Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) (29 page)

58

VLADIMIR ZHEGLOV HAD taken over driving duties.

Dulles was only forty-five miles away, but with the road conditions, it would still take another ninety minutes to drive it. In good weather they would have been there three hours ago and fast asleep in a Marriott or Hyatt or Sheraton or some other nice hotel near the airport. He didn’t think Teplov stayed at Budget 8 or Motel 6. An exit ramp for a rest stop was ahead. The red taillights of countless semis lined the shoulder of the road. Not even the truckers want to mess with these roads.

“Pull off here,” Teplov said. “I got to use the head. We can get rid of phones here.”

“Sounds good,” Zheglov mumbled.

Vlad parked the car. The two men stretched and shuffled to the drab concrete structure with a small hall of vending machines and men’s and women’s facilities on either side.

“This might take a second,” Teplov said, opening the door to a toilet stall, pulling it shut, and sliding the lock in place.

Longer than you think, Zheglov said to himself. He crouched down and looked under the opening beneath all the stalls. Teplov’s were the only set of legs he saw, his pants gathered in a heap at his ankles.

Move fast. If someone else comes in, deal with it then.

He pulled the switchblade from his coat pocket and flicked open the blade. He crept to the front of the stall door, took a deep breath, coiled himself, and kicked the door in. Teplov’s jaw dropped open. He was sitting on the toilet and screwing a silencer on his Makarov. He jumped to his feet and tried to jerk the handgun up into firing position. Zheglov knew the moment was coming when Teplov would try to
tie him up as a loose end and was ready. Vladimir lunged and slashed too quickly for Teplov to get his finger on the trigger. The only sound he made was a gurgle from his slit throat.

Keep moving fast. Zheglov checked and emptied Teplov’s pockets calmly and thoroughly. He needed to make the police work to identify the Russian on a business visa. He also needed any weapons, IDs, and money the man had.

He walked calmly to the CTS sedan and was back on the road in five minutes.

Thirty miles from Dulles he checked into a non-chain motel called the Satellite. The man working registration checked him in from an outside security window and was happy to take cash and fill in any name he wanted on the registration sheet.

Time to take inventory.

59

I SLEPT UNTIL eight-thirty and ate breakfast with Mom, Kaylen, and Heather Torgerson. I told Mom and Kaylen to go home and get a shower and some rest. They put up a fight but relented. Don called at ten.

“You okay, KC?”

“Slept like a baby. I feel great. I’m planning to bust out of here by noon.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. He must be busy because there’s no time for the inane small talk I have mastered.

“How certain was the ME about time of death?” he asks.

“”We’re talking Keltto?”

“Yes.”

“Technically not very—it was close to zero degrees so it was a lot colder than a meat locker. No noticeable body deterioration.”

Meat locker? Body deterioration? I think of nice Mr. Keltto and wish I hadn’t said that.

“But not sure it matters,” I continue. “Reports say Mrs. DeGenares heard him shoveling her walk between five-fifteen and maybe five-thirty-five. Nancy called 911 at five-forty-five.”

“I’ve been on the road all morning from my place to the Kelttos and then to O’Hare. How do people get up so early?”

“Some of us have to work, Don,” I say. “We don’t all have a rich wife to keep us in style.”

I wish I hadn’t joked as soon as the words come out.

“Not now, Conner. This is definitely not a good morning for that.”

“Sorry, Don.”

He takes a breath and asks, “What time did Levin pull in to O’Hare?”

“You already know. Just tell me what you found.”

“Humor me.”

“Right about six-thirty.”

About two hours to the second as I was crawling into the back of a squad car on Columbus Circle to talk to Tommy Barnes.

“Roads were lousy on the day of the murder but I’ve gone through all the reports and traffic was still fairly heavy on all routes to O’Hare from your old neighborhood. Just call it Chicago pride. Nobody’s gonna let a blizzard keep them from proving they can drive on ice. I-280 had major slowdowns due to an accident on the day of the murder. But we don’t know for sure he took that route.”

“So what are you saying Don? Could he have made it to O’Hare at six-thirty?”

“I’d hate to base a case on that fact, but technically yes. Doesn’t prove he did it and definitely doesn’t prove Nancy didn’t do it—or at least wasn’t an accomplice.”

“So what’s Blackshear gonna do?”

“He’s going to meet at the DA’s office to update her on Leslie Levin. Some of us have to work so we’ve been busy while you sleep in.”

Good. Don’s joking so he’s not mad.
Touché
.

