Crossing the Line (11 page)

That almost won her a smile.

“Have any of your immediate family suffered from heart disease, diabetes, asthma?”

“No.”

There was a pause. “You’re not adding to that?”

She shook her head.

“Lie down with your knees up and spread your legs.”

She hesitated.

“Get on with it. It’s not exactly an unusual pose for you, is it?”

Katya fumed, but lay down and did as she was told.

“Relax, breathe out.”

She could feel the woman’s hands between her legs and clenched her fists.

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

“What, in my life? Or since I arrived here? Should I count rape?”

The doctor’s gaze met hers. “You’ve been raped? Recently?”

She nodded. Pressure mounted in her chest as memories surged back.

“You look a little bruised but there’s no damage.”

“Thank goodness for KY Jelly.”

“Did he wear a condom?”

“Yes, all three did. Well, I should say two because one got so excited he came as he forced himself inside me.”

The doctor pulled off her gloves, dropped them in a bin and squeezed Katya’s hand before she reached for a pile of small white boxes from the shelf above her desk. She tossed them onto the examination couch next to her.

“The contraceptive pill. Take one every day at the same time.” The doctor’s voice was gentle now. “You need additional protection for the first seven days. You can get dressed again.”

“You want to look at my teeth and hair too?” she muttered as the woman left.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Aleksei emerged from behind the screen.

Katya yanked the gown around her body.

He punched a pill from its blister pack. “Swallow one now.”

She didn’t move.

“Don’t make me force you. You’re lucky they wore condoms.”

She took the pill and swallowed it.

“Now put these on.” He held out heeled sandals and a dress.

“I want my clothes.”

“They walked out on their own.”

“I want them.” She struggled to contain her emotions.

“Why? They’re old.”

“But they’re mine. I don’t need anyone to buy me things.”

“Get dressed,” he barked. “You have no money, no clothes and no choice.”

Once he’d gone, Katya put on the tight blue and white dress and white sandals. He hadn’t even given her underwear. She scowled, stormed past him and slammed the exit door in his face. He caught up with her on the stairs.

“Calm down. Be sensible. What can you do without money?”

“Sell my violin.”

He laughed. “No, I don’t think so. You’d rather fuck me than sell that.”

“You flatter yourself.”

“Don’t make me angry, Katya.”

They stared at each other. She couldn’t back down. This guy would walk all over her.

Aleksei softened his tone. “Look, I’m hungry. Let’s eat. What would you like?”

“Bread and water.”

He chuckled as she got in the car. She could hear Galya telling her to divide herself, keep part just for her, let Aleksei have only a little, but Katya was afraid he’d take all of her. Still, he knew Petrenko, so despite everything, she was almost where she’d planned to be. Except why was there a voice in her head saying she wished Aleksei hadn’t known him? Even after watching Anna’s display that morning, Katya was still attracted to him.
I’m an idiot.

Why do I fall for the bad guys?

Ethan hadn’t been bad.

He walked out on me, didn’t he?

He didn’t even want to be with me on the plane to Miami.

One man who let her go, and one who didn’t seem to want to let her go.

Strange that life could change so fast, how the world could cease spinning, then jolt back to normal—well, not normal, never that. Her babushka thought big changes proved there was a God who answered prayers. Katya remembered spending a day praying for things to go wrong, courting disaster, tempting fate, teasing death and to her intense disappointment, nothing happened.

Maybe it took time. She thought about the last year. Maybe this was what she’d brought on herself from that childish act years ago. She would go as far as she could. She owed it to her family.

She stared out of the window at the city streets. She was almost certain Petrenko had killed Galya but almost certain wasn’t enough. Could she kill him if he had? That had been in her mind, right from the time she discovered his name.
An idealistic dream of a naive girl.
But now someone had died by her hand, she knew how it felt. Not good, even in self-defense, even though Vasily was an evil man. To kill in cold blood…

Maybe prison would be a better punishment. Let Petrenko remember every day who’d put him there. For that she’d need proof. A confession he’d killed Galya and her family. Or proof of something else that would put him away forever. To get that, she’d have to be part of a world to which she didn’t belong, live a life that scared her half to death. Was that easier than killing him? What if he’d turned over a new life, bitterly regretted what he’d done and was trying to be a better man? Who was she to judge?

Who was there but her?

One problem with that wonderful plan. Killing Galya and her family had been crimes committed on Russian soil not American. She doubted he’d be put on trial for those murders here. In any case, Katya doubted he had actual blood on his hands. Others would do the dirty work for him. She had to find something else to trap Petrenko.

