Melissa would flee from Colorado, hoping to hide from me, and instead she ends up here in Connecticut. In my own backyard! The gods do smile on me.”

Ryan stared at the arrogant man with growing fury and frustration. Denny’s tortured revelation about Melissa’s fake identity now made complete sense. His wife had been hiding from Ivanov.

“You seem to have left out a few important details,” Ryan said.

“Yes, it seems I forgot the most important part. Your wife’s father stole my money, and I want it back,” Ivanov replied matter-of-factly.