Chapter 33
KATE
Iwake in the middle of the night, dressed only in my bra and knickers. The dim nightstand lamp casts an oily yellow pall over everything.
Lying in the center of the lumpy mattress, I try to figure out what woke me. The trucks are still loud on the highway. A television squawks from the room above mine. Water is running somewhere; one of my neighbors must have flushed a toilet.
It’s a minor miracle I was able to sleep at all.
I stretch for my mobile. By reflex, my finger falls on the SparkChat app. For so many years, I dropped into the Raiders’ chatroom when I couldn’t get to sleep. At least one of the guys was always online, lying about women he’d rogered, dreaming about what he’d do when he truly made it big.
Red Cap is dead to me. But I send a quick email to Carlotta Mirabelli.
From: [email protected]
Re: Important Communications Platform
I’d like to set up an online chat room for all members, sooner rather than later. SparkChat works for me, unless you prefer an alternative.
I hope sending the message will ease my mind and let me fall back to sleep. But the urge to check for a reply in less than a minute is overpowering. When I find my mailbox empty, my fingers skate back to SparkChat by habit. I clench my fists to keep from tapping.
I’m going to be awake for a while.
Pushing myself to a sitting position on the thin mattress, I shove a pillow behind my back and lean against the grimy headboard. Staring at the blank screen of my mobile, I try to take stock of where things stand with Tarasov.
He knows by now that the paintings his men purchased were forged. Someone must have told him that Cole left the freeport in disgrace. He might even know I was abandoned here in Dover.
I imagine how the bratva will laugh about that. Kate Lynch left to fend for herself. The Canton Crew’s wild daughter deserted miles from home. My cheeks flush with a familiar mix of anger and shame.
Cole’s the one who should be ashamed. All his hard work on Viktor, all his careful coding… There’s not a chance Pyotr will take the program now. He’ll assume any code Cole offers is as tainted as the fake paintings.
But what if Cole isn’t the one offering Viktor?
I have a complete copy of the program on my private network, one I can transfer with just a few keystrokes. Of course, Tarasov is too smart to open a random computer file received by mail. He has no reason to trust anything I send him. I’m as much a threat as Cole is.
Unless…
I’ve texted Tarasov—MaskedMarauder—for years. We’ve communicated outside of the group SparkChat and beyond the confines of Winter Reckoning. The vast majority of those messages were one or two words, instructions to log onto platforms that were safe from government interference.
But there’s no reason on earth we can’t have a more substantive conversation tonight.
I start to type before I can think of all the reasons this is terrible idea.
CyberGhost
Mask? You there?
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until he finally types back.
MaskedMarauder
Why if it isn’t the Lone Cunt herself
I didn’t know the paintings were fake
What’s one more lie between enemies?
Excuse me if I do not believe a word you type
It’s true
Wolf lied to me too
He left me at the feckin’ freeport
I’m in a goddamn hot-sheet motel
I have to make Tarasov trust me. I take a quick photo of the manky room and send it to him.
Oh how the mighty have fallen
You have to believe me
I never wanted this
I’m a Canton Crew princess but he treated me like a feckin’ whore
I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life
Words are easy
How do I know he is not sitting beside you right now?
How do I know this is not Wolf typing?
I stare at the screen. I don’t want to let Tarasov into any corner of my life. I don’t want to face him while I’m alone. Vulnerable.
But vulnerability is exactly what a predator like Tarasov craves.
I grab my white shirt from the back of its sticky wooden chair. I only take time to do up three buttons before I tug on my linen pants. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to launch a video call.
Tarasov answers immediately. His face fills the screen, carved into sinister planes by the glow of his mobile. “Show me,” he commands.
I flip my phone’s view so he can see exactly what I’m seeing—four walls, a table and two nasty chairs, a mussed bed and a dresser.
“The closet,” he says.
I show him the mangled hangers. An extra pillow sags on the single shelf. A broken luggage rack splays across the floor.
“The bathroom,” he says.
I walk him into the tiny room. My face looks like curdled milk in the fly-spotted mirror, and my hair appears black.
For just a moment, as I pull back the shower curtain, I wonder if some serial-killer axe murderer is lying in wait.
Adrenaline spikes my belly, but the only thing waiting in the shallow beige tub is the petrified corpse of a cockroach.
“Okay?” I ask, as I switch back the phone view. “I’m alone.”
“That is one thing I will say for Wolf. He would not be caught dead in a dump like that. But tell me, Katie Lynch. He does not mind his wife being in such a place?”
