Crossing the Line (4 page)

When Vasily pressed his mouth to her ear, Katya’s eyes sprang open.

“Irina’s dead.”

He tried to shove his tongue into her mouth and she erupted, lashing out with her fists, trying to buck him off. She was no match for a man his size and he twisted her onto her stomach, straddling the top of her thighs. When he leaned against her back, he compressed her lungs. He slid his tongue into her ear, and she gagged.

“You’re going to make me a lot of money. And if you don’t learn to play nice, I’ll feed you to the fucking dogs.”

Her arm dangled down the side of the bed and knowing this might be her only chance, she slid her fingers under the edge of the mattress, touched the handle of the knife, and in one fluid movement, pulled it out and flung back her arm. She felt the blade connect with flesh, pulled back and slashed again, harder.
Get off me, get off me.

“Wha…a…uck?” he gasped.

Vasily’s weight shifted and as she struggled to get free, the knife slipped from her slick fingers. When she turned, all she could see was blood, Vasily pressing his hand against his neck as a red river poured down his chest.

She made a grab for the knife, and he wrapped sticky fingers around her throat. Her hand came away empty.

“’itch,” he gurgled.

As his grip tightened, Katya screamed at herself to do something. His hold on her didn’t slacken and she couldn’t breathe.
Think!
She let herself go limp and as he slumped onto her, she fumbled for the other knife. Black dots danced in her vision by the time her fingers connected with the handle.

One chance.

She dragged the weapon out and slammed it into his back. It shot so smoothly between his ribs that for a moment, neither of them understood what had happened. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto her face. His fingers slipped off her neck but his weight was crushing her. She watched in fascinated horror as he wrapped a bloody hand around the knife and pulled it from his back. He convulsed on top of her and blood gushed everywhere. As Katya watched the life leave his eyes, something left her too.

I killed him. I killed—oh God.

Pumped with adrenaline, she pummeled her way free and slithered to the floor. Scuttling backward, she kept going until she hit the wall where she curled in a ball and waited for him to get up and kill her.

Didn’t happen. Vasily lay motionless in a sea of red, a knife still in his hand. Shock immobilized her. Her mind reran everything over and over, faster and faster until she thought she’d explode.

Irina.
Katya pushed herself up on shaking legs, and staggered to the other bedroom to find her aunt lying with a pillow over her face. Katya yanked it aside, looked into Irina’s glazed eyes and groaned. She’d gotten her aunt killed too. She’d come to visit all that was left of her family because she thought it was the right thing to do and she couldn’t have been more wrong. She reached out, brushed a lock of hair from her aunt’s face and left a smear of blood. The sight of it brought fresh panic.

She’d been raped and killed in self-defense, but nothing was straightforward. The word of Americans against a Russian. She shuddered as she conducted a trial in her mind. Her head felt as if a band tightened around it. If she called the police there was no hope of doing what she’d planned. All this would have been for nothing. She had to be strong. There was no choice.

Ignore the pain. Get rid of the blood.
She staggered into the bathroom. They’d touched, licked, bitten and pushed themselves inside her, and the two who didn’t were just as guilty because they’d done nothing to stop their asshole friends. With the water on full force, she stood under the flow. As she rubbed soap over her battered, aching body and stared at the red nail marks on her hips, her knees crumpled and she fell.

The water turned cold before her legs and mind were strong enough to support her.

Vasily lay as she’d left him. Katya averted her gaze and dressed. She brushed the tangles from her wet hair, then packed. The picture of her family she’d propped next to the bed had fallen, the glass broken. She folded the photograph and put it inside her violin case.

All her life, she’d been looked after. Galya had watched over her at school and tackled the bullies. Her parents had put warmers in her boots and checked her mittens were in her coat pockets. Katya had assumed what she’d already done in Moscow to bring her this far proved her strength, but no. How stupid to think she was as strong as her sister.

