Slave to the Rhythm (41 page)

“We think he’s the reason Boykov was here in the first place. The big boss, Volkov, is cleaning house. It looks like he got tired of the mess his second-in-command was making. If Ash hadn’t taken him out, Volkov would have.”

Their wide eyes switched to me.

“The boy saved our Laney.”

That was it—I was engulfed in hugs and kisses that made me groan with pain. Laney’s dad peeled them off one by one, explaining that I was injured, too. Then they fluttered around and I wanted to wave my hands until they scattered like starlings. They meant well, but being surrounded by so many people made me twitchy.

I leaned forward, concentrating on Laney’s face, and when I looked up again, much later, they’d all gone.

It was getting light. Morning had finally arrived. I knew that bogeymen didn’t vanish at dawn—but something about sunlight made me happier.

The nurses had tried to make me leave, but after Laney’s dad spoke to them, they left me alone. One of them returned later with a blanket, so I stayed in the chair next to Laney’s bed, watching.

The door opened slowly and I saw Gary standing there, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“Can I come in?” I nodded and he stepped inside. “Is this her?”

“My wife, yes.”

He crept into the room and peered down.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re married.”

My lips twitched with amusement.

“I fly 7,000 miles to get hijacked by Bratva, get whipped by a psycho who wants to fuck me up the ass, I drive across half of the USA to escape him, and then he follows me and tries to kill me . . . and the part you can’t believe is that I’m married?”

He pushed my shoulder, making me wince.

“Sorry,” he said. “But it is kind of crazy. She’s cute though.”

“No, she’s the most beautiful, amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

He looked at me sideways.

“I wish some guy would look at me like that.”

“I think you’re amazing, too,” I said sincerely.

Gary grinned.

“Aw, honey! You say the sweetest things. But I’m not going to sleep with you—not even if you beg. Well, maybe if you beg.”

Then his face fell and he looked serious.

“Um, just to warn you—Yveta hasn’t taken it well.”

I frowned, confused.

“Hasn’t taken what well?”

Gary sighed. “You being married.”

“But . . .”

I didn’t know what I was going to say. I’d had sex with Yveta a few times. I’d never thought that it meant anything to either of us. Just something that we both needed at the time, temporary.

Gary waved a hand.

“I know, I know. But when we were in that place, she kept saying that if you had gotten out, we could, too. And when we did, she was going to look for you. You were a sort of good luck charm—the hope of better times.” He sighed again. “She was really cut up when she found out about the wife thing—they had to sedate her.”

Gary shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Ash.”

He laid his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then bent down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly as he left.

Hope. Such a small word, in my language, too:
upanje
. A small word, but a big emotion—the biggest. But having too much will crush you when you’re weighed down with the impossibility of your dreams.

Laney was the sun, my sun. She warmed me, she dazzled me. She lit the way like a beacon of hope.

But Yveta didn’t have a Laney. And I didn’t know what I could do that might help.

“Ash? Am I dreaming?”

Laney’s eyes fluttered open and the stone I’d been carrying in my heart dissolved.

“No, my love. You’re awake now.”

Her forehead wrinkled.

“He killed you. I saw Sergei shoot you!”

I leaned down to kiss her cheek, nuzzling her neck.

“Sergei can’t hurt us anymore. He’s gone.”

Her eyes drifted closed.

“Is he coming back?”

“Never.”

She smiled and I held her small hand in mine as she drifted toward sleep.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Gary’s parents arrived to take him home—solemn and sincere, grateful to have him back in their lives, bemused to find him hand in hand with Yveta. They invited her to spend Christmas and New Year, and she gratefully accepted.

Gary said they were still holding out for a straight son, but I think he was joking.

Yveta made it clear that she didn’t want to see me, which meant I had to explain it to Laney.

The stress of the last 24 hours had left us exhausted and we were both on pain meds. I could see the weary resignation on her face, but she tried to joke about it.

“I was hoping for hot sex under the Christmas tree but having you to myself is nice, too.”

“I’ll give you a raincheck,” I promised.

Her parents wanted us to spend Christmas with them. I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being surrounded by people, so I was relieved when Laney insisted on going home instead. She compromised by saying that we’d visit soon.

A cab dropped us at the apartment and we climbed the six steps wearily, Laney leaning against me for support.

I picked up the mail, shocked to see a letter from the U.S. Immigration Service addressed to both of us.

Almost numb, I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It still took me a while to read English, but three words stood out:
No further action
.

I took a deep breath. They couldn’t send me away from Laney—and I had the paper to prove it.

Laney

I was so relieved to be home. Although I couldn’t remember everything clearly, flashes of the horror inside the theater plagued my thoughts. Getting whacked on the head by a .32 bullet does that to a person, or so the doctors told me.

Ash was in pain, too. He was given some codeine tablets to take the edge off a cracked sternum, and I had my broken wrist which ached, and my head was throbbing dully.

We spent Christmas curled up on the couch under the quilt from the bedroom, slowly munching our way through frozen pizza, potato chips and everything unhealthy that we could find while watching silly holiday movies. Then we shuffled into the bedroom and fell asleep holding hands.

I was woken the next morning by my cell phone. Ash cursed sleepily as I picked it up to see who was calling so early, but the number was unknown. I pressed ‘reject’ and tossed it back onto the bedside table, but a moment later, it was ringing again.

If this was a telesales call, I was going to be pissed.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Novak, good morning. My name is Phil Nickeas from the ‘Chicago Tribune’. Is this a good time to talk?”

