Chapter 32 - Paisley
This couldn’t be real. I tried to shake off Agent Pierce’s grip on my arms, but his fingers only dug in tighter.
Gavril Bocharov took another step forward, looming over me from his great height.
I had never been so close to him before, always grateful he never ventured onto the floor at Axon with all the junior accountants, all of us keeping our heads down so we wouldn’t be noticed by this fearsome, mysterious boss.
I remembered the first time he visited after I started working there.
The red carpet had virtually been rolled out and gossip flew as everyone scampered to make sure nothing was out of place.
Nobody could tell me exactly what he did or what his title was, but it was clear no one wanted to be singled out by him.
At my first glimpse of him, dressed as impeccably as he was now, I had thought he was movie star handsome, so tall and regal. It didn’t take me long to realize why everyone was afraid of him. He was carved of ice, never smiling, eyes dark and forbidding.
He looked downright mean now, and I had far more reason to be scared than I ever did back in the Axon building. It felt like I was frozen in his steely gaze, like I was a mouse being hypnotized by a snake. I tried to shake out of the so-called FBI agent’s hold, but he jerked me to a standstill.
Mr. Bocharov—I couldn’t help but revert to thinking of him in the respectful way I used to think he deserved—snapped his fingers and turned away. Agent Pierce dragged me along behind him toward one of the closed doors in the vast, empty warehouse.
“Who are you really?” I asked under my breath.
“Agent Victor Pierce,” he said, his voice no longer filled with concern about my safety or curiosity about the Fokins. Now his voice could cut diamonds, it was so hard. “You saw my ID.”
For a split second I relaxed. This wasn’t a set up, but some kind of sting operation. But why not tell me about it in the first place? That delusional hope was shattered as soon as Bocharov opened the door and Agent Pierce shoved me in after him.
There was a metal folding chair in the middle of the room, under a harsh light bulb hanging from the water stained ceiling.
I cast my eyes around for any means of escape, but there were none unless I could find the strength to break free from Agent Pierce and run faster than two men who both had eight or ten inches of height on me.
Pierce shoved me in the chair, a cruel grin on his face. “This is a matter of grave importance. Be sure to answer every question honestly.” He removed a gun from beneath his jacket and held it loosely in his hand.
The meaning was clear. If he was truly a cop, he was as dirty as they came.
I looked away from him, disgusted both with him and myself for falling for his ruse.
There wasn’t much time for self recrimination because Bocharov stepped forward.
His hand jerked forward, gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
He already seemed big enough when I was standing, now he was a towering, angry giant.
“How long have you been working for the Fokins?” he asked.
I stopped trying to twist away from his fingers cutting into my jaw, stunned by the question. Just like I had been confused by Agent Pierce wanting to know so much about the family I had accidentally come to work for, I had no earthly idea why one of the head honchos at Axon would give a damn.
“A little more than two weeks,” I said.
He let go of my chin and stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. “You were warned to tell the truth.” As if on cue, Agent Pierce jumped forward and slapped me.
“That is the truth,” I said, shocked by the stinging blow. Unless I wanted to bring Marlowe into this mess, I had no real way of proving that. But they had to know when I was last at Axon. “I—I needed a break and took a last minute babysitting job,” I explained.
“How long have you known them?” Bocharov asked, leaning close again.
How was it possible that his eyes could turn even more glacial? A muscle in his jaw jumped as he ground his teeth, waiting for me to answer.
“Just a little more than two weeks,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. This wasn’t happening, it just couldn’t be happening.
Bocharov turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore. Pierce tapped his gun against the palm of his hand, needlessly reminding me of its presence.
“We’re aware you’ve come across some highly classified information,” Bocharov said, turning back to me, crouching down so we were eye to eye. He gave me a stiff smile, revealing blinding white teeth that may as well have been fangs.
Was that supposed to be reassuring? If so, it wasn’t working. I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“A certain list?” the formidable man asked, the smile remaining.
Now that he was asking me about the very thing that had started the tumultuous downfall of my life, my stomach heaved. I leaned forward, certain I was going to throw up, never more scared in my life.
“I don’t know anything about it,” I said when he wrenched my shoulder and jerked me back to an upright position.
Agent Pierce snickered. I winced, realizing how dumb that had been to try and lie about the list. He knew I was fully aware of what had happened to most of the people on it. I recoiled, certain I was going to get another slap, but Bocharov only stared down at me like I was a bug.
Would he squish me, or was I not worth his time?
As ice cold as he was, I could almost read those thoughts emanating from his frigid eyes.
It might have been funny if I weren’t about to puke.
I really didn’t want that to be one of the last things I did, and I really didn’t want to die in this dank warehouse. I closed my eyes and waited.
“Who else have you spoken to about it?” he asked.
“No one,” I said, opening my eyes to show him this was the truth. That piece of shit Pierce laughed again. “Just Agent Pierce,” I said. “Because I thought he was FBI.”
Wrong answer. It only proved I would speak, and probably keep speaking if I was allowed to live.
“He is FBI,” Bocharov said, with a hint of a smile that actually reached his eyes that time. “You’ll never know how deep my organization runs.” Did he want a pat on the back? A cookie? “It was no accident he was the one to contact you after you started reaching out to the family members.”
Shit. I was so screwed. “I don’t know anything,” I said. “I was just concerned.”
“You know more than you should,” Bocharov said.
Sweat dripped down the back of my neck. It was all I could do not to scream in his face, frustrated that they refused to believe me.
I admitted to seeing the list, questioning family members, and even being a temporary babysitter to the Fokins, but they still thought I knew more than that.
When they started asking about the Fokins again, I clammed up.
There was no way I would drag them into this, just an unlucky family who needed a nanny for their Christmas vacation.
Bocharov finally became pissed off, his lips pressed together and white with rage. His hands were clenched at his sides, red climbing up his neck from the pristine collar of his crisp button down shirt.
“You spoke to family members,” he said.
“To ask if there was any news,” I told him for the seventh or eighth time.
“You spoke to Pierce,” he told me. It was only the harsh grip of fear that kept me from rolling my eyes.
“Yes, and you know everything I told him, which was nothing, because I don’t know anything. I don’t know what your list means, or why those people were on it.”
“She’s holding back,” Pierce interjected. I shot him a filthy glare. He only smirked in return. “There’s no way she’s not involved with the Fokins.”
After a deep sigh, Bocharov shook his head, turning away. “Get it out of her,” he said, storming out of the room. “However you need to do it, get me the answers I need.”
He left the door open behind him and the sound of his expensive shoes tapping across the concrete drifted back to me, getting quieter. The creaking hinges squealed and finally the heavy warehouse door thudded shut, a slight echo making its way back to the room.
Pierce had a sick smile on his face as he stepped away to shut the door with a resounding click.
When he turned back, he carefully replaced his gun in its holster under his jacket and rubbed his hands together, moving slowly toward my chair.
There was a gleam in his eyes that told me I was in for a very bad time.