Authors: Camille Taylor
No Law (Law #3) (9 page)
What the hell am I going to do now?
The Russians obviously believed she was a threat to them and they wanted to dispose of her. There was no going back to her job or her apartment now. They would be watching for her there. She didn’t have many friends and had been rather anti-social in the years she’d been back from Russia, cutting all ties with those who knew her as Mrs. Alan Thomas.
She drove around aimlessly, going with the flow of traffic with no destination in mind. She blended in with the early morning commuters, slowing only slightly as congestion began to thicken. Terrified, she studied her rearview mirror for any signs that the two men had caught up with her. The anxiety didn’t lessen when she saw no one following her. Unsure what to do next, her nerves high strung as fear gnawed in her belly, she felt nauseous. She thought briefly of taking the next exit that would take her out of the city but knew it would do no good.
In Russia, there had been no chance of prosecution, even if she’d known the identities of the men who had murdered Alan. Here, in the States, however, Mikhail was not above the law and somewhere out there was a District Attorney who would love to make an example of him. She had seen Mikhail, had studied his face and could easily, if called upon, describe him to a sketch artist and testify against him in a court of law. He might be acquitted with the right lawyer but that kind of case would come with a decent amount of media coverage and she doubted Mikhail’s bosses, who had made a point to stay under the radar, would appreciate their activities being thrown into the light of day.
The way she saw it—and she’d studied it from many different angles—she was a dead woman. Sooner or later Mikhail’s men would catch up to her and when they did there would be no bargaining, no pleading, no chance whatsoever for her. She was a witness and witnesses usually didn’t last long around men like Mikhail. No matter where she ran, he would find her. She shivered at the unpleasant image that popped into her head. No, she couldn’t run. There was no point. Her only choice was to stay and fight.
How she planned to do that, she didn’t know.
With tears burning her eyes, she brought up her cell and flicked through her contacts list. Since the dark days in the aftermath of Alan’s horrible death, she had closed herself off from the rest of the world, severing all the friendships she had forged over the years. She had wanted to be alone with her grief and the guilt she felt for playing such a pivotal part. To this day, only a select few knew the truth about her involvement in Alan’s death and she never again wanted to be in the position to inadvertently cause another person’s demise. Which was why she had steered clear of all types of relationships, unable to forget the past and forgive herself. The only thing that had kept her sane was her work, her own safe haven, or at least it had been until a few nights ago.
Her parents lived in Minnesota, and while they would do anything for her, they couldn’t help. Her problem was well beyond the scope that her mechanic father and homemaker mother could assist with. Most of the numbers saved in her phone were work related, most contacts within museums across the world, the majority in Russia. That was her one-up; she had the
in
with Russia, having friends in the top museums and even in the Ministry of Culture, the big wigs when it came to letting Russia’s historical treasures out of the country.
She stopped when she reached Elena’s number. As much as she didn’t want to trouble her, she saw no other solution. She needed help and had nowhere else to turn. She took a moment to appreciate the sad state her life had become before glancing at the digital clock on her dashboard, hoping it wasn’t too early to call, and was shocked to discover it past eleven. She hadn’t even noticed the hours ticking away as she’d driven aimlessly around the city.
Navigating through traffic, she hit the call button and listened to it ring. The answering machine announced that Lucas and Elena were currently unavailable, and she closed her eyes for a split second, panic welling up inside her as she felt the urge to give up and cry.
Resigned, she spoke into the phone, silently praying Elena would get back to her soon. Then she hung up and continued driving to God knows where. She had already burned a quarter of a tank that morning. Another hour or so and she’d need to pull into a service station, the thought leaving her feeling cold and vulnerable. After a few moments of internal debate, she made a U-turn, cutting across the lanes of traffic and headed towards Annandale.
She picked up her phone again and accessed her address section. She knew she had Elena’s address somewhere, and she only prayed she’d saved it in her phone. She hadn’t been a great friend to Elena, not seeing her since she’d left Moscow, but she had sent a sympathy card to her when Elena’s first husband had been killed.
Later, she’d sent a congratulations card along with a big teddy bear to the house when Elena’s daughter had been born. She let out a deep breath when she found what she was looking for, then punched the info into her GPS and tried to calm herself.
Dmitry followed Elena inside, burdened down with groceries while she juggled Yvonne on her hip, her purse and the baby bag on her shoulder, her house keys in her hand.
“When I said I’d love to help out, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said as he put the bags down on the kitchen counter and took his little niece into his arms. At six months, Yvonne was just starting to show her personality, including her Russian roots.
“Stop grouching,” Elena told him as she began putting her purchases into the pantry. He smiled as Yvonne blew a raspberry. She was just the sweetest thing and told Elena so.
Her gaze dropped to Yvonne, as if expecting to see him speaking of another child in his arms. “Oh, sure, except for crying out five times a night and pooping constantly. But sure, she’s sweet, unless of course you feed her pumpkin, because she’s not one for her vegetables. Just like her daddy.”
He heard the love in her voice and ached inside. Being around the Gates family always did that to him. They were just so happy and in love. Would he ever experience the same feelings?