Aleksei only wanted to use her. Why not use him to find Petrenko? She glanced across at him and when he turned to glance at her, and smiled, she felt a jolt of longing for something more. Could he like her? Really like her? Was she just another girl to him or something more?

Remember that blowjob? You really think he cares about you?

And he’s married.

Aleksei had no idea what Katya was thinking. He’d not had anything like this trouble with any of the others, though they were greedy, Katya was not. He’d never met a woman who didn’t want clothes, or appear to like shopping. She was hungry for something, but what?

She had the personality of a pissed off porcupine, yet she made him smile. It had been a long time since a woman had amused him as much. He had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing when she’d answered the doctor. Katya was intelligent, talented and beautiful. It just made it more interesting that she could be an annoying little shit.

He drove to a beachfront restaurant and secured a table by the window in front of those waiting in line.

“What can I get you to drink?” the waiter asked.

“Water—from the tap,” Katya said.

Aleksei sighed. “Bring her a plate of bread with that and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “How was the shopping trip?”

“Expensive for you.”

“Do you really not like shopping?”

“I hate it.”

“Have I actually found the only woman in the world who doesn’t like spending other people’s money on herself?”

“I have more fun doing other things.”

He leaned forward. “Like having sex?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like playing the violin.”

He leaned back again and smiled. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was five.”

The waiter appeared with a basket of rolls, a jug of water and the bottle of wine. Aleksei signaled he’d pour it himself. “I had lessons for about six weeks when I was seven. Everyone was glad when I stopped.”

“All players sound terrible at first.”

“I was worse than terrible. My mother bought us both ear plugs.”

Her mouth curved in a smile.

“Now we’re talking again, what would you like to eat?”

“More bread?”

“Have something with the bread. How about alligator?”

“Not keen on eating thick skinned, deeply unpleasant animals that lurk waiting to pounce on innocent prey.”

Aleksei tried not to laugh. “I won’t take that personally.”

“I think you should.”

“Alligator’s not bad. It tastes like chicken.”

“I’ll eat most things but if people say something tastes like chicken, it’s generally something I don’t want to eat. Snake tastes like chicken and guinea pig, apparently. What’s the point? If something tastes like chicken, you might as well have ordered chicken. Anyway, I don’t like chicken, unless it’s chicken breast. I prefer to cook for myself, that way I know exactly what I’m getting.”

Aleksei watched her wince as though she’d realized she’d babbled. Nervous? He leaned over to whisper. “I like breasts too.”

He smiled as she glowered at him, then he ordered Mahi Mahi for them both.

“Did you grow up in Moscow?” he asked.

She nodded but said no more. He needed her relaxed. He told some amusing stories about his childhood, how when he was barely able to walk, he’d found a box of Belgian chocolates, purchased on the black market by his mother for his father but not hidden well enough and he’d eaten them all. He’d not been able to touch chocolate since. He also told her he’d managed to cut off part of his finger with his father’s knife and then he did a trick with his hands that made it look as though his finger could move apart and knit back together again. That coaxed another smile from her.

They had a conversation about dachas and the gentrification process that was transforming intimate communes of cozy, primitive wooden huts into American style condominiums. He agreed with her that the imitation castles, Swiss chalets and Gothic mansions were ugly monstrosities. He felt her relax as they chatted. They had similar views, that the old way had a lot to be said for it. He’d enjoyed the same sort of summers, swimming in cold lakes, making dens in the woods, gathering
brusnika
and
yeshevika
berries for pies, though the fruit rarely made it back in sufficient quantities to please their mothers.

Time passed quickly and he realized he’d enjoyed himself. He rarely had ordinary conversations.

“Do you like me any better yet?” he asked over dessert.

She hesitated. “Should I?”

It slightly alarmed him how much he wanted her to like him. “Why are you fighting me?”

“I won’t do…what Anna and Natasha do.” Her fingers twisted the napkin. “I have a proper job. I don’t want to earn money letting men fuck me.”

I don’t want you to.
The thought of it made his blood pressure spike. “Have I asked you to do that?”

“I figure it’s a matter of time. You’re buttering me up. Clothes, medical, food, attention, smiles.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? You make me fall for you and then I’ll do whatever you want just to please you. I’m not like Anna.”

No, you’re not.
But Aleksei didn’t know what to make of her.

