Chapter 18 – LISA
LISA
There's a box of fresh pastries on Morrison's desk that’s been emptying steadily since just after eight, and by the time Reilly slams his desk phone back into its cradle and swings around in his chair to talk to Morrison, it's down to the last maple-glazed and one with sprinkles nobody seems to want.
Ignoring the rising din from that side of the room, I flick through the lists of property and assets suspected of being under Kozlov’s control. My visit to his beloved club was a bust, on the surface, but the way his staff reacted to my questions about Amber tells me I’m on the right track.
"...all over the place," Reilly's saying. "Place was a bloodbath. One of the crime scene techs puked down the front of his suit."
I lift my head from the file in front of me, the news of a gory incident enough to catch my insomnia-ravaged attention.
"How many were there?" Morrison has his feet half on the desk, and the last of the maple-glazed in one hand. “Or do they know? I heard it wasn’t exactly easy to figure out…”
We live in a small town. A crime scene where it’s hard to count the number of victims is definitely not something we see every day. I stop trying to make notes and listen.
"Four confirmed." Reilly tips his hand back and forth in the air. "Could be more. They were still bagging body parts when the state boys waved our guys off the scene."
Jesus.
Holt is on the edge of Morrison's desk with his coffee in both hands. He tilts the cup an inch toward Reilly without lifting it to drink. "Anyone we know?"
The pause Reilly leaves is designed to let us know he has the inside track on some big news.
"Kozlov."
My pen slips from my hand and drops onto the page as I slowly push to my feet.
Morrison's feet hit the floor, and the chair rocks under him. "Get the fuck out."
Reilly grins, thrilled his scoop is as juicy as he’d hoped.
"I'm telling you." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, as he grins at the reaction he's been waiting for. "Pictures came through this morning. It’s him alright.”
No, No way. This can’t be happening.
Morrison whistles, long and low, and licks glaze off his thumb. "Someone’s got balls.”
Everyone else seems to be thrilled by this news. Kozlov was a terrible person who evaded justice for years. There are very few people who’ll shed a tear upon hearing about his demise.
But to me, this is the last thing I want to hear.
I walk the twenty feet across the bullpen with my paper cup still in my hand. The three of them shift to make room for me in their little circle.
"Where was this?"
Reilly's grin reasserts itself at his new audience. "Some remote cabin he’d apparently been renting out as a brothel or something? They’re still trying to figure it out. Had some cameras and weird shit set up.”
He shudders. "Could be anyone. Kozlov pissed off a lot of people on his way up." Morrison wipes his fingers on his trouser leg. "He was getting too greedy. Was always going to catch up with him."
“Were there any women there?” I ask quietly.
Reilly and Morrison glance at one another.
“One,” Morrison answers. “But they think she was in her fifties.”
No Amber is what he’s telling me. I nod, grateful for the clarification, but if it wasn’t Amber, then where the hell is she?
“Kozlov’s number two is missing. Dimitri something. He fled, taking one of the women with him as a hostage."
A small chill begins at the base of my neck. I know what he’s going to say before his mouth even forms the words.
"Could be Amber." He scratches the side of his jaw. "Auburn, mid-twenties. One of the security guards we picked up at Kozlov’s mansion couldn't place where he’d seen her before, just that he knows he has."
The chill spreads outward and down. Maybe because he’s seen her on TV before, either as an actor or when her missing persons bulletin was on the news every hour.
Reilly's grin slips off by degrees as he cops my crestfallen face. He sits back and drops his hands between his knees, lacing his fingers together.
“Is it Amber?” I ask, closing my eyes for a second, trying to gather myself.
"We think so.” He flattens his lips. “Sorry, Harris. We only got the description through just before you came in. I was going to come and find you."
Taking a second before I speak, I suck in a deep breath and bite the side of my tongue hard to keep the tears at bay.
"It's okay." I keep my voice as flat as the words. "Nothing you could do about it."
"Might not be her," he offers, but then I think, well, even if it’s not Amber, it’s someone else’s sister, daughter, or wife.
That isn’t any better.
Morrison sets his doughnut down on the foil wrapper, gently, as if it's suddenly fragile.
"Shit, Harris. I'm sorry. You’ve busted your ass on this one." Cautiously, he says what everyone else is thinking. “I mean, it’s a miracle she’s still alive, but now, I mean, surely Dimitri’s on his way out of the country, or at the very least, planning it.
And I doubt he’s going to want to bring her with him. ”
It would be way too risky. The safest option would be to wait until you’re out of town and confident the police aren’t on your tail. Then once you’re sure you’re on your way out, kill her and dispose of the body somewhere it doesn’t get found any time soon.
“Well, we just have to find him first,” I say, with a confidence I don’t feel right now.
Holt has gone quiet. He turns his cup in a slow half-circle against his thigh and says nothing. We all know her chances are slim, and despite our personal differences, nobody here wants to see anyone get hurt.
"You'll let me know when there's a confirmation," I whisper, backing away slowly.
I need some fresh air. Frustrated at being so close to finding her only for the rug to be pulled, I march toward the front door, rattled.
"Yeah, Harris. Course." Holt clears his throat, and I turn around to hear what he has to say. He picks the cup back up, one finger tapping against the rim. "Although, you could just ask your friend Beau. Or his family."
That stops me in my tracks. I bite back the immediate rush of adrenaline dumping into my veins.
Holt drinks now, taking his time over the swallow. When he lowers the cup, he's looking at me again with that smug expression he gets when he thinks he's about to get one up on me.
"You think he might know something?" I keep my face neutral. "It seems a bit far-fetched."
"Does it?" Holt raises an eyebrow and studies me closely.
"Beau’s a good guy." I say it as level as I can manage, because the rest of me is in open revolt at the idea that he could be sitting at a table with a man like Kozlov.
Holt's smile lifts at one corner. "Sure. Maybe Beau. But what about the rest of them?"
I do not have an answer for that, and he knows it.
"Word is Bodhi's been over at Chase Walker's compound the last two nights with a woman named Emma. Plucked her out of Kozlov's hands the day before the cabin happened. Seems convenient."
Now I can’t hide that I’m glaring at him.
"Just sayin’." Holt lifts a shoulder, not caring one bit what I think of him and his theories. "Gotta admit, it's a hell of a coincidence, though."
I let the silence sit before deciding that sticking up for Beau won’t do me any good.
“I’m not saying it's a bad thing that Kozlov’s gone. Just that there’s a link there we need to look at.”
On that part, we can agree.
Morrison gives me a nod that’s more apology than acknowledgment as I push away from them and walk with my back straight to my desk, laying my hand flat on the file I closed before I went over.
Kozlov is dead. Dimitri is in the wind. We have to find out what happened in that cabin and where Dimitri might have stashed Amber before the trail turns cold.
And Beau Lennox might just be the only person with the answers.