Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Lucy
“I wanted to visit you so badly, but I didn’t want to run into anyone from the bratva.”
Chloe was sitting across from me in a booth at Jabbin’ Java.
“I’m just so glad Kirill finally allowed me to leave the house.
” I was released from the hospital two weeks ago.
As if he didn’t have an organization to run, my husband ran my recovery like a general would rule his regiment.
He’d been strict with all my therapy, down to my nutrition.
And if it wasn’t enough that I had to swallow all those disgusting green shakes he had Sorcha make, he’d called Renz to make sure I was served only non-caffeinated, nutritionally dense drinks.
My cousin strode out of the kitchen and set a red-purple concoction in front of me. It was served in a tall, shapely glass used for craft beer.
“What’s this?” I eyed the drink suspiciously.
“Beets and berry juice,” Renz said. “Kirill wanted me to make spinach-and-kale mush, but no way was I serving that to you, you poor thing.” He ended with a chuckle.
I tentatively sipped the drink. It was delicious. “This is sooo good.” I sighed apologetically. “I’m so sorry Kirill has you making this stuff.” I glanced at the busy café full of Manhattanites trying to beat the lunch rush.
“He’s concerned.” My cousin’s eyes searched my face. “I saw you at the hospital during your coma. We were scared for you, cuz. Kirill was a simmering, broody rock in the corner. He didn’t talk, but there was no question he was in hell.”
My heart clenched. I knew this. Even while I was irritated at Kirill for treating me like glass, I found it endearing. “Can you send the recipe to Sorcha?”
Renz grinned at me sheepishly. “About that…”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t measure, I know. But just best estimates.”
One of his baristas called from the coffee bar.
“Will do.” He did the double-pointed finger at me. “Catch you later! Sam’s been asking about her aunt Lucy.”
“Aww… of course!” Once Kirill became less uptight with my recovery, I didn’t want him burdening everyone to follow his impossible standards of care.
Chloe sipped her mug of coffee. Despite the yumminess of the drink, I longed for my caffeine, but it seemed to spur my migraines. God, I hoped this wasn’t permanent. I would die without coffee.
“So, how are you holding up here?”
“I’m so thankful to your family. They’ve been amazing letting me live on the third floor…”
She let that hang, so I prodded, “But…?”
“But I have a life I need to get back to…or rather rebuild. Trevor said you guys specialize in new identities.”
“We do, but are you sure? Aren’t you tired of running?”
Chloe averted her gaze. “Yes. But I can’t be in Manhattan.”
I didn’t want to press her. It was obvious she didn’t want to be anywhere near the bratva.
I was certain it was for the best since Chloe and her mother were a touchy subject between Ivan and Irina.
Meanwhile, a nagging, impenetrable haze around a memory was trying to break free from my head.
And it had to do with Trevor. But what the hell was it?
Also, Kirill seemed to morph from impassive to murderous every time Trevor’s name was mentioned.
I got it; he was jealous before, but he seemed irrationally so lately.
“Trevor is helping me piece together my mother’s disappearance, but so far all he’s dug up was information Bruce already told me.
She didn’t report to the restaurant where she worked and simply disappeared.
Bruce even paid for her apartment for six months, hoping maybe she’d turn up.
But she didn’t take anything with her. Finally, he had it all packed up and moved to storage. ”
“Were those the boxes in the cabin?”
“No, they’re in storage somewhere in Florida where she moved.”
“You don’t have anything from your mother?”
“Just some pictures and jewelry. I just want to put this behind me,” Chloe said. “I’m so glad you reached out, though. I see nothing on the news, but Trevor told me that Jeremiah is sniffing around Aralina.”
I smiled grimly. “He didn’t waste time, that’s for sure.” I didn’t have time to question Aralina about her relationship yet. She visited me frequently with Irina. And I’d only gotten more verbal in the last week or so.
“I’m surprised Ivan approves of them together.” A trace of bitterness coated Chloe's tone. I likened it to the way Mamma reacted when my grandfather withheld his affection from her after she’d married Dad.
“Four percent shares,” I reminded. “You could throw a spanner into those plans, you know.”
We continued to chat about Chloe and what she remembered about Renée.
I didn’t know why I was associating Trevor’s name with it.
Wait, I wanted him to dig into something.
My head started to hurt. The last task I had Trevor do was find Chloe, right?
But prior to that, I wanted him to look into another case I was piecing together. Wait, maybe it was after? Was it after?
Ivan’s office. The scattered papers. It was about the Zahkarovs and the Kings.
My mental acrobatics jolted to a halt when I felt Chloe freeze. Even when she was across from me in the booth, the way her face turned white was perceptible. And whatever she was staring at beyond my shoulder was the reason for it.
I’d forbidden Sato and my bodyguards from coming into the café because I didn’t want to spook Chloe.
She seemed inexplicably cagey whenever the bratva was mentioned.
Did she think Kirill would order a hit on her because she aimed a shotgun at him?
Trevor mentioned he still couldn’t place Chloe's whereabouts eight months prior to her move to Pennsylvania. She might be hiding from people other than the bratva. That was the reason I let her take the seat that had the vantage point to see the entire café so she’d be more comfortable.
According to Trevor, she hardly left the third floor and never left The Grindhouse premises. Poor thing.
I shifted in my seat to see what had Chloe freaking out about and felt the blood drain from my face.