“You have no money, nowhere to live. I’m offering to look after you. I won’t let anyone else hurt you. If anyone even upsets you, tell me. I’ll deal with it.”

Katya frowned. “Does your influence extend to Moscow? My violin teacher at the Conservatory used to drive me crazy. He said I was his most awkward student.”

Aleksei stifled his laugh. “What’s his name?”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“I was.”

Katya paled, opened her mouth, then closed it.

Are you beginning to understand, little cat?

Anatoly Ogienko drove past Pendle Motors and pulled up around the corner. He got out of the car, left Sergei sitting inside and walked across to the pay phone. This job would earn them more than they averaged in a week of cab fares.

Twenty minutes later the man they waited for parked behind them in a green Suburban. Anatoly and Sergei got out of their Taurus. A glance confirmed it was Dave Burroughs and as he stepped from his vehicle, Anatoly moved in and pressed a gun into his side.

“No sudden movements and you’ll be just fine. Drop your car keys and get in the back of the Taurus. Lie down with your legs tucked up.”

The man trembled but did as he was told, much to Anatoly’s relief. Sergei slid in from the other side to sit on the guy’s hips and pushed his gun into his neck. Anatoly picked up the keys with an old napkin, put them in the ignition of the Suburban and left the door ajar. Hopefully it would be stolen. Within moments, Anatoly was driving them away.

“What’s this about?” Burroughs gasped.

“You’re going to call your friends, Edgar, Jance and Setter,” Anatoly said. “Tell them to meet you at Vasily’s place within the next hour. It’s an emergency. They must tell no-one, you understand? You give them any warning, you’ll lose your tongue.”

Sergei pulled Burroughs’ cell phone from his pocket.

* * * * *

“Hey, that’s not Dave’s car,” Jance said, when he saw the Taurus sitting outside Vasily’s house.

Setter shrugged. “He probably borrowed one from work. Let’s see what the fuck he needs us out here for. If I’m not back in an hour, I’ll get fired.”

Jance walked through the door and saw Dave fastened to a chair, duct tape over his mouth, a man with a gun beside him.
Oh shit.
He turned to run and collided with Setter.

“Hey, what the fuck you doing?” Setter snapped.

“Inside.” Another man stood behind Setter, a gun at his head.

Jance stumbled back inside the house.

“Pick a chair,” said the man near Dave.

Dave was shaking his head, trying to talk past the tape. Setter sat down. Jance registered picking a chair might be the last choice he’d ever make, but before he could run, he was knocked to the floor and a knee pressed on his neck. He struggled to drag air into his lungs.

“What’s this about?” Setter asked.

Jance wanted to yell at him to not let the guy tie him up but the stupid fucker just sat there and accepted it. Once Setter was secure, Jance was dragged to a chair.

“I haven’t done anything,” Jance yelled.

Then three of them had tape on their mouths and there was silence except for snuffling breaths and mumbled groans. Jance pinned his hopes on Edgar. Maybe he’d look through the window and go and get help. Maybe he wouldn’t come. He glanced at the other guys. Setter had already given up. Dave had wet his pants.
Shit.

It didn’t seem long before Edgar was in the same position as them, but he’d fought harder, which was why blood ran from his nose and over the duct tape. Jance struggled to get his hands free, but the knots didn’t budge. The only thing that kept him relatively calm was that this had to be about the Russian girl and he hadn’t done anything. When he explained, they’d let him go.

* * * * *

Kirill pulled on long latex gloves. He’d experimented to find the right thickness so he could still feel the knife. That was very important. Part of the experience. He didn’t know the men who were driving away and they didn’t know him. He’d talked to one on the phone and given him instructions. A glance through the window had told him they hadn’t messed up.

He slipped into the house. After he confirmed the four men were the ones whose pictures he’d been sent, he put down his black bag. Not that anyone here by mistake would be leaving. The knots that held them had been well tied. He smiled. He’d paid a lot of money for his American smile. He could have had the dental work done in Russia, but it hadn’t seemed important there. Everyone in America wanted to be perfect, including him.

The men were trying to communicate with him but nothing they said would change the outcome. He felt a surge of excitement as he unwrapped his roll of knives. Setter began to rock his chair. Kirill selected a long thin blade, scalpel-sharp, but weightier than a medical instrument and turned to face the men. The most fascinating part of death was watching its arrival. He was intrigued by the way people reacted.

Dave had already wet himself. As Kirill stared at Jance, a dark stain spread over his chinos. Jance whimpered and closed his eyes.

