Chapter 22
The station felt different at night. Every sound carried. Footsteps echoed in empty hallways. Radios crackled in distant rooms.
Coop kept Erica close as they moved toward the secure wing. She didn’t speak, but her tension was obvious in her shortened breaths and tight shoulders as she braced for what lay ahead.
He shouldn’t be doing this, walking her toward a man who’d kill without hesitation, less than an hour after dragging her out of his hands because he needed what she could pull from him.
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with O’Reilly.
He stopped short when he saw Erica. “Don’t tell me you’re taking her in there. He nearly kidnapped her tonight.”
Coop went rigid, his hand flexing at his side. He didn’t need a reminder. It was forever burned into his brain.
Her fingers brushed his arm, aware of the tension roiling in him. And though she spoke to Justin, it was a reminder to him. “It’s fine. I volunteered for this.”
O’Reilly glanced between them. “You sure this is necessary?”
Again, Erica answered him. “I might be able to speed things along.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “Heaven knows I could use the sleep.” Impatience slipped through, the only crack in her armor, when she looked up at him. “Can we do this?”
He didn’t answer right away, still weighing his options, searching for another way out. But there wasn’t one and admitting it twisted something deep in his gut.
“I’ll be in observation,” O’Reilly said. “In case it goes sideways.”
“It won’t. I won’t let it,” he said, the Ranger in him clashing hard with everything else.
They continued down the hall to Interrogation Two. Keycard in hand, he murmured, “Last chance to back out.”
Her determination didn’t waver. She said with a hint of a smile, “This isn’t my first rodeo. I promise I won’t break.”
That didn’t set his mind at ease. Nothing would until this was done. But he swiped the card and when the lock disengaged with a heavy clunk, he led her inside.
Gruzinsky sat cuffed to the metal ring bolted into the table. Bruised cheekbone, split lip still fresh, courtesy of his right hook. The Russian’s eyes narrowed the moment he entered, a scowl twisting his lips. Then he noticed Erica.
“She’s that psychic,” he said in a heavy accent. “What’s she doing here?”
“Consulting.” Coop gave him nothing else.
“Bullshit,” Gruzinsky grumbled.
He pulled out the chair across from the Russian then stepped aside so Erica could sit. As she passed, he saw her tremble, barely, but enough. He brushed his hand lightly along her back, a subtle reassurance.
She didn’t look at him, but her shoulders eased a fraction. That was when, against every instinct, he had to let go and trust her to do this.
He took a position at her shoulder, close enough to be there, not too close to interfere. She wasn’t doing this alone.
***
Erica moved the cold metal chair closer to the table. It scraped loudly across the tile floor, a grating sound that set her teeth on edge.
The room felt too small, too bright. The harsh fluorescent glare left nowhere to hide.
You volunteered for this.
Her reminder didn’t slow her racing pulse or settle the wild fluttering in her stomach. Vince stood behind her, his anchoring presence enough to keep her going.
Across the table, Gruzinsky watched her with a predator’s stillness. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
She didn’t answer. She simply reached out and touched his hand.
He jerked, trying to pull away, but the cuff clattered against the metal ring. A curse tore from him, in Russian that didn’t need translation. But the contact, brief as it was, had already been made.
It opened the door.
The first images didn’t slam into her violently as so often happened. They seeped in.
A dark-haired woman smiled. Two small children pressed close to her sides. Behind them, a modest home blanketed in snow. Warmth and love pulsed through it. A life far from this room. Not what she expected from a man like him.
The next image revealed as if through fog.
Sunset over water. A small boat was tied to a short dock by a rustic cabin. Inside, a threadbare couch and a battered desk beneath a window. A drawer opened and closed. The warped wood scraped. Crumpled receipts tucked away. Gold glinted among them but was gone before she could focus on it.
Then a mix of scents hit her. Lake water, damp wood, and beneath it, gun oil.
It was an odd combination, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gripped his wrist, fingers sliding over his pulse point, seeking answers.
Gruzinsky stiffened, but he didn’t jerk again. No point in fighting now.
Her other hand closed over his opposite wrist, fingertips at his pulse.
The second contact detonated images.
A man cowering on his back on a bloodstained tiled floor.