She took a deep breath. Galya had always told her she didn’t need to be strong, only determined. Katya wouldn’t give up. She searched the house again for her papers and money, but found nothing. Before she left, she wiped the blood from her aunt’s head, erased some of her bloody hand and footprints using bleach but knew the police would find evidence everywhere. An immigration officer had taken her photograph and fingerprints when she arrived. Her papers might be still hidden in the house. What she’d not been able to find, the police surely would. Then they’d find her. Getting rid of her prints was a waste of time. She had to disappear.

Her heart was heavy when she took the cash the men paid to rape her. The keys to Vasily’s truck were in the kitchen along with the money from the card game. She took that too. When she walked into the dark yard and the dogs began to bark, she froze, but they were still locked up. She put her suitcase on the passenger seat, her violin and backpack in the foot-well.

She’d never driven an automatic before, let alone a vehicle this size. Taking a deep breath, she put it into drive and pressed her foot on the pedal. She surged forward too fast for about thirty yards before slamming the lever into park. The truck came to a juddering halt a few feet from a tree and her tears blinded her.

It was several minutes before she felt able to try again, her control hanging by a delicate thread. But by the time she reached the paved road, she drove steadily. She turned right because it was easier and although she had a vague plan to see the ocean, she had no idea where it was. There weren’t any signs and the streets looked the same in the dark. She turned right again. If she wasn’t careful she’d go in a circle.

Junctions, lights, other cars and the occasional pedestrian sent her heart rate soaring. A police car shot by, lights flashing, and she eased to a crawl. As she began to feel she’d drive forever in the limbo-land of Fort Lauderdale suburbs, she spotted a sign for Miami and pulled onto I-95.

Eventually exited on Beaches – East.

She saw no hotels, motels, places to hide, only businesses where she could have her nails done or her skin inked. She drove over train tracks and a bridge. Ahead loomed tower blocks with lights blazing in isolated windows.

When she could no longer go straight, Katya turned left and searched for a place to pull in, but one development was joined at the hip to another and there were no open spaces except for building sites. She finally drove into a strip mall and parked in the darkest corner. With engine and lights off, she sat and exhaled, listening to metal ticking.

The last sixty minutes had been spent mostly on autopilot. She’d been lucky the roads were almost empty, but driving had consumed her remaining energy. She tried to will her body to stop hurting. Didn’t work. Reminding herself she was alive, only reminded her Vasily wasn’t. Everywhere hurt and she wanted to open her mouth and howl. Not too late to go to the police but the thought petrified her.
Remember what you came here to do. Keep that in your heart. Let that make you strong.

She searched the cab for coins and gasped when she opened the glove box to find her passport, visa paperwork and information from the university. No money or return ticket. Good news holding hands with bad.

Her feet almost went from under her as she climbed out. She felt as if she’d been knocked down by a car or juggled inside a tornado. The ache between her legs—
don’t think about it.
She grabbed an unopened bottle of water, left the keys on the seat, the door of the truck ajar and walked away with her things. Once she’d crossed the street, she breathed more easily.

The feeling didn’t last. Gates and brick walls barred her way to the beach and with every step sapping her remaining energy, she wasn’t sure how far she could walk. Plus she looked conspicuous. Every time a car passed and slowed, adrenaline surged. She re-crossed the road and behind a dumpster, opened her suitcase.

She’d packed a lifetime ago, apprehensive but excited about what lay ahead.
Fool.
She’d accepted the danger of what she planned, because she knew revenge could get her killed. There was an old saying, if you head out for vengeance, dig two graves and she’d almost fallen before she reached the first hurdle. Yet how could she have anticipated what Vasily would do? The desire for a few days of luxury in her aunt and uncle’s lovely house had cost her dearly.

In the gloom, Katya retrieved toiletries, underwear, and a few items of clothing. No extra shoes. The old brown sandals she wore would have to do. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she discarded one possession after another, as if she were shedding her identity.

She forced so much in her backpack she could barely fasten the straps. Her bikini went into a compartment of her violin case, though she couldn’t imagine wearing it. She stared at the suitcase and sighed. Her doll lay on the top of her clothes, together with a children’s book her mother had written. She shouldn’t take anything she didn’t really need.

