Part 3 (1/2)
She straightened, meeting his incredulous stare with a steely one of her own. ”She wanted us to move in. I declined. You know the drill, Ferris.”
”So what'd you do?” he demanded. ”Send her back to that s.h.i.+thole? Pat her on the head and a.s.sure her putting out for money is a viable career option?”
McClintock's mouth tightened. ”She's a Good f.u.c.king Samaritan with a shaky grasp on the law. We could have fished her out, like you said, but Mikoyan would go so far underground, we'd lose him for years.”
”For f.u.c.k's sake, Shannon.”
”Jesus have mercy,” she sighed. But it wasn't a prayer for help. The chief slammed a folder closed on her desk, tossing it heedlessly into her overflowing inbox. ”Look, she's no different than any of these other girls you're trying to save, right?”
He slammed a hand on the desk. ”That's not-”
”It's exactly the point,” she cut in smoothly. ”You bide your time. You get in good with her, if it'll make you feel better,” she added with narrow-eyed scrutiny. ”Tuck her under your dirty cop wing, but you get your a.s.s in there and do your job.”
Nigel snapped his teeth shut on a vicious rejoinder. ”Yes, ma'am.”
She frowned. ”Don't screw this up, Ferris. You're one clouded decision from being found in a dumpster with a new smile. These guys are for real.”
So was he. He rose. ”Fine. I'll get you that evidence.”
The chief sat back, sighing. ”Have patience, Nigel. I know this isn't easy.”
Easy, nothing. It was long past any conception of easy.
”Yes, ma'am,” he said tightly.
”Good. Get out.” She sat back into the worn, creaking office chair and closed her eyes. Nigel gave her a minute, crossing the office and waiting with his hand on the door k.n.o.b. Finally, taking a deep breath, she added, ”And send the b.i.t.c.h in.”
He hid a grim smile. ”Chief wants to see you,” he said curtly as he pa.s.sed Simmons in the hall.
She ignored him.
As he rounded the corner into the cacophony of telephones and voices, Waters flipped a two-fingered salute. ”Chief said you're to type up everything before you leave tonight.”
Nigel bit back a groan. Of course she had. Anything else she wanted to smack him with? ”What's a guy gotta do to get a decent cup of coffee around here?”
Waters grinned. ”Don't press your luck, kid.”
Chapter Three.
”Was he handsome?”
Smothering a yawn, Katya deftly flipped the small, plain pancakes on the griddle. The morning had come too quickly for Katya's liking. Last night's earthquake shook plaster and dust all over the house, and Ivan insisted they clean before they were allowed to sleep.
It had given Katya a chance to rea.s.sure them all one more time as they swept and mopped and dusted, but the fitful sleep she'd gotten didn't make her feel better about any of it. The nightmares hadn't stopped, just getting worse and worse every time she rolled over.
Each one featured earthquakes. Fires. Corpses.
Katya rubbed her face. Dreams were funny business. She knew it was just her subconscious translating her fears, but it didn't make it any less frightening.
Especially when the real world pulled a page from her subconscious. The earthquake had been frighteningly intense. And right before their great escape plan, too.
On the plus side, Mother Nature had saved her from one last tumble with a dirty cop.
”Not really,” she finally said in returned Russian, her spatula flas.h.i.+ng as she swatted away Junie's curious finger. ”He was unshaved, and he kept scowling the whole time.”
Junie hid a grin.
Leaning against the doorjamb, Elena met Katya's eyes. She was the oldest, maybe twenty-five. Maybe a little more. She was striking enough, with her chemically red hair and curvaceous figure. Irina propped herself up on the slanted, scored counter, her lashes heavy with lack of sleep. She'd entertained clients most of the night. Even after the quake.
Magda and Uliana sat at the flimsy card table, each with a cup of the terrible canned coffee that was all they had.
Elena inhaled a drag from her cigarette, blowing out the smoke to the side-one of the concessions she'd made when she'd befriended Katya, who hated the smell. Her blue eyes gleamed wickedly. ”Was he big, at least? He seemed like he'd be big. And very good with his hands.”
It was all just chatter. Empty of meaning or intent. All of them knew the plan: escape. Soon, Ivan would come in for a cup of coffee and maybe some of the food she cooked. She'd give him his mug, slip all of the sleeping pills she'd managed to beg from a particularly infatuated john into the hot, bitter brew, and then wait for it to take effect.
It wasn't foolproof, but it was all they had. The rest would burn down with the house when they left.
If they were lucky, so would he.
The thought didn't set well in the bile filling her throat.
”I don't know,” she replied patiently, but she avoided Elena's gaze as her ears burned, sidestepping Junie and retrieving a cracked and broken mug from the doorless cabinet above her head. ”The earthquake happened. He left immediately.” But he'd had good hands, she silently admitted to herself as she poured the weak black coffee into the mug. ”Junie, for the last time, get your fingers out of there.”
A clatter of plastic made her smile.
”Was he scared when the walls shook, Katya?” The thirteen-year-old popped the stolen batter into her mouth, her brown eyes wide. The childlike gesture kicked Katya in the chest.
Looking at Junie always did.
”No,” Katya admitted. ”He pushed me to the floor and made sure nothing fell on me.” With his body, no less.
”Mine leapt up,” Magda said, her nose wrinkled over her coffee mug. ”His pants fell down around his ankles and he slid down the stairs like a fat, greased pig.”
”Ivan screamed like a little girl.” Behind her, Elena chuckled. ”He threw himself under the door frame and shook worse than the television.”
They all laughed, even if a hint of panic clung to the sound.
Junie wiped her hand on her sweater. ”Was he kind, Katya?”
Not even the hardened Elena had the heart to laugh at Junie's question. Naive as it was.
Katya turned, briefly meeting Elena's steady gaze over the girl's platinum blonde head. Her mouth twisted. ”They rarely are, sweetheart,” Katya said quietly.
The thirteen-year-old nodded, looking away.
A bit more of Katya's heart turned to dust.