His voice cracked as he pleaded in Russian.
Another figure appeared from the shadows, an older man in a crisp, white suit.
His diamond-and-gold tie pin matched the ornate handle of his walking stick.
He didn’t need the cane. It was for show. For power.
His face remained hidden, but she knew who he was. Kedrov.
He watched in silence as his orders were carried out, his presence colder than the violence itself.
Gruzinsky moved, gripping the injured man by the collar. Brass knuckles met bone, again and again. His actions were efficient, practiced, and without emotion.
Erica’s stomach lurched. The brutality wasn’t random. It was routine, assumed, rewarded even.
The image skewed to the same man on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. She got stillness and finality.
Fear followed. Not the victim’s. His.
Not of bars and the isolation of prison. Of Kedrov. Beneath it, deeper and more intense, fear for the family she’d seen and what he would do to them.
She broke contact and pushed to her feet. Too fast. The room tilted.
Vince was there, his hands firm at her waist. “You’re done.”
She swallowed hard, forcing air into her lungs. Then she looked at Gruzinsky. “Does Kedrov know about the cabin?”
The Russian froze. He didn’t answer. Confusion flickered then recognition.
She pressed. “Does he know about the cash you kept from him?”
His jaw clenched so hard, a muscle ticked near his temple. “You can prove nothing!”
“Are you willing to stake your life on that?”
Vince curled his hand around her upper arm. “Let’s go,” he said then guided her out.
She didn’t argue. She needed space and fresh air. Anything not tainted by the echo of a brutal man’s memories.
In the hallway, she waited for the door to close before bending forward, a hand braced against the wall, letting the nausea pass.
He stood close, his hand curled around her hip. “Everything okay?”
“No,” she said shakily. “But I will be.”
His brows drew together. “Not exactly reassuring, darlin’.”
His concern, and the drawl that deepened with emotion, almost made her smile. Another time, definitely, but she wasn’t there yet. She laid her hand on his arm, instead. He felt solid, nothing bleeding through except the tension beneath.
“Sorry. I get queasy sometimes, but it passes.” She took another deep breath. “I’m good now.”
“What did you see?”
She sorted through it, filtering out the horror and focusing on what mattered. “I saw a family picture on a nightstand. A wife and two kids.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“He’s sending money home. That’s what he’s protecting. That’s why he’s skimming.”
She hadn’t told Gruzinsky that part.
“I also saw a cabin on a lake.”
“Where?”
She frowned, pulling the fragments together. “Bright blue water. Almost turquoise. The shoreline looked white, glowing almost. There was a sign—Fisherman’s Rest. And a mailbox with faded numbers. 2147.”
“Canyon Lake,” O’Reilly said from the corner, pushing off the wall. “White rock from limestone in the water. What about it?”
“Gruzinsky has a cabin there,” Vince supplied.
O’Reilly looked at Erica. “You got an address and all the rest from touching him?” he asked. No jokes. No smart-ass remarks. Only honest surprise.
“Still think I’m a crackpot?” she asked with a faint, tired smile.
Color crept into his cheeks.
Vince either didn’t notice or didn’t care if his partner was embarrassed. He was already shifting into motion. His hand closed around hers, pulling her with him. “You’re coming,” he called over his shoulder.
O’Reilly fell into step. “Canyon Lake is at least an hour from here. It will be midnight before we get there. Finding it in the dark won’t be easy.”
“You know the area. You’re navigating,” Vince said, pushing open the locked gate and guiding her through.
“I’ve been there twice. Years ago.” He shook his head, still processing. “Let me grab my tablet, and I’ll meet you outside.”
He jogged off, leaving them alone in the hallway.
Vince turned to her the moment he was out of sight and took her into his arms. “You did great in there.”
She let out a soft breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I don’t feel great.”
“What do you need? Water? Tylenol? Something to eat?”
She leaned in to him, resting against the one steady thing in her world. “I never want to touch him again.”
“Done.” He stroked her hair gently. “What else?”
Her voice dropped. “For this to be over.”
“I want that too. Which is why we’re heading into the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. You up for it?”
Her head fell back, registering his concern when she searched his face. “I am,” she murmured. “As long as you’re with me.”