Unlawful Attraction

Chapter One

Katya

“Katya!”

Penelope greeted me with a smile as soon as I walked through the office door. She was in her usual spot, her cubicle situated only a few feet away from mine, her pen hanging halfway out of her mouth. Penelope had become my best friend at the news station we worked at together, even though we hadn’t met until the first day of our job orientation here as journalists. She’d come all the way to Boston from Southern California after she’d graduated college, while I’d been in the city since I was twelve years old.

Although I wasn’t born in Boston, I couldn’t deny that the city was in my blood. I was as Bostonian as a fresh bowl of clam chowder, as rooting for the Red Sox during a baseball game at Fenway Park, no matter what the points were on the scoreboard. Which is why despite how much my parents begged me to take a full ride offer from NYU, I instead chose to attend Boston University, not regretting a single moment of my undergrad experience.

“Looking good, girl.” Penelope grinned as I moved closer to her desk. “God. You’re like a walking reminder that I need to hit the gym when I get off work. I feel like ever since I started going down this rabbit-hole of online info, I’ve been stuck at my desk for weeks and gaining five pounds a day.”

“You’re still working on that article about the dangers of social media, right? The one all about that troll who was sending out death threats from the community college down the street?”

“Yep. Still working on it.”

“In that case, I’ve got some bad news. From my experience, working a digital story means you’re going to be glued to that chair for at least the next six months,” I said, chuckling. “Seriously. It’s so hard putting together a story when you have to rely on what people are posting online all day, especially when it’s mostly just pics of their pets or their food.”

“Or their nether regions.” She frowned. “You’d be surprised how many grown men are posting their dick pics on their dating profiles nowadays.”

“Gross.” I frowned right back. “I thought most dating sites were able to censor those.”

“Sometimes, the censors just aren’t fast enough. Which is why I’m pretty fucking ecstatic about not being on the market anymore. Getting engaged was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

She threw a sympathetic look over at me before she went on. “I have no idea how you handle it, Katya. Creeps must be messaging you all day on those dating sites.”

I smirked. “That’s why I’m not on those dating sites.”

“Wait. What?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You have to be on the dating sites! How else are you supposed to ever meet anybody?”

“Penelope, you were just talking about all the dick pics...”

“Who cares about the dick pics? I’ve told you a million times, Katya, it doesn’t matter how much you love your job here. You can’t marry it, and it’s never going to keep you warm at night.”

“I don’t know,” I mused. “Following up on those lowlifes at the dog park is making me feel pretty nice and toasty.”

“The dog park? Is that where you’re coming back from? I thought you’d moved onto something else after our glorious editor-in-chief tried to put you on the parade beat.”

“Just because Francis is wrong about the dog park story doesn’t mean that I’m going to shut it down,” I replied. “I know what I’m doing. And I’m not willing to give up until I’ve exhausted all possible contacts.”

“You’re being a total stereotype right now, you know.” She let out a small laugh. “A hard-nosed Russian journalist who won’t stop until she’s gotten all the answers she needs.”

I playfully rolled my eyes at the accusation. I wasn’t even sure that there was a stereotype about Russian journalists, but even if there was, I was happy that I fit right into it. I’d finished first in my class with my degree in investigative journalism, my passion for breaking stories and delving into all the tiny details driving me right to the top. My near-obsession with my work was one of the reasons that I’d been hired by the news station in the first place, and my freelance investigative articles often went viral.

There was also the fact that I’d never been able to just leave things well enough alone. It was why I’d been tracking the activity at one of the local dog parks for months, tracing reports of missing pets and cross-examining them with posts I’d found online of specialty breed dogs suddenly up for sale a town or two away. I was almost certain that the two issues were connected, that there was a group of assholes stealing pets before selling them off somewhere else, but I still hadn’t been able to pinpoint the missing link.

Even though my editor-in-chief was desperate to get me onto something else, a fluff piece to get the taste of this story out of my mouth, I just couldn’t let it go. I despised the idea of these unknown creeps getting away with stealing people’s pets, the tiniest members of their families, with no form of consequences.

I couldn’t rest until I was able to get enough dirt on them to take them all down.

“I’m going back to the park later tonight,” I said. “I think I’ve finally figured out how they’re kidnapping the dogs and getting out of there before anyone notices that they’re missing.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Penelope asked. “I know it’s dogs and not like guns or drugs or anything... but if these guys are making real money at it, Katya, they’re probably going to want to keep making money at it. Which means they won’t have any problem hurting whoever gets in their way.”