I’d been expecting to see Kirill, but striding toward us was Theodore King.
Chloe. Oh no.
The older King looked nothing like his younger brother.
Even when they had the same coloring of dark hair and tanned skin, Theodore was taller and bulkier.
The expensive threads of his Armani suit couldn’t hide his built frame.
Like a man who worked as a lumberjack instead of spending his time in boardrooms. Jeremiah was leaner and was flexible with the way he wanted to project himself, from serious to easy charm.
Meanwhile, with the older King, even with his clean-shaven face, I couldn’t imagine a warm smile cracking the harsh angles of his face.
I was going to text Sato, but he’d already walked into the café.
“Now, now, Mrs. Zahkarova, my bodyguards and yours have already come to an agreement. All I want is to talk to Chloe.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
“Is this man causing a problem, Lucy?” Renz appeared beside King.
“Chloe?” I asked because, as usual, curiosity got the better of me, and I wanted to know what King wanted.
“It’s fine. But anything you have to say can be said in front of Lucy.”
“I’m her attorney,” I put in.
“Last I checked, you’re not.”
I tilted up my chin defiantly. I spied Sato lurking, watchful and ready to pounce. Oh, he was not happy about this.
“What’s this about?”
“I’m going to cut to the chase since your head bodyguard only gave me five minutes.” He put a sheaf of documents in front of Chloe. “Accept the shares.”
“Why?”
“Because if Jeremiah marries Aralina, he’ll be positioned to challenge you for control of the company, right, Mr. King?” He might not have majority control but could influence the conservative stockholders to back him up. A married CEO whose wife was Russian nobility.
“Call me Theo, please,” he said with all the congeniality of a lion wanting to rip my throat out.
“True as that may be, you don’t want Jeremiah marrying Aralina.
” His eyes flashed forebodingly, and he lowered his voice.
“My brother is a very dangerous man. And I fear for your sister-in-law. She’s such a sweet thing. ”
“Jeremiah is not here to defend himself,” I replied.
My headache intensified. I heard Mamma’s voice.
“Rumor is the eldest one is a sociopath.”
“Are you all right, Lucy?” Chloe's voice came to me in a vacuum.
“From what I hear, you’re the dangerous one?” I gritted. “Didn’t your ex-wife accuse you of mental and emotional abuse?”
“Better than the alternative.”
Trevor’s voice at the time of the Mistress Strangler killings echoed in my head, the memory just beyond my reach ripping free. That was the time Kolya was released from prison, and we discussed the case briefly.
“The FBI profile of the Mistress Strangler was white male, in his twenties or thirties. Educated and must have been a victim of a broken home where one parent cheated. Hence he targets lovers of a married partner.”
“And the last confirmed killing attributed to the original MO was five years ago,” I had replied.
“Your parents died five years ago in a car accident.”
Theo’s eyes flashed. “What the hell does this have to do with it?”
“Aralina,” I whispered. She said Jeremiah was taking her to a family home in Montauk. I ignored the older King and texted Kirill’s sister.
Me
How are you enjoying Montauk?
Message not delivered. Fear and ice hardened my insides.
“Why are you here, Mr. King?” My temples pounded, and I had to squint my eyes. “What exactly prompted you to show up?”
“Someone tried to break into our servers.” His eyes narrowed at me. “Tried to access encrypted communication, particularly my brother’s. Why?”
“You tell me.” I stood unsteadily, exiting the booth, my eyes on Sato. “Can you check on Aralina’s security?”
“What’s going on?” King demanded.
“Where were you the night Anya Davenport was murdered?” I asked.
“Oh my God,” Chloe whispered.
His jaw hardened, but his shoulders lowered slightly as resignation crossed his face. “I was in Hong Kong.”
Sato joined our huddle. “None of them is responding. Did this fucker do something?”
“What’s going on?” King repeated.
“Aralina and her security are not responding to texts,” I said shakily. “If Jeremiah found out you knew what he was up to…” I gulped. “He might…”
“Did he say where he was taking her?”
“Montauk,” I whispered. “Has he hurt her? She doesn’t fit—”
King spun around and stalked out the door. I rushed out after him despite the dizziness compromising my movements. He was heading to the driver’s side of a black Mercedes SUV. Meanwhile, his security was assembling in the black Suburban behind him.
“I’m coming with you,” I called out.
“Then get in the car,” he snarled.
Sato hooked me around the waist. “Where the fuck are you going?” he growled in a tone he’d never used on me.
“Aralina,” I said. “Her life is in danger!”
“In or out?” King lowered the windows and glared at Sato. “And no, my brother is mine to deal with.”
“That’s the pakhan’s sister,” Sato shouted.
“Do you want her back or not?” King shot back. “You can’t just go in there guns blazing.”
“You knew—” I started.
“In or out?”
“In.” Chloe opened the door behind King.
I struggled with Sato and yelled, “Ahhh, you’re hurting me.”
He released me with a panicked expression, then realized I was faking it, but by then he was too late to stop me from jumping into King’s car.
He screeched out of there. “You'd better make sure they stay back. Jerry is dangerous when provoked.”
“You knew he was killing, and you did nothing to stop him.”
“I had suspicions but no proof—”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Do I care?”
“Did he kill my mother?” Chloe asked from behind us.
King didn’t respond, but he might as well have said yes.