Sanctuary (23 page)

“Well, ask him for it,” Ryan replied.

Ivanov exchanged glances with Bernie. “I’m afraid the man’s a little indisposed at the moment.”

Ryan barely concealed a shiver of fear.

Ivanov smirked, as if registering Ryan’s realization. “You catch on fast.” He took another measured sip of coffee, seeming to enjoy the power he wielded. Lowering his mug, he looked at Ryan with false sympathy. “Your wife spotted me at a restaurant last Friday. I was hoping to have a friendly conversation with her. Instead she took off like a frightened gazelle. Luckily, I was able to track her down again.”

“Where is she?” Ryan demanded a second time, his voice deliberate and controlled, unlike his emotions.

“She’s fine,” he said. “But I need your help—”

Ryan came uncorked. “You terrorize my wife, and now—?”

“I want my money … is that too much to ask?”

“And you think Melissa knows where it is?”

Ivanov smiled broadly. “Of course she knows.”

“If you’re so sure, why’d you wait so long to approach her?”

“Good question. Frankly, at first, I had my doubts about her. I briefly considered the possibility that she had no knowledge of the money or its whereabouts, unlikely as that seems to me now.”

“She never said anything to me—”

“My point exactly,” Ivanov said. “She didn’t say
anything
about her past at all, did she?”

Ryan said nothing.

Ivanov looked amused. “Don’t feel too bad. She lied to both of us. And that’s what finally persuaded me that she was hiding the money.”

“That’s a big leap in logic,” Ryan muttered. “I want no part of this fantasy.”

Bernie shook his head sadly. “There’s no getting out, Ryan.”

Ivanov changed the subject abruptly. “Do I understand correctly that your parents reside in Montana? Your dad goes to town on Friday afternoons … helps a friend restore a ’57 Chevy.”

Ryan was beginning to comprehend.

“Sundays, they attend the community church, always sit in the fourth pew, in front of their neighbor, Doris Chandler, who annoys your mother with her constant chattering. Need I continue?”

“Need I be impressed?” Ryan said.

“Be convinced. I have friends everywhere.” Ivanov cocked his head.

“You’re threatening my family.”

“I’m explaining the stakes.”

Ryan fell silent. Ivanov added, “You might as well know the full story. Your wife’s been in touch with the FBI. She knows you work for me.”

Ryan frowned in disbelief.

Ivanov smirked. “My dear boy, if it walks on two legs … I can bribe it. I’ve got enough Feds on my payroll to start my own federal police force. How do you think I found Melissa’s father?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Talk sense to your little woman. Lay out the red carpet of reason,” Ivanov said calmly, as if explaining the theory of physics. “We don’t have much time. If the Feds put her under their protection—
poof!
she’s gone. Later, she betrays you in court, taking the rest of us down, too. Of course, I won’t let that happen.”

Ivanov’s eyes turned cold as he leaned over to make a point. “Mr. James, witnesses have a way of disappearing long before they ever testify in court.”

The evil truth registered in the Russian’s merciless eyes. Ryan took a deep breath and exhaled. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“By all means,” Ivanov said.

“Why don’t you question her yourself? Why do you need me?”

Ivanov stared back at Ryan, and for the first time since he’d entered Bernie’s office, his confidence seemed to falter. His face paled briefly, then he recovered his bravado. “I figured that you, as her husband, might be more … persuasive.”

Ryan considered Ivanov’s odd response. “And why should I believe you won’t harm her once we find your precious money?”

Ivanov broke into a resounding guffaw. “Because I
need
you, James. You’ve made us exceedingly rich. You’re like the goose laying the golden eggs. If I ruffle your feathers you might stop.”

“You have a strange way of putting things.”

“We’re starting over, bringing you fully on board. Are you with us or not?” Ivanov demanded.

Ryan caught Bernie’s eye, which registered an unmistakable look:
Don’t be a fool… .
Ryan hesitated. The silence spun out agonizingly. Finally he nodded. “All right.”

Bernie gave his own sigh, apparently relieved.

“Good man.” Ivanov made an open gesture with his hands that encompassed the entire office. “I don’t understand much of what you do here, but some of my financial people want to take a look at your files.”

“My files?” muttered Ryan.

“We want to expand your responsibilities when this is over. And, of course, you’ll make far more money.” Ivanov stood, brushed off his coat, and extended his hand to Ryan.

Ryan shook it, as if sealing an ordinary business deal—not a life-and-death decision to save Mellie’s life.