But abandoning them was a step too far. She picked up the doll and book before sliding the suitcase up the side of the dumpster and tipping it in. It fell with a muffled thud. Katya swallowed hard, crossed the street and slowly walked north until she found a public access.

She trudged down the track and onto the sand. A long ribbon of beach glimmered in the moonlight and beyond that lay a dark sea. She headed toward the water, stopped when it lapped her toes, and turned to look at the buildings. A world of people. She’d come a long way to find one of them. He was here somewhere and had no idea she was coming for him.

Katya returned her gaze to the water. The waves were beautiful curling plumes that appeared solid for a moment before dissolving with a hiss at her feet. Beyond the breaking waves, the ocean was impenetrably black. She retreated to where the sand was dry, put down her violin, shrugged off her backpack, and sat hugging her knees, still clutching the doll and book.

Shock immobilized her body but not her mind. She’d been robbed, raped, and she’d killed. She bit back a whimper. She’d looked forward to sitting on a beach, staring at the water, and those bastards had ruined it with their disgusting cocks and cruel hands. She didn’t want to think about what happened but how could she not? Tears still trickled down her cheeks when she thought she had no more left to shed, but she kept her sobs inside.

Everything she did turned out wrong. She picked the wrong boyfriend, the wrong subject at university, the wrong night to go to a party and leave her family to return home alone. Even when she’d finally gotten her way and gone to the Conservatory to study music, she felt guilty because she’d disappointed her parents. She wanted to make them proud of her even if they were no longer here to see it, wanted to put everything right and she’d already fucked up.

It’s not my fault.

You should have run the moment you suspected.

It’s not my fault.

She re-ran everything, the hot night wrapping her in a smothering blanket. She’d not led the men on, not encouraged them. She’d fled. Screamed no. A storm thundered in her head, swirling her thoughts, bringing them almost to the point she could grab them and understand, only for them to be torn away again. Maybe she was going mad.

As Katya brooded, slivers of pink and orange sliced across the horizon. A new day and she couldn’t stay here. She counted the money. Two hundred and fifty-three dollars. Enough to find a cheap room and pull herself back together. Then the doubts returned. Had she run far enough? What would happen when Vasily and Irina were found? Would the police link her to the house? Would she be able to do what she’d promised her dead family?

The sun rose. The beach was reclaimed by those with safe, ordered lives. Katya pushed herself upright and left the book and doll. Time to grow up.

Aleksei pushed open the door of Church’s Coin and Stamp store and Park followed him inside.

The girl behind the counter straightened. “Can I help you?”

“Open it.” Park nodded to the door at the rear.

“I—”

“Open the door.”

She gulped but the door buzzed open and Aleksei and Park headed for the back of the store. When they walked into Church’s office, the guy wet himself. To be fair, it was probably the sight of Park who was taller than Aleksei and considerably broader, plus the baseball bat in Park’s gloved hand rather than Aleksei who’d caused the leak. Church stood there with a damp patch growing on his pants, his mouth opening and closing like a distressed fish.

“I can explain,” Church eventually forced out.

“Go ahead,” Aleksei said.

He hardly listened. Whatever excuses Church spouted, the bottom line was that he was a thief and if Aleksei let him get away with it, then others might make the same mistake. Eventually, Church came to a stuttering halt.

“What are you going to do about it?” Aleksei asked.

“I can get the money. It was just a temporary shortfall.”

“Open your safe and give me what I’m owed in coins. Don’t try to cheat me.”

Church blanched. Park took a step toward him, lifted the bat and the guy whimpered. Minutes later, the safe was open. Aleksei didn’t really want coins. He’d have to sell them and he was trying to hide money not deal in it, but this was the end of his business with Church. He could no longer trust him. Well, he’d never trusted him. He didn’t trust anyone. In his business, everyone was a crook.

“If I find you’ve cheated me…” Aleksei said as Church packed everything into a drawstring bag.

“You’ve got more than I owe you. When I get the cash, I can buy all those back. It’s just the—”

“No,” Aleksei said. “We’re done.”

“But you can’t—”

Park smashed the bat down onto Church’s laptop and Church shrieked.

“Leave him the bat. Your son plays baseball, doesn’t he?” Aleksei walked out again with Park on his heels.

