Chapter 3
IVY
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!
My body, thankfully, reacts while my brain is frozen in fear. Dropping the garbage bag, I run into the club and lock the door. My heart pounds frantically, so quick and hard I’m surprised I don’t have a heart attack and die of fear right here and now.
A wave of dizziness swarms over me and for an instant, I’m afraid I’m going to faint. I can’t just stand here in the middle of the club, a target for the murderer who I know saw me and knows I saw him shoot that poor man in the head.
My eyes frantically search the area. Several tables with chairs piled on top of them from closing duties are the only things in this area. Nothing to provide a decent hiding space. There’s the hostess podium, but it doesn’t offer much cover either.
The kitchen! There may not be a lot of places to hide, but at least I can find a weapon or something to defend myself, God forbid I need to. I run into the kitchen, opening the swinging doors carefully so they won’t give away my hiding place.
Two commercial ovens, a pizza oven, the bakery counter, and another food prep counter meet my searching gaze.
On the second counter are a couple of knife racks, knives sharpened and ready to chop veggies or saw through meat.
I rush over to the table and grab one, hesitate, then grab another just in case.
Now what?
The sound of scuffling propels me into motion and I duck behind the counter.
My phone!
I left my phone on the counter earlier. Rising carefully, my wide gaze searching my surroundings, I grab my phone and duck behind the counter again. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes me three tries to call 9-1-1.
“A guy just shot another man,” I whisper urgently once an operator answers. “He’s dead, and now the guy is after me! Come quickly!”
Men’s voices are raised enough so that I can hear them, but not clear enough to understand their words outside the door. Pressing the phone to my chest, I don’t turn it off but pray they can ping my phone and realize where I am. I grip one of the knives in my hand so tightly my knuckles turn white.
My blood freezes in my veins as the unmistakable squeak of the kitchen door sounds. Someone’s coming in here! Before I can gather the courage to stand and look, a loud crash reverberates through the club and I know with a sinking heart that the murderer has just broken in through the front door.
Another round of dizziness rushes over me, but I swallow thickly and force my breathing to slow. It takes a terrifying moment to realize that there’s more than one person in the club besides me. There are at least two people fighting in the main room.
A frown pulls across my features. I’d only seen the poor guy David and his murderer, so who else could be in there? Have the police gotten here already? No, I would have heard the sirens, and they would announce themselves, wouldn’t they?
As if thinking about it makes it happen, I hear the sirens now and allow a shaky breath of hope to escape. The fighting sounds stop and suddenly, it’s so quiet inside, it’s unnerving. The murderer, and whoever he was fighting with, must have heard the sirens, too, and become spooked.
My legs are rubbery and shaking so hard, it’s difficult to stand, but I do so in slow degrees, still clutching the phone to my chest with one hand and holding one of the knives with the other.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a small wooden figurine shaped like a bear.
Where did that come from? I don’t remember seeing it earlier, but then I wasn’t exactly paying much attention to my surroundings except to look for a hiding place and a weapon to defend myself.
“Miss Andreev? Are you in here?”
I start, jerking my gaze from the figurine, and look out through the swinging door windows. I briefly spot a police officer walking in before he moves out of sight.
“Here!” I call out, then rush as fast as my weak legs will carry me into the main dining area. “I’m here.”
The officer has his gun drawn as he swings a flashlight across the room. The white beam touches over two overturned and broken tables, scattered chairs, and broken glass.
“Are you alone?” the officer asks, his eyes still darting around the room.
“I-I think so. I think they left when they heard the sirens.”
The officer meets my gaze now. “They?”
I nod and grab onto the edge of a table to keep my balance. “At least I think there was more than one. I heard what sounded like two people fighting.”
“You said you saw a man shoot another. Did you see anyone else at the time?”
I shake my head. “No, just the killer. I have no idea who the other person was. I was hiding in the kitchen and didn’t see anything when they broke in here.”
“All clear outside,” another officer announces as he walks into the club. “We’ve got a body in the alley. I’ve called the techs in.”
And still another police officer walks in, this one carrying a blanket. He walks over to me and wraps it around my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized I was shaking until the warmth of the blanket started seeping into my skin.