It took a few seconds for my brain to make a connection. For a start, I wasn’t used to being called by my married name, and secondly,
what the hell?

“How did you get this number?”

“From Angela Pinto. She’s a friend of mine and we’ve worked together a couple of times. She thought if I talked to you it could really help your husband’s case.”

Case?

My brain was struggling to make sense of what he was saying.

The caller took my silence in his stride.

“I’d really like to get your side of the story before the investigation. Russian mafia—that’s big news. I won’t be the only journalist to call you, but I’m a crime reporter, not a sleaze-monger. Angie said she was going to call you about me.” He paused. “Maybe you need a minute to talk to your husband . . . okay, well you can call me back on this number. Any time.”

I muttered something and hung up. Ash was sitting with a quizzical expression on his face.

“That was a reporter from the Tribune. He wants to talk to you—to us—about Sergei, I think.”

Ash was already shaking his head.

“He said it would help your
case
. What does he mean?”

Ash shrugged and winced as he adjusted the pillow behind him. His chest was a rainbow of ugly black, purple and yellow bruises radiating out from the center.

“Ash, what
case?
”

“The murder case, I guess.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What . . . what
murder
case?”

His eyes shifted to mine before sliding away.

“Because I shot Sergei.”

“You! I thought the police shot Sergei?”

His lips pulled to the side. “No-o. After he shot you, I fought with him. I took the gun and shot him.”

A sigh of relief escaped me. “So, it was self-defense.”

Ash nodded.

“Thank goodness for that. I thought for a moment . . . I don’t know what I thought. He made it sound like the police charged you.”

“They talked to me at the hospital, but your dad said I didn’t have to leave you.”

A headache was starting behind my eyes.

“Ash, tell me
exactly
what the police said.”

He frowned. “I have some papers they gave me.”

He rolled out of bed, moving more stiffly than I was used to seeing. He was normally so graceful and fizzing with energy.

He dug around in his discarded jeans and tossed a packet of papers onto the quilt, then sat back on the bed, watching me.

I unfolded the top sheet and as I started reading, blood drained from my face.

“Ash, it says here that there’s going to be an investigation. They’ll be gathering evidence from witnesses and you’ll be interviewed formally. We both will.” I bit my lip. “I don’t see how they can possibly charge you with anything—it’s ridiculous.”

Ash didn’t seem the least concerned.

“Your friend Angie left a message on my cell—she wants to talk to me.”

I nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s good. I’ll call her in a minute. But . . . I don’t know . . . why did that reporter talk about a ‘case’? There is no case.”

“I killed him. I don’t care what they call it,” Ash snapped, his jaw tight. “We could hear the police sirens and their voices. Sergei laughed, saying he’d be out of jail by morning and then he’d come after us. So, I pushed the gun in his face and pulled the trigger. He wasn’t laughing anymore. And I’d do it again. One of the policemen took the gun.”

I thought I was going to pass out—this wasn’t an open and shut case of self-defense. Could they call it murder? I didn’t want to believe that was possible.

The police would investigate then bring it to the DA. He’d decide if there would be any charges.

Oh my God, surely not. It was self-defense.

“Ash, you need to speak to Angie as soon as possible. This is serious.”

“I did what I had to!” he yelled.

He stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door, and a second later I heard the shower running. I hoped it was a cold one, because he had to cool down. He clearly had no idea how serious this was.

I called Angie immediately.

“Finally!” she said, answering on the first ring. “I’ve been calling and calling you! I’ve left messages!”

“I only just found out. Oh God, Angie. What are we going to do?”

“Firstly, don’t panic. I need to talk to Ash, but this is it in a nutshell: armed officers entered the theater. Boykov was on the floor and Ash was hitting him with his bare hands. They couldn’t see clearly because they were on the floor between two rows of seats. The next thing they heard was a gunshot. Boykov was dead and Ash was holding the gun. But the Russian had already fired at both of you. Personally, I don’t think there’s much chance that they’ll file charges.”

I was finding it hard to breathe.

“But there is chance?”

“Laney, calm down. We’ve got a few facts in our favor. One: even though two police officers shouted at Ash to drop the weapon, he didn’t appear to hear them. You know the drill—people usually look in the direction of sudden noise. Ash didn’t even flinch, which goes to suggest that he hadn’t heard the orders. Two: no one else saw what happened
.
”

“But . . .”

“Don’t tell me anything I don’t want to hear, Laney,” she warned. “Thirdly, during prior police interviews with Ash, they’d suspected that he was suffering from a post-traumatic disorder. This is all in his favor.”

“Okay,” I said quietly, trying to take it in. “What about this reporter? Why did you give him my number?”

“He’s a good guy, Laney. I’ve worked with him before—a real straight shooter. He’s been working on several mafia-related and people-trafficking stories. He’ll be fair, and Ash could use some good publicity—it’ll get the community on his side. The fact that he’s a foreigner and that he married you so quickly will look like all he’s after is a green card. Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!”

I huffed quietly, even though what she said wasn’t untrue—except that now it was.

“He needs to make sure he charms the hell out of everyone he meets from now on.” She paused. “Talk to Phil. I’ll brief Ash about what he can and can’t say. Okay?”

“Okay.”

There was a long pause, then she spoke more quietly.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

We ended the call, and I promised to speak to her reporter friend.

But first I had to talk to Ash.

Ash finally reappeared looking calmer, although I could see the lingering tension in his expression.

“We have a few things to talk about.”