The Lexus was parked around the corner.

“Where now, boss?” Park asked.

“The bank. I wouldn’t want to get robbed.”

The coins were a headache. Now he’d have to do some work online and find out what they were worth and come up with a way to convert them without raising any flags. His phone rang as Park pulled away from the curb and when he saw who was calling, he swore.

“Yes,” Aleksei snapped.

“I need to sweeten Max Hastings. Who do you suggest?”

Aleksei sagged against the seat. He was tired of dealing with idiots.

* * * * *

Katya walked, her emotions tearing her apart. She raged with anger—at the men, at herself. She should have run sooner, fought harder, screamed louder. The memories of what they’d done refused to leave her head. Her body ached, her heart a lead weight in her chest.

The sound of Russian being spoken brought her to a stumbling halt. Two middle-aged women in bright dresses sat outside a café where a wooden pelican hung over the door. They were drinking coffee, chattering about money. Drawn to the familiar and a need to rest for a while pulled her inside.

At the counter, she opened her mouth and nothing came out.
Oh hell.

“Yeah?” the waitress asked.

Katya pointed at the coffee machine and offered a twenty.

“Cream?”

She shook her head. The woman poured coffee into a large mug. Katya scooped the bills and coins into trembling fingers and shoved them in a pocket of her backpack. She chose a table inside, away from the window. With the relief of sitting came the worry of whether she could bear to get up again. Although she didn’t use sugar, she emptied three packets into her mug, stirring slowly.
Good for shock. Good for energy.

The door opened and she flinched.
Am I going to jump at everything?

A dark-haired guy strolled to the counter. “Good morning, Maddy.”

“Morning to you, Nik. You’re early today.”

“A waste being in bed on my own, when others could share the pleasure. Would you sing me a lullaby tonight?”

“In your dreams.”

Harmless flirting and Katya relaxed. She felt beyond exhausted. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It hurt to sit. She held the mug with both hands and sipped the over-sweet liquid, aware that of all the places the man could sit, he chose the next table.

“Good coffee,” he said.

Don’t talk to me.

“The muffins are good, too.”

She took another sip.

“Can I buy you one?”

She ignored him.

“You new around here?” he asked in Russian.

She drank in the language, then fretted he’d guessed she was Russian. Something in the way she looked? Beaten, downtrodden. She almost smiled.

He leaned closer. “You need something?”

She glared at him.

“You look ill, anxious. You’re wearing a long sleeved top, though pretty girls usually find a less visible place to shoot up.”

“I don’t take drugs.” She spoke in Russian. She had to be normal or she’d slide away from reality and never find her way back.

“Allergic to the sun or a new arrival?”

“Vampire.”

He laughed. “No, sun’s up. You’re new and still have our unfortunate Russian habit of not looking happy. How can you live in Sunny Isles and not be happy?”

“Who says I live here?”

“Where do you live then?”

“You’re annoying me.”
And scaring me a little.

“Nearby?”

When she stayed silent, he grinned.

“Nikolai Lenkov. Call me Nik.” He leaned over and held out his hand.

He was a few years older than her with a happy face, dancing eyes. She resented him his happiness. She ignored his hand and he let it fall.

“Can I join you?” He moved his half-eaten muffin and coffee to her table without waiting for a reply. “You look like you need a friend.”

Not one like him.

“Any good?” He nodded at the violin.

“Yes.”

“Like to come back to my place and we’ll make music together?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Was she supposed to laugh? She wasn’t sure she’d ever laugh again. “No.”

He sighed. “Well, how would you like to be in the movies?”

“Ah, my dreams have come true.”

“Such sarcasm.” He put a business card on the table.

She read it. He was a photographer. “I have a job. I’m a teacher.”

“You could still be a movie star, make some extra cash.”

She wondered how he kept his face straight. “And how does that work?”

“You come to my studio. I take photographs. You show them to agencies.”

“I pay you?”

“That’s the general idea, but if you’re…very good, I could pay you.” He winked.

Katya gulped back the gag, but knew he’d heard.