“Let’s get you to the station,” he says as he gives one last tightening wrap to the blanket before placing his arm around my shoulders. He waits until I let go of the table edge before carefully leading me away, toward the door.
One minute, we’re leaving the club, and the next, I’m sitting inside a police station with two officers questioning me. Or at least that’s how it seems. I don’t remember the drive over here. It must be shock, or so one of the police officers told me.
After what seems like hours, I’ve told what I saw, the man shooting David in the head and my mad dash inside the club to hide, at least five times.
Maybe even more. My eyes keep glancing around the station, at the Christmas tree decorated with little law enforcement ornaments blinking in and out of sight from the string of lights around it.
There are several desks scattered throughout the main office where I’m sitting, most of them empty this late at night, or early morning.
But they all have some kind of Christmas decorations on them.
Some have Santas, others have stockings with candy canes, and a couple are very simple with just a few holiday cards sitting on them.
Holiday songs play in the background and the Christmas atmosphere is strong, even though I’m in a police station after having just witnessed a murder.
I could have died tonight.
That thought keeps reverberating through my mind.
It’s almost Christmas and once again, I planned to spend it alone.
As if I’d had all the time in the world.
Would it have been so bad to at least go with Frank to his parents’?
So what if they thought our relationship was more than it is? Surely, we could straighten that out.
The pain in Frank’s hazel eyes, although he masked it quickly, cuts me deep. What if that had been the last time I’d talked to him? What if my last act on Earth had been hurting my best friend?
My thoughts turn to my mother and I grimace. We have never really gotten along and I don’t even know why. She just seems to resent me somehow. I could have died without ever finding out why.
I need to make a resolution. I need to make some changes in my life so that when I do die—hopefully not for decades!—I won’t have any regrets.
“Miss Andreev?”
I blink, the officer’s face in front of me slowly coming into focus. He looks to be in his mid-thirties with dark blond hair and light brown eyes that watch me with concern and understanding. I glance down at his chest, at the name tag there. Officer Nowles.
“Yes?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“We’ve been at this a long time. Would you like to take a break? Get some coffee or tea?” Officer Nowles asks.
When I first arrived, they gave me a bottle of water and I’ve finished that, so the call of nature is my first priority. Coffee or tea just doesn’t sound good to me right now, especially with my nerves already being so tight and jumbled.
“If I could just freshen up a little, that would be great,” I answer.
He nods and points off to the right. “Down the hall, first door on the left,” he says, answering my unasked question about where the ladies’ room is located.
My heels click on the polished tile as I go down the hall, the sound echoing and somehow sounding eerie.
The bathroom, at least, is clean and smells of some kind of air freshener.
Lavender, maybe. After taking care of necessities, I spend a few more minutes just splashing water on my face.
The coolness helps soothe my nerves a little more.
When I walk back into the main room, Officer Nowles is talking with two other men and one woman. I can tell by their sharp suits and stiff posture that they are people of authority, but it isn’t until I get closer and they turn around that I see the FBI tags on their windbreakers.
“Miss Andreev,” the shorter of the men says, stepping forward. He holds a hand out and I reluctantly shake it. Everything in me screams that this is not a good development. That something serious is about to happen.
“My name is Special Agent Johnathon Thomas,” he says, his dark eyes meeting mine without blinking. “We’ve come to put you into protective custody.”
My hand grows damp and I let go of his hand. “Protective custody?”
He nods. “The man you witnessed being murdered tonight was high-level Russian Mafia,” he explains. “And we believe the man you witnessed pulling the trigger was Vadim Antonov, head of the Antonov family—a very dangerous man.”
Fear slithers up my spine and settles in my throat, nearly choking me. I blink owlishly at him, not wanting to believe what he’s saying. It’s bad enough I witnessed a murder, but that the guy I saw do it is Mafia? Oh, dear God!
“That is why we want to take you into protective custody,” Agent Thomas continues, his voice calm and cool as if his words didn’t just destroy my world. “We’ll get you set up in the witness protection program, and once you testify, we can put Antonov in prison for life.”