To Bernie, Ivanov scoffed, “You worry for nothing. This went well.” He got to the door and turned back to them. “They’ll give you a call, Ryan. You won’t meet here, of course.”

Ryan watched Ivanov swagger out.

  
Chapter Twenty-Seven
  

EAST MAIN STREET was crammed with vehicles waiting for the drawbridge, allowing early-morning boat passage down the Mystic River. Ivanov stared at the line of cars.
Commoners
, he thought, despising them.
Dull, pathetic mortals….

He sneered, recalling his conversation with the weakminded but easily manipulated Bernie Stanton.
Like taking candy from a baby
. He especially reveled in the pathetic expression on Ryan James’s face as Ivanov expertly led him down the long narrow path that would eventually lead to execution.

And to think I waited so long for this pleasure,
he thought, remembering how, three years ago, he had sent his lackeys to place the transmitter under Melissa’s car. Then his men, posing as city utility workers, had placed bugs in the living room of the beach-front home, as well as in the sailboat. Finally, to insure complete surveillance, they monitored all telephone and cell-phone communications. All this to snag the moment when Melissa might reveal to Ryan the truth about the money.

But nothing had been revealed, so Ivanov decided to stir the pot. He allowed Melissa to spot him at the restaurant, taking great pleasure in her scramble for safety. Then he’d tracked her movements, following her, curious to discover her final destination. Perhaps she might even lead him to the money. But she hadn’t.

No matter. Ivanov was finished with his elaborate spy games. In a few days, thanks to naïve but desperate intervention from her beloved husband, Melissa would reveal where her father had hidden eighty million, which, by now—if properly managed—should have quadrupled in value.

He held little trust in the whole bunch of “money-handlers,” that echelon of society that controlled large sums of drug and extortion money. But Ryan had made a tremendous amount of money for the network through his legitimate activities, and his partners were reluctant to part with their “star” trader.

Ultimately, though, desire for revenge had trumped his greed. Ivanov had convinced his partners to analyze the trading methods contained in Ryan’s computer records. They’d consented, and the last brick was in place. Time to eliminate the “goose,” since the golden eggs could be purchased elsewhere.

Revenge! How sweet it would be, and to take it out on the daughter of the very man who’d made him out to be a fool, along with the underling who’d married her.

Ryan was shaken as he stared at the row of monitors in his own office. When a knock came at his door, the sound seemed but a distant echo. Slowly the door opened and Marge poked her head around. “Need anything?”

He didn’t reply at first, then asked absentmindedly, “Has Bernie left for the day?”

Marge nodded. “That guy had some weird effect on both you
and
Bernie. Why don’t you just drop him? Who needs clients like that?”

Looking up at her, as though in a dream, he watched her enter the room tentatively.

“Ryan?”

“I’d better head out,” he managed to say. “Denny’s at home, waiting for a ride to the airport.”

“Hey, I’m worried about you,” Marge said quickly.

His mind a fog, he forced a laugh. “Don’t be.”

“See you tomorrow?”

He ignored the question and reached down to twist the key to his desk, locking up for the day. That done, he shut down the bank of screens.

Denny stroked Ryan’s dog, then carried his suitcase outside, tossing it into the trunk. He waited for Ryan to emerge from the house, holding the wrapped painting, the gift from Melissa.

A few more hours and he’d see his Evelyn again. Never in his life had he missed anyone so much. Coming to Connecticut, he’d hoped to help Ryan, but in the end he’d only made matters worse, it seemed.

Ryan eventually ran out to the car, wearing jeans and a blue golf shirt. He gave Denny a halfhearted smile, and they settled into the car for the drive to the airport.

“I left you a book,” he told Ryan, “in case you feel like reading.”

“Sure, thanks,” Ryan muttered.

“I wish things could have been different,” Denny said softly, determining whether he should press further. Denny waited a moment, then continued. “I also wish we could have prayed together … about this whole mess.”

Ryan snorted. “And what would
that
accomplish?”

Neither of them spoke for a time; then Denny said, “Hey, pal, what’s going on … besides the fact that you’re worried sick about Melissa?”

“Sorry, I’m not in a party mood.”

“No … it’s more than that,” he persisted.

“C’mon, Den—”

“Let me say this. I’m your friend, Ryan. We’ve been through a lot together. I know when things aren’t right.”

Ryan looked at him. “What do you want from me?”

“What aren’t you telling me? Why did Melissa
really
leave? Help me out here.”