“Nikogda ne pozvolyayte strakhu meshat' vam postupat' pravil'no.”

“Wha...What?” She looked confused.

“Never let fear get in the way of doing the right thing.” I offered her a wink as I translated my last sentence. I headed away from her desk and walked over toward my own. “I’ll keep you updated on what happens at the park.”

“You better!” She called out as I heard her start to rapidly type something across her keyboard.

***

Later...

The dog park was completely empty tonight.

It was a little weird, considering that there were often one or two late-night dogwalkers, people who worked late shifts and had just made it home in time to go for a light jog with their canine companions. Even though the place was deserted, I tried to keep an eye out for familiar faces, wanting to be ready if anyone popped up and happened to be free for an impromptu interview.

Just then, my phone vibrated with a text. I whipped it out to look at the screen, wondering if it was one of my story contacts or if someone had seen anything suspicious since I’d been back at the office. But when I saw the name of my ex-boyfriend flash across the screen, I hastily placed it back in my pocket, uninterested in texting him back.

Ugh.

I didn’t even want to think about him right now. It was hard enough trying to come up with nice things to say about the asshole. Not only was he a lousy gift-giver and utterly unable to handle the lightest of responsibilities, but he was also so crappy in bed that it felt like I was barely there at all. Honestly, it seemed my purpose in our relationship was to make him happy.

Besides, Penelope had the job thing all wrong.

I could marry my job, in a way. And it’d be even better than trying to find another guy to date, since at least putting in all those hours at work might actually result in a promotion or winning a Pulitzer for the news station. What the hell was I going to get out of putting those same hours into a romantic relationship?

According to my track record, the answer was zilch and zip.

“Pomogi mne!”

My ears perked up at the sound of a man’s voice, hoarse and guttural.

Help me?

Was that what he was saying? Had he just called out for help? There still wasn’t a sign of anyone or anything at the park, which meant that the noise couldn’t have been coming from anywhere nearby.

Maybe the empty park had somehow picked up an echo.

I moved away from the bench that I’d been sitting on, turning toward the exit. I knew enough about the area to know that there was a huge parking lot down the next block and a small bridge right before it. The bridge was the kind of place where high school kids would hang out, stealing some time away from their teachers or even their friends, the more amorous ones referring to it as a make-out spot.

“Pomogi mne!”

I hurried toward the voice.

It didn’t take long to realize that the sound was coming from beneath the bridge, and once I was close enough, I realized that I could hardly see anything in the dark. I could tell that there were three figures, though, three men, with one of them crumpled on the ground and the other two standing over him.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone again, ready to call the police, my brain already running through what I was about to tell the dispatcher on the other end of the line.

Before I had a chance to get the phone in my grip, one of the figures appeared to look right at me, his gaze shrouded in shadow. In that same moment, a car passing by the bridge illuminated the figures’ faces for just a second or two.

That was when I saw him.

That was when I saw all of them.

The man on the ground was covered in blood, his chest barely rising and falling, his hands held out in front of him in a defensive stance. The thug standing looked young, maybe even in his late teens, but with a murderous expression on his features. He looked deranged and unhinged.

Then there was the third man who was staring back at me.

He was older than the man on the ground, and much older than the second man whose knuckles were dripping blood. There was something about the third man that made my life flash before my eyes as he looked me over, like I’d somehow fucked up by ever crossing his path.

The older man calmly reached for the weapon at his side, a silver gun I’d only been able to see with the small glimmer of light that just passed us by. Without a second’s hesitation, not taking even a moment to look behind him, he aimed it toward the man on the ground.

And pulled the trigger.

Fuck.

What the fuck had I just been an accidental witness to?

I let out a primal scream before I turned and ran in the opposite direction. I knew nothing about the guys whom I’d just seen under that bridge, but I knew they had nothing to do with the dog-stealing scheme, which meant that I’d just stumbled onto some serious shit. I also had a sinking feeling that if either one of them caught up with me, I was going to be the next person they shot, leaving my dead body for some unfortunate jogger to find the next day.

“Vash papa vyrastil trusa, Orlov?” One of the strangers called out in the dark, their footsteps far behind my own but still way too close for comfort.

What the fuck? Were they speaking Russian?

My mind tried to do something with the newfound information, letting it swirl around in my head as my legs pumped so fast that I was afraid they might break.

Wait. Orlov.

Had he really just said Orlov?

Oh, God.

Oh, my God.

How the hell did these assholes know my last name?