Chapter 46 Alison
ALISON
I groaned and tilted my neck one way, then the other, the muscles so knotted with tension they felt like concrete. I’d been hunched over a desk all day, painstakingly sifting through everyone Grushin had called.
There was nothing more I could do until Gennadiy got home, so I wandered through the mansion again.
I found Mikhail in the living room, rolling around on the floor with his dogs as they played tug-of-war with a knotted rope.
I moved on and found myself in the kitchen.
Wow. It was enormous, with shining, stainless steel surfaces and appliances, and a massive stove for when the chef needed to cook six different dishes at once.
I opened a door and found a walk-in freezer stocked with sides of beef and legs of lamb, and next to it a pantry.
I gazed up at the shelves, which went right up to the ceiling.
There were bags of potatoes, crates of vegetables and exotic fruits, canned goods, and all the flours, grains, and spices needed to cook and bake almost anything.
The pantry door had swung closed behind me, and I was just about to open it to leave when voices entered the kitchen, one deep and Russian and one soft and calming. Radimir and Bronwyn.
“…important to you,” Bronwyn was saying.
“It’s important to Mikhail,” said Radimir.
“He keeps saying it’s the responsibility of the Pakhan to think about the next generation.
” I peeked through the crack in the door.
They were standing six feet from me, right in front of the pantry.
Radimir, in his three-piece suit as always, was hulking over his wife as she leaned against the kitchen island.
I bit my lip. Should I open the door and let them know I was there?
“But it’s important to you, too,” said Bronwyn gently.
Radimir scowled and glanced around, checking there was no one listening.
Aw, shit. Before I could do anything, he was speaking.
“If you’d asked me a year ago, I wouldn’t have even considered having children.
But now…” He put a hand on Bronwyn’s belly, and his voice became almost wistful.
“…with you…” He looked deep into her eyes.
“But the only thing that matters to me, Krasavitsa, is that you’re happy. ”
Bronwyn bit her lip and then reached up and brushed her fingers across his stubbled cheek. “You know…if we do want a baby, there’s something we’re going to need to do a lot of.”
“Didn’t we come in here to make you a sandwich?” Radimir teased.
“The sandwich can wait,” muttered Bronwyn, and tilted her head up, and his lips were on hers in a second. Then his hands slid under her sweater and— Oh. Um… I felt my face heat. I was going to be stuck here until they finished.
At that moment, the chef bustled in, carrying a carton of groceries. He pulled up short in the doorway. “Sorry, sir.”
Radimir shook his head, scooped his hands under Bronwyn’s ass, and picked her up, making her yelp in surprise. “Guest room?” he muttered under his breath.
“Guest room,” Bronwyn panted.
They swept past the chef and out into the hallway. I slumped in relief. Whew.
Then the chef opened the pantry to put away his groceries and jumped back, startled, when he saw me lurking there.
“Don’t mind me,” I told him sheepishly. I ducked under his arm and hurried away.
As I left the kitchen, something occurred to me: where’s Valentin? I’d been home all day, working in a study just off the hallway, so I knew when people came and went. Valentin had come back from surveilling the clinic an hour ago, and he hadn’t gone out again, but he was nowhere to be found.
Then I remembered what Gennadiy had told me at the Irish bar. The anniversary that had been weighing on Valentin…it was today. And suddenly, I knew exactly where he’d be.
I went straight up to the top floor, then found the door that led out to the stone balcony. As I climbed slowly up the stairs, not wanting to spook him, something hit me: I’d thought of the mansion as home, just then.
The stairs led up to a small, flat section of roof with a low parapet, hidden from view from the front of the house.
And that’s where I found him, sitting on the parapet with his legs dangling into space.
He glanced up when he heard me, and I saw the raw pain in his eyes.
He didn’t invite me closer, but he didn’t tell me to get lost, either.
I swallowed and climbed the final few stairs, then looked down.
Ulp. I’m not scared of heights, but this was three floors straight down onto flagstones, and that would make anyone nervous.
I very nearly turned around and went back downstairs.
It was getting cold, it looked like the rain was about to start up again, and I could ask the chef to brew some coffee, or maybe a hot chocolate…
But Valentin looked so alone. Why isn’t Mikhail comforting him? Or Radimir?
I edged closer to him, then stood right behind him, but he still didn’t speak. Maybe he didn’t trust his voice not to shake.
Okay. Only one thing for it.
Very carefully, I stepped up onto the parapet and then slowly sat down–
One of my boots rocked sideways, and my leg shot out from under me. My ass came down hard on the edge of the parapet, and I slid, too scared to even scream–
Valentin twisted and grabbed me under the arms, an inch from disaster. “Careful!” he told me. Then, as I got myself safely seated, “Gennadiy would kill me if I let anything happen to you!”
I nodded my thanks, panting in fear. Then, as I processed what he’d said, a warm glow spread through my chest. When my breathing had settled, I asked, “Why do you spend so much time up high?”
He glanced across at me. “There are security cameras everywhere these days,” he told me. “But they all point down.”
That’s why we’ve never caught him, I realized. “You don’t have to worry about cameras here, though,” I said gently. I looked around. We had a fantastic view of the gardens. Was that why he came up here? Did he find them calming?
Valentin sighed. “Things are easier, from up here.”
I frowned, confused. And then I followed his gaze and realized where I’d gone wrong: I hadn’t been looking far enough.
Valentin wasn’t looking at the gardens, or the streets around us, or anything nearby.
He was looking at the city in the distance, with its swarms of ant-sized figures crossing crosswalks and colorful snakes of cars stopped at stop lights.
It wasn’t about being high up. It was about keeping everyone at a distance.