“You’re going to die,” Kirill said. He thought that was only fair. It gave them the chance to make their peace with God if they believed or to go nuts. Edgar was the go nuts type. He managed to knock his chair over.

“You first,” Kirill said to Jance and slashed down the guy’s arms, legs and chest, barely leaving a mark on his body though his clothes hung in tatters.

He hummed as he worked. Eventually all four were close to naked. Edgar’s chair was upright again but he continued to thrash. When it looked as though he might choke, Kirill peeled off the tape but left it hanging.

“Sorry, sorry,” Edgar gasped. “I’ve got a wife and a kid. Please, I’m sorry.”

He could go last. Kirill stepped up to Dave, lifted his penis and testicles and sliced them from his body. Blood spurted from between his legs. The others tried harder to get free, bouncing the chairs on the floor. Dave just sat and stared.

“Oh Christ, oh my God. Oh please.” Edgar screamed.

He’d managed to shuffle his chair nearer the door. As Kirill walked toward him, Edgar tried to clamp his thighs together, but as he opened his mouth to yell, Kirill forced Dave’s genitals past his tongue and pressed the tape back over his mouth. Edgar’s eyes bulged.

Dave’s gaze was still fixed between his legs and he was making a strange noise through the tape. Setter stared at the same place and Jance had his eyes screwed shut as if he believed not seeing could keep him safe.

It couldn’t.

When he’d finished, the men had full mouths though he’d had to put more tape on two after they managed to spit out some of the flesh. To ensure death, he’d stabbed them in the femoral artery. One had already expired. They’d all stopped making a noise. A huge pool of blood had spread on the floor, one man’s life source running into another’s. They joined together in a pattern that appealed to his artistic temperament. Kirill was covered with blood, a unique red suit. Their last visit from Santa. He chuckled.

He returned to his bag, removed every item of his clothing and mopped his hands with wet wipes. His back and chest were covered with tattoos. He turned to show the men. None were looking which annoyed him.

Finally, he picked up the camera. “Say cheese.”

* * * * *

“You about finished for the day?” Luisa asked.

“Hmm.” Ethan wished he could get out of this.

“I’ve written down my cell number in case you lose sight of my car.”

“Hey, I’m a specially trained agent. Following cars is second nature.”

“You’re lucky I don’t see that as a challenge,” she said.

When they got on the road, Ethan saw what she meant. He was a little more interested in keeping his license than Luisa. When traffic conditions allowed, she drove like a thing possessed. If not for red lights, he’d have been in the awkward position of having to call and find out where they were supposed to be going.

It turned out to be an inexpensive Italian restaurant. Luisa was good company but trying too hard. He found out more about her than he needed to know. She’d worked for Frank for nine months after a transfer from another unit. Divorced from a lawyer who’d traded her in for a younger model, no kids but she’d like them one day, parents still living and driving her wild with their frequent requests for a new husband. Loved yoga, sailing, skiing—but not since the divorce—eating out, walking, golf, cooking and sex. Well, she didn’t say sex but Ethan heard it.

“On Saturday I could drive you around and show you some of the places on that list.” When he didn’t immediately accept, she added, “Give me a call if you need a hand. Whereabouts are you staying? I should make a note.”

“A cheap hotel.”

“I have an extra bedroom.”

“Not sure that would be a good idea.” He changed the subject fast. “Which neighborhoods do you recommend?”

“I live in Carol City, but Coral Gables is lovely, though the commute’s a nightmare.”

“I’m surprised you consider traffic a problem.”

She chuckled. “My father taught me to drive. He was a traffic cop.”

“Just when I was about to say if I ever decide to rob a bank, I’d like you to be the getaway driver.”

“Now that’s an offer I haven’t had before.” Luisa grinned.

“What’s Coral Gables like?”

“Beautiful Art Deco buildings, tree-lined streets, perfectly manicured lawns—but you can’t keep a truck on your driveway, and you can only have four cats and dogs.”

“The cats and dogs might be a problem.” Ethan smiled.

“You have to be into recycling too. They have special police who go through your garbage. On the plus side there’s a strong sense of community, people really look out for each other and that’s kind of rare.”

“Why don’t you live there?”

“Outside my budget, but not yours. It’s worth a look.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Ethan enjoyed the meal and the conversation more than he’d thought he would, but knew Luisa wanted something more. He backed off from coffee at her place and after he’d walked her to her car, gave her a peck on the cheek he hoped she didn’t misconstrue.

When he saw her face brighten, he wished he could take the kiss back.