“Are you okay? Do you want some water?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Are you really any good on the violin?”

“I’ve played for Putin.”

He whistled. “Maybe I know a place that could use a violinist in the evenings. Interested?”

A lump formed in her throat. Had her luck turned or was this a trick? “What sort of place?”

“A restaurant. A good one. Russian.”

“On par with McDonalds?”
I can make a joke?

He laughed. “Nearly. What do you think?”

Even though she didn’t trust him, the conversation had lifted her spirits. “Perhaps.”

He took out his phone. “Give me your number.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Now I know you’re just off the boat. Address?”

As she’d give him that. “I got…thrown out of my apartment.”

“What for?”

“Not cleaning the tub.”

“I can’t believe a nice girl like you wouldn’t clean the tub.”

“Maybe I’m not nice.”

“Then I’d really like you to come and play with me. I’ll clean the tub. What do you say?”

“I can’t afford you.”

He laughed. “Okay, funny girl. If you’re interested, I’ll see you back here at three, hopefully with a gig lined up.”

She neither nodded nor shook her head.

He got to his feet. “Do you speak English?”

“Better than you,” she said in English.

Nik was still laughing when he walked out.

Katya watched him go. He was slightly overweight but dressed in sharp clothes. If she’d been looking for a guy like him, she’d never have found him. She almost liked him, but the effort of having a normal conversation had exhausted her. She made the coffee last as long as she could.

Finding a cheap hotel wasn’t easy. The gleaming tower blocks of Sunny Isles, rising along the beachfront, were testament to the money being poured into the area, and according to her Internet research back home, a lot of it was Russian. Katya could see no point asking the room rate in those when the low level motels were too expensive. Though she was tempted to blow all she had on one night of luxury, not because she deserved it, but tomorrow she might be in jail.

She bought water and an apple from a Publix grocery store and picked up a copy of the community newspaper. Plenty of apartments to rent, none she could afford. She kept walking, getting hotter and more tired.

The Desert Sands looked like a painted sand castle crumbling at the edges, but was further from the beach and affordable. She had to pay cash in advance because she had no credit card, pay extra because she wanted a room now. She gave her name as Misha Pavlov and made up an address in New York. In return she received a key attached to a rectangle of metal.

She winced when the carpet in the room stuck to her sandals. The sparse furnishings consisted of a double bed, a small table with a lamp, a lumpy armchair and a television fastened to the wall at a crooked angle. A bathroom lay behind a broken concertina door. The room was at the front of the motel with a view of a parking garage. She drew the drapes and ensured the door was locked, the chain across, before she undressed. She did everything slowly, each movement a mental effort as well as a physical one.

There were so many marks on her body; bites, bruises and scratches stood out on her pale skin. If bedbugs waited to bite, they’d hardly make her look worse. A glance in the mirror was a mistake. Her eyes looked wounded. She tightened her mouth and stepped into the shower. Standing under the tepid flow, she washed and washed until she was too tired to stay on her feet any longer.

The largest towel was barely big enough to wrap around her. She slid her feet into her sandals before walking through to the bedroom, and lay naked under the thin sheet, her gaze fixed on the fan wobbling overhead. A demon moaned in a cranky air-conditioning unit and unintelligible voices mumbled through the walls. Worn out to the point of collapse, Katya thought she’d sleep the moment she closed her eyes. She didn’t. She felt empty, as if she’d left a tap running and her soul was draining out.

When thoughts of Ethan interwove with those about the guys who’d raped her, it hurt to breathe. She’d thought he’d be the one good thing to cling to, but he’d snuck from her bed like a thief. He’d taken what he wanted and moved on. She had no one but herself. She allowed herself a moment of self-pity and then shoved the tears down deep.

Desperate to regain control of her emotions, she took out her violin and lay on the bed. She ran her fingers along the delicate scroll where the wood curled like a fern frond, then around each peg and down the neck, stroking the instrument as if it were a living thing. Its familiar smell was reassuring enough to let her imagine she was at home. She danced her fingers along the strings and played in her mind, the melody flowing through her blood. Wrapped in music, she felt safe, and slept.