40. Lacey
40
LACEY
My heart races a mile a minute as Megan pulls into the police station parking lot. Every breath feels like I'm drowning.
One wrong word and I risk putting everyone in danger.
But I have to do this. There's no other choice.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I reach for the door handle.
Megan grabs my wrist. "Wait."
"What now?"
"Your ring." Her eyes fix on my left hand. "That massive diamond on your finger is going to immediately raise some questions you don't want to answer."
My stomach drops. She's right. I'd gotten used to the weight of it around my finger ever since Vadim slipped it on my finger that night.
I twist the ring around my finger, feeling the heavy diamond scrape against my knuckle. Each turn makes my heart ache a little more.
When I slide it off, my finger feels impossibly bare.
It shouldn't feel this way. It's just a prop, part of an elaborate ruse.
"Here." I drop it into Megan's outstretched palm. "Keep it safe."
She tucks it into her purse, but I can't tear my eyes away from where it disappeared. The pale band of skin where it sat feels exposed, vulnerable. Wrong.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. A wife shouldn't have to hide her ring. But then again, most wives don't marry bratva pakhans in whirlwind ceremonies that end in death and bloodshed.
My fingers reach instinctively for the necklace, and my breaths come out shallow and labored.
"You alright?" Megan squeezes my shoulder.
"Fine." The lie tastes bitter. I rub my thumb over the naked spot on my finger. "It just feels... strange without it."
"Do you still have Nathan's ring?"
"What? Why would I need that?"
"Because it'll play a lot better if you're Nathan's grieving fiancée." Megan's voice drops lower.
My stomach churns. She's right. Of course she's right. I wrap my arms around myself.
"I can't, Meg. I won't."
"Lacey..." Megan's voice softens. "You have to. Do you still have it?"
"I don't know, I threw it in my purse after I got it off the other night."
"Is it still there?"
I look at her and then at my purse. Is it? And that's when I realize that I haven't actually looked through my purse after my arrival to Pankration. With trembling fingers, I dig inside until my hand closes around something cold and metallic.
The sight of Nathan's ring roils my stomach. The simple band and modest diamond now look dark and twisted. It's as if I'm looking at a physical reminder of everything that he was involved in.
The trafficking, the lies, the betrayal.
Knowing what I know now about him makes my skin crawl.
The thought of putting that ring back on my finger makes me feel physically ill.
"Put it on," Megan insists. "Just for this. Just pretend."
Pretend…
The ring feels like it's burning my skin as I slide it onto my finger. My stomach lurches again and I fight the urge to rip it off and throw it across the parking lot.
"You can do this," Megan whispers, squeezing my shoulder. "Just breathe."
We walk through the sliding glass doors into the police station. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, making everything feel harsh and clinical. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.
At the front desk, a uniformed officer looks up from his computer. "Can I help you?"
"I'm..." My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "I'm Lacey McKinney. I understand you wanted to speak with me about Nathan Walker?"
His expression shifts subtly at the name. "Yes, Captain Rutledge has been waiting to speak with you." He looks at Megan. "Are you her lawyer?"
"Her sister," Megan says quickly. "I'm here for support."
"I'm afraid only Ms. McKinney and her legal representatives can go make a statement," he says. "Department policy."
My fingers instinctively find Megan's hand and squeeze. The thought of doing this alone makes my chest tight.
"I'll be right outside," Megan promises, pulling me into a quick hug. "You've got this, sis. Just tell them what you know about Nathan. Nothing more, nothing less."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The officer gestures for me to follow him down a long hallway lined with closed doors. Each step feels heavier than the last.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Alone, I'm shown to a door marked "Captain E. Rutledge" and knocks twice before opening it.
Behind a weathered desk sits an older man with sharp eyes that seem to cut right through me. Despite his age showing in the lines on his face, there's nothing frail about him. He rises as I enter, and I notice that he stands perfectly straight, like someone who's spent a lifetime commanding respect.
"Ms. McKinney," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Captain Elwood Rutledge. Please, have a seat."
I shake his hand and lower myself into the empty chair in front of him, keeping my eyes fixed on the captain's desk. The nameplate gleams under the fluorescent lights, and I focus on that instead of the way Nathan's ring feels like it's burning into my finger.
"I know this must be a big shock to you," Captain Rutledge says, settling back into his chair. His voice carries a gentle tone that somehow makes me more nervous. "We have quite a few things to discuss regarding Mr. Walker's death."
He offers what I suppose is meant to be a sympathetic smile, but those razor-sharp eyes never stop studying my face.