I looked at the silver bird he wore around his neck, too small and delicate to be made for a man. “What was her name?” I asked quietly.
He slowly turned and looked at me, and I sensed his armor opening, just a little.
“Ruslana,” he said. “Her name was Ruslana.” He turned away, looking off into the distance again, and I thought that was it.
But then I felt his hand tentatively move towards mine.
I took it, squeezed it, and we stayed like that until the rain started.
I’d only just come down from the roof, the first few drops of rain still glistening in my hair, when Gennadiy burst in, eyes wild. I felt my heart lift. “What’s going—MMF!”
In one movement, he’d grabbed me by the waist, pulled me to him, and was kissing me.
I pinwheeled my arms for a second in shock and then melted into it.
His tongue traced my lips, and then he was kissing me hard and deep, his hands running up and down my sides as if reassuring himself that I was real, that I was there.
My back whumped into a wall, and he pinned me there, his big hands stroking down my legs and over my ass, and the kiss changed, becoming charged and hungry.
Each touch of those strong fingers sent another ripple of urgent pleasure down through my body, becoming molten, liquid heat when it reached my groin.
This man had the ability to take me from idle to redline in five seconds flat.
He finally broke the kiss and put me gently down, and I stood there shaky-legged and tender-lipped.
“I just–” Gennadiy stared into my eyes and squeezed my shoulders so hard it was almost painful.
Then he tugged me close again and this time just hugged me, burying my face between his pecs.
A different sort of warmth spread through me, and I closed my eyes.
This was what I’d been searching for when I used to take those epic, hot showers. Exactly this.
It was a long time before he released me. His forehead was creased with stress, and his cheeks were dark with stubble. He hadn’t slept in two days, and I wondered when he last ate. He was pushing himself too hard, just like I always did. “What happened?” I asked.
He sighed and sat me down on a big leather couch, hunkering down in front of me. “I saw Viktor Grushin,” he told me. “He’s coming after our businesses, after us: all of us are targets. He’ll destroy it all if we don’t stop him.”
I let my cop brain process that for a moment.
Something didn’t feel right. “Why would he risk exposing himself just to threaten you? That doesn’t make sense.
” I frowned. “Unless there was an ‘or’.” I searched Gennadiy’s face: he was a good liar, but I’d spent so long watching him, I knew every tell.
“There was an ‘or,’” I muttered. Gennadiy looked away guiltily and my jaw dropped open as I got it. “He wanted me!”
Gennadiy grabbed my hands, his voice like iron. “He’s not having you.”
Sick fear was rising in my chest. I’d come to him for help; I thought we could be allies. I never wanted this! “He’s going to destroy everything because of me!”
Gennadiy pulled my hands together and closed his bigger hands around them. “No, he’s not. Because we’re going to stop him. Together.”
He gathered the rest of his family and brought them up to speed. “We have to figure out what he’s doing,” Gennadiy told them. “Grushin made it clear we’re all targets, now. You should all come and stay here, in the mansion, until this is over.” Radimir nodded and squeezed Bronwyn’s hand.
“I checked out Grushin’s clinic,” said Valentin.
“Pretty fancy place: has a whole spa where you can get pampered while you recover from your nose job. Looks like a legit business. I climbed the fence and went dumpster diving, but all I could find was normal medical waste. Then I thought maybe it was some sort of pill mill and they were selling prescription meds, so I photographed all the packaging, but it was just anaesthetics, antibiotics…the only one I hadn’t heard of was something called tacrolimus. ”
“That’s not something you could sell on the street either,” said Bronwyn. “I’m prescribed it for my arthritis; it’s just an immunosuppressant.”
Gennadiy clapped Valentin on the shoulder and nodded his thanks to Bronwyn. “So the clinic is like the casino: a legit front Grushin uses to launder money.”
I turned it over in my head. “It’s a pretty good way to hide big transactions.
People pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for medical treatment.
What if…Grushin’s selling something, something really valuable?
His customers pay through the clinic, it gets recorded as liposuction or a facelift, and no one’s any the wiser. ”
“So what’s he selling that’s so valuable?” asked Radimir. “Technology? Information?”
We were all working together, bouncing ideas off each other, and, for a moment, it was almost like being back in the FBI. I felt a whisper of something, but I couldn’t put a name to it.
“Some of the clients are probably real patients,” said Bronwyn thoughtfully. “But some will be his customers. Could we get hold of a patient list?”
I shook my head. “Patient records are confidential. Even if I was back at the FBI, it’d be tricky to get that kind of information.” I sighed. “Grushin’s smart, I’ll give him that.”
“What about the numbers from Grushin’s phone?” asked Gennadiy.
I showed him the list of numbers Yolanda had given me, the printout now a rainbow of highlighter ink.
“These are all numbers in Moscow; probably contacts he made while he was working there. So, whatever he’s selling, I’m guessing he’s getting it from Russia.
” I pointed to the next few rows. “These are numbers here in Chicago. This is a company that does welding. I have no clue what that means. And this one is a small local transport company…I thought maybe distribution? But that makes no sense if his clients pick up their stuff from the clinic.”
Gennadiy nodded. “Good work.” A glow of pride spread through me. Even Radimir looked grudgingly impressed.
“What are the other numbers?” asked Valentin, pointing to the last few rows.
I sighed. “Those are numbers with no registered name or address. Burner phones, probably local criminals. I highlighted the ones Grushin calls a lot.”
Gennadiy nodded thoughtfully. Then his finger stabbed at one of the highlighted numbers, and he went pale. “That’s…” He trailed off, pulled out his phone, checked a number, and then double-checked it.
“What?” I asked, worried. “What is it?”
His voice was strangled. “One of the numbers is Yakov Beletski’s.”