Murder is an awful thing. But I’m still relieved to be talking about something other than Russian mobsters trying to kill me.

“Anyone talk to Nancy?” I ask.

“Nancy was your neighbor. Mrs. Keltto is a murder suspect. You need to keep that straight. And no, no one has talked to her. She is still in ICU under suicide watch and police guard. She’s right down the hall from you.”

“I could—”

“Don’t get any ideas, KC. She’s off limits. Don’t do anything to hurt our case.”

Ouch. That makes me think of the Cutter Shark working on an appeal because I busted in on him in a place he wasn’t supposed to be
while he was in the act of attempted murder. I’d rather think about the Red Mafiya.

“Listen, KC. Don’t worry about anything. Get some sleep. Get better. We have it under control.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

I don’t think he said that sincerely.

“And I want to apologize for not taking your call seriously last night.”

“Not necessary, Squires. I’m not even listening. I’m going back to sleep.”

We sign off. I just don’t handle emotional exchanges well do I?

60

VLADIMIR WALKED CALMLY beside a moving sidewalk through a long tunnel filled with neon lights and space age music. Strange ambience for an airport he thought. He travelled under Teplov’s name. They didn’t look much like each other but at least they were the same height and both had black hair now that his was dyed. The TSA agent at the Dulles security checkpoint took a quick look at him and the driver’s license and quickly scribbled the magic initials that got him through security. Teplov had lied to him on every point. He was a US citizen, not a Russian citizen traveling on a business visa. Whatever was happening between Moscow and New York for control of the US
bratva
was too confusing to worry about. Thirty comrades killed already. He doubted that things were about to settle down, no matter how much Sergei wished it to be.

There were two more IDs in an attaché he would save for later. How could he find out how good they were? It was a moot point. Using them in the future would let the
bratva
know he, the man who murdered Aleksei Genken, was not dead.

He hit the pay dirt on cash. The trunk had a suitcase with more than fifty thousand in hundreds. Now he was getting somewhere.

He wished he could have disposed of the body. But there were too many diesel engines idling in the rest stop area. Someone would be awake watching TV in their sleeper cab who heard a sudden call from nature and saw him dragging a body to the trunk of the Caddy.

He studied the major Chicago roads and highways using the in-air Internet system. He’d never been to the Windy City. No way could he move around smoothly.

No way am I going to let Sadowsky’s man know I’m in town. So how do I find Med?

He looked at his phone thoughtfully. It was worth a try.

Der’mo!
That hurt. Medved put too much ointment on his wound, causing the gauze to stick like glue to the red, purple, gray, yellow, and white mess on his chest.

His momma always told him it was worse to pull bandaging off slowly than just ripping it off. She was wrong this time, he thought.

What little scabbing had formed came off with the gauze, along with sticky yellow pus and clear fluids, and a stench that reeked of raw sewage. The wound was a mess of white tissue, purple bruising, and cherry red welting. Med felt his forehead. He was burning up.

I must drink water. No more vodka.

He stumbled to the sink, turned on the faucet, ripped the wrap off a cheap plastic cup, filled it with water, and guzzled the whole glass in a single swallow. He did this two more times, then crushed the plastic cup and stuck his mouth directly on the pipe, sucking in the water in a mad attempt to put out the fire that consumed him from within.

He turned on the shower and sat under it, letting the spray wash away pus and dark red clots of blood.

He didn’t know if he had the energy to move but forced himself to act. He repeated the process of pouring alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and iodine over the wound. He took a small piece of cloth and dabbed ointment in a thin coat, then wrapped himself up tight.

Forget the detective. Save her for another day and time. Sleep for another day and then drive to St. Louis.

He fell on the bed with a groan.

Don’t leave me now, Lady Udacha. Be kind to the Bear.

His phone rang. He had almost forgot he had it.

He wasn’t sure he had the strength to answer.

61

I RUN A BRUSH through my hair. It feels great to be clean again. The doctor has been adamant I can’t leave this morning, but I’ve pushed, cajoled, and begged until I wear him down about maybe leaving in the afternoon.

“I’ll let you know in a couple hours.”

“By noon?”

“One at the earliest.”

Sounds almost like a yes to me.

I sense a presence and look up. How long has Reynolds been watching me? He walks to my bedside, takes my face in both hands, just looking in my eyes. I want to look away but can’t.

He kisses me on the forehead. Then on both cheeks. Slowly. Slowly. It feels like he is breathing me in.