“Yeah, well, Lucas doesn’t need silly girly vegetables to make him big and strong, that’s what a gym’s for,” he said. His brother-in-law was not lacking in the strength department.
“Don’t listen to Uncle Dmitry, Yvonne. Vegetables are good for you and so yummy.”
Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Tell the kid some more lies, Elena. Why don’t you tell her all about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny while you’re at it?”
“Shush,” Elena scolded him as she covered the baby’s ears. “She’s at a very susceptible age.”
“She’d better learn the realities of life fast, like how she won’t be dating until she’s at least thirty, if Lucas and I have our way, and don’t forget Daddy’s packing. Good luck to any boy who wishes to court Yvonne Gates,” he added, laughing.
“Ha-ha,” Elena said. “You’re supposed to be on my side, not Lucas’s.”
He scowled. “Fat chance of that. No man is ever touching my niece.”
Elena smiled at the protectiveness in his voice and looked over his broad shoulder to see the answering machine blinking rapidly. She bounced over to the machine like a teenage girl waiting for her first crush to call, ruffling his hair with her fingers as she’d done many times when they were children on her way past.
“There’s a message,” she told him. “I wonder if it’s Lucas letting me know when he’ll be home.”
He joined her by the machine. “Does he ever?”
Elena glared at him. “Yes. When he remembers.”
She pressed the play button, her body stiffening when a woman’s voice came on the line, slightly breathless.
“Hi, Elena. It’s Carey, Carey Madigan. I really need to talk to you. I know it’s been a while, but I need your help. I have nowhere else to turn, so please call me as soon as you get this, please.”
After leaving her number, she hung up.
“Oh my.” Elena frowned, picking up the handset and dialing the cell number with shaky hands. It rang a few times before he heard the same woman’s voice, soft, strained and familiar come through the speaker.
“Elena?”
“Hi, Carey, I just got in. What’s going on?”
“I’m in trouble, Elena, big trouble. I can’t go home and I need your help. I hate to ask and put you in this position but you’re the only one I can call.”
“Get your ass here right now. Do you have my address?”
“I’m halfway there. I’ll see you in ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and…thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, you goose, just get here so we can talk,” Elena ordered.
He knew that tone. No one dared argue with it.
Elena hung up the phone, concern pinching her face. He didn’t recall Elena ever mentioning a Carey, and he found himself intrigued.
“Does Carey have red hair?” he asked.
“Yes.” Elena frowned. “Why?”
He was glad he was cradling Yvonne; with the look Elena just shot him, he would need all the protection he could get. He cleared his throat.
“A woman came to see you at the office yesterday, petite, red haired, blue-green eyes. The front desk called me and said she was looking for you, so I went to see her.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She wouldn’t talk to me. She seemed upset, though.”
“I’ve known Carey for a long time. Five years ago, her husband was murdered and she hasn’t been the same since.”
He remembered the case and how upset Elena was that she couldn’t do anything for the victim’s wife. He suddenly remembered the name, Professor Alan Thomas. He and his wife were guests of the country working for the Ministry of Culture in cataloguing and reviewing Russia’s treasures. Carey had discovered forgeries and had gone to the authorities.
He heard a car pull into the driveway. Elena’s worried gaze darted towards the door.
“I’ll put Yvonne down for her nap,” Dmitry said.
Elena nodded as he headed down the hall with his niece. When he reached the threshold to Yvonne’s bedroom, he glanced back as his sister took a deep breath and started for the door.
The door opened before Carey could knock and she was immediately smothered by a giant bear hug. Elena stepped back and allowed her to enter, surveying her with a critical eye. No doubt she had already spotted the dark circles under her eyes and she was glad she hadn’t lost any weight, although with all the stress she was under she didn’t doubt there would be some serious repercussions to her body when this was all over.
If I survive it, of course.
She ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she’d had time to brush it and go through basic hygiene this morning. It had been years since Elena had last seen her and this was not the impression she wanted to make.
“Coffee?” Elena asked.
She nodded. At thirty-two, Elena was looking more like twenty-five. Being happily married certainly agreed with her. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, just long enough to touch her shoulders and her cool grey eyes crinkled when she smiled. She busied herself brewing coffee.
Her gaze moved from Elena and glanced about the room. The kitchen appeared to have been renovated in the last couple of years, the appliances updated and more accessible. The general design was pure male, built to last, but she could see Elena in the pink and white lace table cloth, along with the vase of fresh flowers standing proudly in the center of the dining table. They’d either been a gift or had bloomed under Elena’s care. Wherever she had gotten them, it was clear they weren’t store bought.
Several framed family photos hung proudly on the wall. From where she stood, she couldn’t make out any faces, only dimensions, picking up Elena, her daughter and who she presumed to be Mr. Gates. She felt a jolt of affection as she took in the blindingly happy smiles.
“You look really well, Elena,” she said as Elena handed her a mug of steaming hot coffee. She wrapped her hands around the cup and drew away its warmth, getting comfort from it.