I fight the urge to tell him I’m not Katie, that I haven’t been Katie since he took me to the Cold Room. Instead, I say, “I told you. He left me at Diamond Freeport.”
“And why would he do that?”
I need to tell him the truth, let him into my life. That’s what Cole’s taught me, explaining all the cons he was raised on. A mark needs to trust a grifter.
“He found out I saw Megan. His sister. After he ordered me never to talk to her again.”
Tarasov laugh is high and thin, as if I’ve just told the best joke in the history of the world. “Ah… The slit that keeps on giving. That bitch is not worth fighting over.”
“Tell that to Cole,” I say, seasoning my words with true bitterness.
“So,” Tarasov says after a pause. “What do you want?”
“To make him pay.”
“Pay?” Tarasov’s eyebrows raise in exaggerated curiosity.
“You saw the way he treated me at the zoo. And today, leaving me behind… He’s taken everything that matters to me—Winter Reckoning, our Red Cap Raiders, my self-respect. Now I want to take the thing that matters most to him.”
“And that would be?”
“Viktor.”
“Viktor?” He’s confused.
“It’s encryption software Wolf wrote. A key that opens every door.”
“Every door.” Now he’s skeptical.
“Banks, government agencies, corporations. I’ve seen it work.”
“And you need my help to take this…Viktor.”
I toss my head, just one sharp shake. “I already have it. I hacked into his files at home.”
Tarasov huffs. “Then you already have your revenge.”
“Stealing Viktor isn’t enough.” I pause for long enough to swallow. “I want to give it to you.”
I’ve caught him by surprise. He blinks. He swallows. And then he finally says, “To me? You want to give your husband’s greatest prize to a man you have hated since you were eight years old?”
This is the hard part, the greatest lie I have to sell.
I look directly in his eyes. “I want him to hurt as much as I do. I want him to know that I gave Viktor to you—the man responsible for ruining his future, the reason he’s been thrown out of his beloved freeport. I want you to have it just to see him suffer.”
“Ah… My little Katie… You still have teeth.”
Acid coats the back of my throat. I desperately fight the urge to bite, to tell him what I really think about him, about his feckin’ bratva.
“You want to use me, Katie.”
“I…” I can’t devise a lie.
“You want me to be the tool for hurting your Lone Wolf. But if I do this for you, what will you do for me?”
I’m offering him something he thinks is worth a fortune, but he’s still demanding more. I let some of my real indignation drip over my response. “What do you feckin’ want?”
“I want to watch you, Katie.”
A chill wave of terror washes over me. “W— Watch what?”
“That should be your choice. You remember, don’t you? I always give my little Katie a choice.”
A wave of nausea rushes over me, so fast and so hard that I almost drop my mobile. But I’m here in Dover. I’m locked away. Tarasov can’t touch me. No matter what I choose, I’m safe.
“Katie?” he asks. “Do you want me to take the code? Then choose something to make me happy.”
Slowly, holding my phone with one shaking hand, I unfasten the three buttons on my shirt.
His eyebrows peak. “That is a good choice, Katie. One I will keep forever. For posterity.”
A red bubble opens in the corner of my screen. He’s recording this call. “No!” I say. “Turn that off!”
“Is that your choice, Katie? You already choose to be done?”
“You can’t film me.”
“Ah, but I can.” He grins. “I am.”
Frustration tightens every one of my muscles, and I fight the urge to scream. But Tarasov holds all the cards here. I can let him film me or I can let him end the call without accepting the Money Box. Those are my two choices.
“Make it worth my while to fight your little battle, Katie.”
This is insane. I’m promising to make him king of the known universe, but he’ll only take the crown if I destroy myself.
I slip my bra strap from my shoulder. Peeling the cup away, I squeeze my limp nipple.
He groans and settles back, and I realize he’s leaning against pillows. Of course he’s in bed. It’s the middle of the night.
“Is that the last of your choices, Katie? Because you are asking for very much and you are giving very little.”
I bite my lip. I close my eyes. I don’t want to make this decision. I don’t want to be the author of his pleasure.
But I fetch a Bible from the nightstand drawer and set it on the dingy table.
I lean my mobile against the makeshift easel, freeing both my hands.
When I shrug out of my shirt, the room’s chilly air hits me like a cold front.
My nipples wrinkle and harden, standing stiff as I unfasten the clasps on my bra.
I could wait for him to goad me. He’ll croon about choices. He’ll make this all about the decisions I made as a child.