I try to remember if I brushed my teeth after breakfast, almost breaking the spell he’s got on me. But then he kisses me on the lips. I don’t want to respond. I can’t respond. But then I do. It feels so . . . good. But isn’t this all wrong?

“Kristen . . . there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.”

“No. Don’t. Austin you can’t.”

“I know you keep the world at arms-length, Kristen. I respect that. I do, too. But something’s changed.”

“Austin . . . this isn’t the time or place.”

“You can fight with me all you want. You can push me away. It’s not going to change how I feel.”

“But you . . .”

“I know I’ve been distant. I haven’t known what to think or do. After my . . . my . . . after my divorce I haven’t wanted to be close to anyone. I don’t trust myself. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but—”

The door bangs open and Klarissa and Kaylen enter arm-in-arm.

Klarissa lets out a squeal and rushes over. She gives Austin a playful push.

“Get in line, Romeo. Kristen needs her baby sister.”

Was I just saved by the cavalry or put back into love limbo? What is Klarissa doing here from New York?

Austin stands and Kaylen gives him the chaste half-hug she reserves for members of the opposite sex not named Jimmy.

Klarissa, never shy, kicks off her shoes and lays down beside me. I’m at a loss for words. Nothing new.

“Kristen,” she says. “I’ve been worried out of mind since Jimmy called. I booked the earliest flight I could to get here.”

“But you’re on-air tonight.”

“No, I’m not. Not with my sister in the hospital.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Kristen, just shut up and let me talk.” She pauses, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t know why we fight. I love you. I know you love me. I don’t know what I did in New York to get your panties in a bunch. But don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t sleep last night. All I could think about was not wanting there to be anything between us. I was worried sick all night.”

“You were?”

“Duh!”

I look over at Austin and Kaylen yammering away. What am I missing? Is Klarissa about to confess what happened between her and Austin? I decided to let Austin handle this mess with the two of them in the lobby of the Sheraton and not ever bring it up with her. But here she is, snuggled against me. Tough and savvy. Vulnerable and brittle.

When Kaylen went off to college and we each had our own room, Klarissa had terrible problems sleeping. She was afraid of the dark. She ended up in my bed for most of the first couple years until I hit high school and wouldn’t allow it anymore. Was that the source of our
struggles? I want this thing with Reynolds and her out of the way or I’m going to go crazy.

“Klarissa . . .”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I was supposed to get the last flight out of New York last week? After the murder in Central Park?”

“Yeah?”

“My flight got cancelled.”

“Yeah? Why are you telling me this now?”

“I came back to the hotel.”

“Yeah? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

“I was planning to.”

Curious, she props herself up on an elbow and looks me in the eyes. “So what happened?”

“I came in the lobby and I . . . I . . .”

Now she’s sitting up at an awkward side angle. “What?”

“I saw you . . .”

“Saw me what?”

I lower my voice to a whisper and say it. “I saw you and Austin together in the bar.”

“Yeah? You were there? Why the heck didn’t you join us? Where did you spend the night?”

Realization of what I’m saying dawns on her and she opens her mouth in disbelief. I see a tear drop from her eyes. Then I see that hard stubborn look she gets. Then it disappears and she cuddles next to me.

I’m not sure if she is whispering or hissing when she says, “Kristen, you are the most wonderful, beautiful, absolute idiot in the world. I meant what I said. I love you. But I could kill you right now. I know we’re in a hospital but I know you know I don’t mean that the way it sounds.”

Hey, even if I feel good enough to leave, I’ve been shot. People are supposed to be nice to me and not call me an idiot. Even if I am.

“You indeed saw Austin and me together in the lobby bar. He asked me to meet him there. For one reason and one reason only. He’s crazy about you. He’s in love with you. You are stupid and blind. I can’t compete with you. Nobody can. He called your baby sis to ask for advice on scaling the walls of Fort Kristen.”

I can feel her start to get up, mad and hurt again, but I get hold of her around the waist and don’t let her leave, even though it hurts like crazy to keep her close. Now she’s the one who is stiff and cold.

Words cannot describe how stupid I feel. But I don’t know what to say, so I just hold on. Kaylen looks over, takes Austin by the arm, and they exit the room. She always knows the right thing to do. She’s good at that.

I try to roll on my side to look at Klarissa but the effort hurts. Neither of us moves. We stare at the ceiling. I finally force myself to say the only thing I can think of.

“I love you, Baby Sis. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

Okay. How’s that for a role reversal. I’ve gone from being done wrong to being a heel in about thirty seconds. I liked being a martyr better.

At least I don’t always have to be right.