Ryan shook his head as if disgusted but remained silent. Denny looked over at his friend, feeling the sadness that emanated from Ryan like relentless ocean waves. And then it came to Denny as if a whisper from a still, small voice. The thought didn’t make complete sense, but he plunged forward, almost desperately, taking a stab in the dark. “God can forgive anything, Ryan.”

His friend frowned, obviously surprised. “What’re you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done.”

“You think I ran her off?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know… .” A Scripture floated into Denny’s mind. “Remember the sermon on Sunday?”

Ryan said nothing, looking ahead to the road.

“‘Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ That’s what it’s about, Ryan. Repentance. Forgiveness of sin. Peace of mind. Freedom from guilt. That’s the gospel. You don’t need proof. You need grace. And it doesn’t always make sense, but it’s free. It’s not for good people. It’s for sinners—”

“You’re a broken record. You’re stuck in one place.”

“Yes, I am,” Denny replied.

“Just
who
do you think I am?”

Denny pondered the question, then said, “I’m not sure anymore.”

Ryan shot an angry look at him. “I have no use for your God. Melissa’s lost and He can’t find her.”

Denny caught the expression in Ryan’s eyes—the hurt and guilt, mingled with something new:
bitterness
. He’d seen the same look countless times on the streets of Denver’s inner city. “Don’t let time run out for you,” he finally urged.

When they reached the airport, Ryan drove to the gate, braked, and got out. Denny went around to the back of the car, carrying the painting from Melissa. He watched as Ryan opened the trunk, removed the suitcase, and placed it firmly on the cement. “Still friends?” Denny asked, extending his hand.

Ryan offered no response but shook hands as if finishing a deal. “Take care, Denny,” he replied, with a tone of finality.

His heart heavy, Denny picked up his bag and walked into the building alone. Once inside, he looked over his shoulder, through the glass windows, intending to wave good-bye, but Ryan had already sped off.

Daisy was exuberant, running to Ryan as he came into the house.

“Not now,” Ryan snapped, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. The dog dropped back, cowed by the unaccustomed rebuff.

Making his way to the living room, where the wide windows overlooked the cove, Ryan erupted in a fit of anger, grabbing the first thing he found—a pewter vase—and hurled it at the window.

Crash!
The glass exploded, jagged shards landing on the carpet and the floor of the porch outside. Several fragments sprinkled onto Melissa’s unfinished painting.

Daisy whined and scampered back, obviously stunned by the outburst.

Immobilized, Ryan stared at the bay through the broken window and, in a moment, felt Daisy whimpering next to him. She squatted down, nervously clawing at his ankle.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes shifting to Mellie’s painting.

He was startled by the jangle of the phone and answered it, expecting Ivanov. The call was not from the man who made his blood boil, but rather from his mother in Montana.

“Ryan?” she said. “I’m surprised to catch you at home. I was calling to thank Mellie for the lovely birthday card. How’s everything?”

Composing himself, he felt chagrined at the damage he’d caused to his own home. With forced calmness, he replied, “Fine, Mom. How are you and Dad?”

“Oh, your father hasn’t complained in the last hour, so I guess he’s all right.” She laughed softly. “We received your check. Can’t say how much we appreciate your help.”

“Forget it, Mom… .” His voice trailed off.

“How was your visit with Denny? Such a nice young man.”

“He left for Colorado a few hours ago.”

“Did he like Mellie’s painting? She told me all about it.”

“Yeah, he liked it. Uh … Mom, I need to get going.”

“Oh, sure. But may I talk to Melissa real quick? I want to thank her—”

“She’s not here at the moment. I’ll talk to you soon. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Ryan said good-bye and hung up, then placed both hands flat on the counter, breathing deeply, his mind a jumble of emotions. He stared at the broken window and then at Mellie’s painting, marred by his own rage—a fitting symbol of their fairy-tale existence.

Rehashing the past, he recalled the first time, years ago, when Bernie had approached him with a questionable trade. At the time, he’d vacillated, torn between making more money than he’d ever dreamed of—that, or taking the high road. Something inside him, a core of decency and honor, told him to quit his job and pack his bags. But greed had a stronger, louder voice.

Bernie was right. Ryan had been paid very well to look the other way. But he’d never known …
this
—the extent of the evil empire that controlled his workplace. And yet his own thirst for money had brought him to this place. Now he was in too much trouble to get out. The very lives of his wife and parents depended on what he did next.

How can Mellie ever forgive me?
he thought grimly.