"What do you mean?”
Captain Rutledge leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. Those piercing eyes never leave my face. "We believe Mr. Walker's death is connected to a larger criminal network. The body shows all the hallmarks of professional processing."
"Professional…” My throat goes dry. “Processing?"
"The body was systematically altered to make identification difficult," he explains, his tone clinical. "All the teeth were removed, along with fingers and toes. Methodically too, I might add. It’s usually done when the perpetrators want to prevent identification through dental records or fingerprints."
I fold my fingers together in an attempt to steady myself.
"There were also regular puncture wounds throughout the body, around the lungs, stomach, and intestinal cavity," Rutledge continues. "This prevents gas buildup in the body, ensuring that it sinks rather than floats. We were very lucky that he washed up at all."
I keep my eyes fixed on Rutledge's nameplate, trying to process what he's saying while I remain silent.
"This level of methodical mutilation." Rutledge says, shuffling some papers on his desk. “Is likely indicator of Russian Mafia involvement.”
But I barely hear him anymore. My mind races to connect the dots. Kirsan . It has to be. Nathan was working for him, moving money through fashion houses. Maybe Nathan knew too much, or tried to back out...
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about the night of Mr. Walker's death if you don’t mind,” Captain Rutledge says, pulling out a notepad. “Starting with where you were.”
"At the Vorobyov memorial retrospective." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. “A charity event."
"And why didn't you file a missing person's report when Mr. Walker disappeared? Why was it Ms. Riley who did so?"
"I was in Paris." I twist Nathan's ring around my finger, hating how it feels as I remember what Vadim had texted Megan on my behalf. "Taking time away to process Nathan cheating on me by blowing up my honeymoon budget."
"Ms. Riley indicated in her missing person’s report that Mr. Walker tried to break things off with you two weeks prior to his murder,” Rutledge says, his eyes never leaving my face. "What's your version of the story?"
“I caught them in his office the night before he died." My hands clench in my lap. "Up until that moment, I had no idea he was cheating on me."
"That's not what Ms. Riley told us." Rutledge's voice takes on an edge. "Are you saying she's lying?"
"Yes." The word comes out sharp and clear.
"What is your version of the story?"
"I told you already." I meet his gaze steadily. "I caught them together in his office. Did I yell? Of course I did. What woman wouldn't yell when she finds her fucking fiancé balls deep in his secretary, three days before her wedding? But if you are insinuating that I had anything to do with Nathan's death, or that I might know anything about the bratvas?—"
"Bratvas?" Rutledge's eyebrow cocks up. "How do you know that term?"
My heart slams against my ribs. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! One stupid word and everything's falling apart.
"I... I read about it." The lie sounds unbelievable even to myself. "In a book."
"What book?" Rutledge's eyes bore into me.
"Some crime romance novel." My palms are sweating, and I wipe them on my skirt. "I don't remember the title."
"Ms. McKinney, I will be very frank with you in the hopes that you extend me the same courtesy." Rutledge's eyes look down at my hands for a brief moment before he leans forward, his voice hardening. "In the week since Mr. Walker's body was discovered with telltale signs of Russian Mafia involvement, we've seen an unprecedented surge of violence across Seattle. Multiple clubs and businesses have been hit. Almost every one of them burned to the ground. And do you know what they also all have in common?"
I try to keep my breathing steady, but it's hard. He's talking about what Vadim is doing.
"Every one of them has connections with the Russian Mafia."
He spreads photos across his desk—buildings with shattered windows and smoke-blackened walls.
"We're looking at what could be the biggest gang war Seattle has seen in decades."
My throat feels like sandpaper. I can't tear my eyes away from the photos.
"And unprompted, you bring up the word 'bratva,' a word that only law enforcement and the Russian Mafia themselves use. Do you really expect me to believe that you learned this from some crime romance novel?" Rutledge's voice drops lower. "Criminal conspiracy, Ms. McKinney, is a felony charge. And the penalty can be as high as multiple decades in prison."
I feel the blood drain from my face. Prison. The word echoes in my head like a death sentence.
"So I'll ask you again. How do you know about the word bratva?"
My mind races as I try to come up with an explanation that won't sound like a lie. The fluorescent lights suddenly feel too bright, making me dizzy. Sweat trickles down my back.
"I..." The word catches in my throat as Captain Rutledge's eyes drill into me. Every excuse I think of sounds hollow, manufactured.
