Chapter 11 #2
I melt into my chair with trembling hands. Today could mark the last day of my captivity, and I’ve yet to make a tough decision. Surely Vanya can’t blame me if he’s arrested for whatever he’s likely involved in if I never called the cops myself.
After maybe ten minutes, Dr. Abernathy dials my extension, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Paige? Could you join us in my office a moment? The detective has some questions I think you could answer better.”
The ride up reminds me of a walk to the gallows. Panic pounds in my ears.
Dr. Abernathy, always the picture of awkward kindness, beams like I’m here for a scholarship interview. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Kisner. I know you’re busy, but the detective has some questions about day-to-day operations.”
“Of course.” I sink into the second chair across from Abernathy’s desk, next to Colvin. “About what?”
Colvin retains his nonchalant posture. “You were on Isla de Huesos fifteen years ago, correct?”
My heart launches into my throat. I never anticipated this.
The shock on my boss’s face matches my own internal alarm. “What’s this all about, Detective?”
Colvin ignores him.
“Yes.” My body goes cold, and I fight to maintain a blank expression.
“I was fourteen. My mother died there.” I’m a victim, nothing more.
I’m not dangerous. I give him the same story I’ve practiced for police and insurance and every official form that ever asked.
“It was supposed to be a vacation. We were caught in the cross fire of some kind of gang war.”
Dr. Abernathy’s eyes soften. “Oh, Paige. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you went through that.”
Not exactly a topic that comes up in casual conversation.
Colvin places a hand briefly on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. That must’ve been awful.” He straightens and shifts gears so smoothly, it feels rehearsed.
“There’s been a series of violent crimes in Chicago.
What we think might be a flare-up from the same gangs, some Bratva, some mafia, that were involved back then.
So far, it all seems to be centered around survivors from that night on Isla de Huesos. ”
This time, I don’t bother to hide my shock. “As if what we survived wasn’t bad enough? Now someone’s hunting us down too?”
Bratva. That makes sense. Vanya Orlov is Russian after all, or at least of Russian descent. Learning he’s part of organized crime wouldn’t surprise me in the least. That would also explain how he dug up so much dirt on me. Criminals are pros at research.
Still, why would he play this twisted game if he planned to kill me? Why bother tormenting me like this? Is he a sadist?
Colvin continues before I can spill the beans.
“No. The survivors aren’t dead, but the mob does seem to be targeting them. We’re still not sure what the Bratva has to do with any of this.” He leans in, pinning me with his stare. “Anyone unusual come around lately? Maybe asking about the island? Anyone who just doesn’t fit?”
Apparently, this detective has no idea who did what or why these things are happening. If he doesn’t know, how can I trust him to ensure my safety?
I’m better off dealing with Vanya myself. At least I know what to expect from him, for the most part.
I shake my head. “Not really. We get some oddballs occasionally, but that’s our main clientele. No one stands out. Some researchers, sure, but no one memorable. They all fill out paperwork to access our archives.”
“She’s right.” Dr. Abernathy reaches into his desk drawer, thumbing through some files. He lifts out a short stack of pale blue papers. “Here’re the ones for the last three months. We run background checks on everyone who applies.”
All except Vanya.
I shredded his form. Since I never intended to give him a card, there was no reason to waste Dr. Abernathy’s time on a background check.
Colvin’s not entirely fooled, but he’s patient. “You’re certain? This is important, Ms. Kisner, Dr. Abernathy. If you remember anything, call me. Day or night.” He extracts a card from his pocket and hands it to my boss. “And could you please tell the rest of your staff to keep an eye out too?”
I force my dry mouth to form a response. “Of course. I’ll be extra vigilant.”
He rises before having a brief but polite exchange with Dr. Abernathy and then disappearing.
I remain seated, hollowed out, until my boss addresses me.
“Whew, what a day! Don’t you worry, Paige. These cop things pop up and then vanish. I’ll bet you lunch nothing actually comes of it.” He pats my arm. “Take off early if you need to. That’s an order. It’s already six, and I can ask Rebecca to stay late and close.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
The drive home is a blur as the sun finishes setting and shadows grow from the trees. Blackness cocoons the shell of my car, thicker on the tree-lined road that leads away from the library. No streetlights or neon signs line my path.
I vowed not to come to a decision until I explored and weighed every option.
I never considered a possible Isla de Huesos connection with Vanya.
A thief blackmailing me for access to a rare book makes sense. Even his potential involvement with the Bratva would track.
But what could any of that have to do with Mom’s death?
I have nothing to distract me as I drive, only an occasional car. With each mile that stretches behind me, my nerves spread thin, spiderweb cracks forming in my focus. So when headlights suddenly flash to life in my rearview mirror, I nearly squeal.
Where did they come from? I flip my mirror up, trying to lessen the sting of bright LEDs.
I speed up, too, but the lights close the distance instead of falling away. Whoever’s behind that wheel is relentless. And I’m just not in the mood for the road rage.
Why don’t they just go around?
In a bitch move I wouldn’t normally make, I tap my brakes. Not hard enough to slow the car, just enough to flick the red lights a few times. Hello, you’re driving like a maniac.
Two seconds after that, my seat belt carves into my collarbone as my head slams against the headrest.
The bastard just hit me.
My ears ring as I try to comprehend what happened.
Did I piss off a road rager?
What a complete dickbag. My insurance company will run him through the ringer because news flash, buddy. I’ve got a dashcam!
Hitting my turn signal, I gesture for the jerk to pull over. He responds by assaulting me with his high beams.
Anger heats my blood, and I point again, more insistently. Maybe not my smartest idea, but like hell am I going to let him get away with harassing me.
I’m about to flip this guy—
A second hit rips me toward the shoulder while the tires howl in protest.
My arm crunches against the door as I swerve into the fishtail and hit the gas again to stop the spin. “What the actual hell? That could’ve killed me!” I force my gaze to the yellow line, attempting to spot either the make of the vehicle or the driver who’s crashing into me.
Worry skitters up my spine as I berate myself for my recklessness. I should’ve skedaddled and fled from this jackass the moment he started tailing me.
This has to be more than just a random bad driver.
My mind travels back to Isla de Huesos. Vanya’s threats. The warning in Detective Colvin’s wary eyes.
Is this the Bratva hunting down loose ends? Or some unknown entity that’s even worse?
Karma finally catching up with me?
My stomach knots with terror, and bile rises in my throat.
A third punishing blow rattles the glass while metal squeals.
My poor little Camry bucks sideways. The world tilts as the vehicle goes airborne, the upside-down headlights blinding me.