“Thank you, and thank you for the cards and teddy bear. It’s Yvonne’s favorite, you know.”
She smiled. As an only child, she had no nieces or nephews to spoil so she was happy the little girl was enjoying the first present she had ever purchased for a child. She took a sip of coffee, praying her tightly wound stomach would hold the liquid.
“I didn’t want to come here. Not like this. I never wanted to involve you. But I’m out of options.”
“What’s this all about, Carey?”
“My boss at the museum where I work was murdered.” She dabbed at her eyes, and heard Elena suck in her breath and knew she must be thinking of Alan, how it was so much like his death, and she was right. “The thing is, and you’ll probably think I’m paranoid, but they’re after me now. I probably know too much for their liking.”
Elena gave her a speculative look. “And who are they?”
“I know how this is going to sound, but I believe it’s the Russian Mafiya,” she said, her voice barely a notch under hysterical. “Or at least one branch of it, not to mention a certain detective who seems to think I had something to do with Brian’s death…”
***
Dmitry stopped in the hallway out of sight and listened as the redhead explained her situation. She was wearing the same clothes she had on the day before, when he’d met her in the office, and they were wrinkled. It was clear she’d slept in them.
She told Elena a tale of murder, and of the three men who’d seen her as well as her license and knew her name and address. He listened to her explain how they’d followed her, tried to grab her.
The woman was certifiable—and to think, he’d actually been worried about her. Was she a novelist? With that kind of imagination, she could be a bestseller. She was probably cracking up due to latent memories from her husband’s murder. He knew an experience like that was bound to fuck a person up. Had she even seen a therapist after the trauma she’d gone through?
“And today,” the woman continued, “just before I called you, I saw two of the men from the museum at my apartment, and I barely got out in time before I heard them break in. I am so scared, Elena. Moscow scared. I have no idea what to do.”
He came out from hiding in the hallway and the woman startled. Her teary eyes widened as she took him in. She didn’t retreat, clearly trusting Elena, and he admired her for that. He stopped beside his sister and could see Carey’s mind working as she recalled where she knew him from. Recognition came into her eyes before she glanced between Elena and himself.
Their resemblance wasn’t noticeable except for their eyes. Most people didn’t see the likeness until they were in the same room together.
He turned to Elena and spoke in their native tongue. “Elena, are you seriously going to stand here and listen to this ridiculous story? This woman is a few cards short of a full deck.”
He noticed the smirk on his sister’s face. Why the hell did she find this so amusing?
Carey crossed her arms beneath her breasts, unconsciously causing them to plump, and glared at him. Her eyes flashed in outrage.
“I’m not crazy, thank you very much. You want proof, check out my SUV. If you have time, why don’t you go ahead and dislodge the bullets imbedded in the back.”
Elena paled. “They shot at you? Are you all right?” She looked her up and down for signs of injury.
She shrugged. A blush rose from his shirt collar. He had not meant for her to hear. He was pretty sure he had started speaking in Russian. Had he accidentally reverted to English? Since moving to the States, he had to assimilate himself, only speaking Russian when he was alone with Elena. He stared at Carey before turning to Elena, whose smirk returned to her face now that she was sure the other woman was uninjured. It took him a few seconds to put things together.
“You speak Russian?” he asked.
Carey nodded. “Courtesy of four years living and working in Russia.”
Elena smiled proudly, her affection showing. “You’re looking at a woman with one hell of an impressive résumé, along with a bachelor’s degree in art history and a masters in Russian antiquities.” She looked back at Carey. “I missed you when you moved to St. Petersburg.”
Carey smiled. “Apparently, you didn’t care for my work. I heard you blew up the State Hermitage.”
“Actually, it was just St. George’s Hall in the Palace.”
Carey nodded. “Much better.”
“Dmitry,” she said, glancing at him. “I’d like you to meet Carey Madigan. Carey, my brother Dmitry Ivanov.”
Carey nodded and held out her hand. He took it in his much bigger one and squeezed gently. A jolt of electricity raced up his arms from the first touch and he swallowed hard. Her eyes widened in surprise; she’d felt it too. He stared into her eyes and felt something shift inside him as his heart began to beat heavily. He breathed her scent deep into his lungs and felt it settle there.
His body hardened painfully, robbing him of breath. Images of her naked, writhing beneath him, flittered into his mind. For a moment, he imagined he could actually feel her closing around his rigid length. She wet her lips and he had to bite back a moan. His body demanded he take possession of what it deemed his, and he agreed. It was as if his subconscious already knew she was his woman and was just waiting for his brain to catch up.
Elena cleared her throat and they both snatched their hands away. He caught Carey’s blush. How long had they been staring at each other? He’d been completely unaware of his surroundings. The whole world seemed to have melted away until it had just been the two of them.
He swallowed with difficulty and noticed Carey’s pulse throbbed quickly in her throat. She was not unaffected, her face flushed and slightly breathless. She avoided his gaze and rubbed discreetly at her hand. He knew exactly what she was feeling. His own still tingled and hummed with electricity. He’d never experienced anything so potent in his life.