My fingers twist Nathan's ring frantically. The metal band feels like it's choking my finger, a constant reminder of everything I'm trying to hide. I want to rip it off, but I can't move.
"Well, Ms. McKinney?" Rutledge's voice cuts through my panic. "I'm waiting for an answer."
My mouth opens but no words come out. All I can think about is Vadim, about Irina's blood on my hands, about everything that could come crashing down because I let one wrong word slip out of my mouth.
"Ms. McKinney." The door suddenly swings open. "Stop talking."
A man in an impeccable charcoal suit strides in, his presence immediately filling the room.
"Dirty trick, officer." His voice is jovial as he places his briefcase on the desk. "Talking to my client without me present. You are aware that she has rights? And that any information you've coerced from her will be inadmissible in a court of law?"
The tension in the room shifts instantly as Captain Rutledge's expression hardens at the sight of the newcomer.
"Aleksey Sterling-Wright." Rutledge's voice drips with disdain. "Still defending the indefensible, I see."
"Elwood Rutledge. Still trying to interrogate witnesses without proper representation, I see." Aleksey's smile never wavers as he fires back quickly at Captain Rutledge. "Some things never change, do they?"
I look between them, my heart racing. Something in the confident way he carries himself screams of Vadim's influence.
"Ms. McKinney is here voluntarily," Rutledge says, shuffling his papers. "She's not under arrest."
"Really?" Aleksey's smile grows wider, and his voice seems to laugh with every word. "Because before I walked in, I could've sworn I heard you threatening her with criminal conspiracy."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Was I speaking too fast, Elwood?" Aleksey wags his finger. "I'm her lawyer. As an employee of Svoboda, Ms. McKinney is entitled to legal representation through her workplace."
"According to Ms. Riley's statement." Rutledge's eyes narrow. "Ms. McKinney is a caterer."
"Ah yes, the secretary." Aleksey nods. "The same one caught in flagrante delicto with her boss? That Ms. Riley?" He shakes his head. "I wouldn't put much stock in anything she has to say, Elwood."
"And when exactly," Rutledge says, his razor-sharp gaze moving between us. "Did this career change occur?"
"I don't see how my client's employment history is relevant to this procedural violation you're committing," Aleksey replies. "So, if you're done interrogating my client—illegally, I might add—I think it's time for both of us to leave."
The two men stare each other down and I sit perfectly still, afraid that even breathing too loudly might shatter whatever delicate balance is keeping this situation from exploding.
My heart pounds as Captain Rutledge leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes never leaving my face.
"Very well." Rutledge's voice carries a note of resignation. "Ms. McKinney, if you wish to tell us anything, anything at all, my door is always open." He slides a business card across his desk. "You can come speak to me directly."
I reach for the card with trembling fingers, but Aleksey smoothly intercepts it.
"I'm sure if my client has any pertinent information about whatever wild goose chase you're on, she'll contact you through the proper channels." His smile remains perfectly pleasant. "Now, I believe there's something you're supposed to say at this point?"
Rutledge sits back down, sighing. "You're free to go, Ms. McKinney."
Aleksey helps me to my feet, his hand firm but gentle on my elbow as he guides me toward the door.
The fluorescent-lit hallway seems longer than before. Each step echoes against the linoleum floor as we make our way back to the lobby. My mind races with questions about Aleksey's sudden appearance.
We walk out into the waiting room, and I know something is wrong the moment we do.
Where's Megan?
My heart pounds against my ribs as I scan the room for her face. But she's nowhere to be seen. Aleksey's hand remains tight on my elbow as he guides me outside.
In the parking lot, Megan's car is nowhere in sight.
The spot where she parked sits empty, mocking me. Overhead, thunder rumbles as the rain starts coming down harder.
My chest tightens and Olga's warning echoes in my head: Pyotr's bastard will put blood on your hands.
I think of Irina bleeding out in my arms. Of her final gasping breaths. Of her blood soaking my dress and my palms.
No. Not Megan. Please, not Megan.
"Where's my sister?" I turn towards Aleksey. "She was supposed to wait for me."
"Ms. McKinney." All joviality leaves his voice, and it takes on an edge of urgency. "It's time to leave."
"But I have to find my sister?—"
"No, you do not, Ms. McKinney." His voice drops lower, urgent. "You're lucky to not still be in there right now. Don't push your luck any further. We need to go. Now."
Panic claws at my throat as I scan the empty parking lot again. "I can't just?—"
"You can and you will." Aleksey's pleasant demeanor fades entirely. "I have my orders from your husband. And right now, his order is to bring you home."