CHAPTER FIVE
Payton flagged me down to ride in his car on the way back to the house, and Aleks rushed to join us, happy to abandon Brock to a solo drive.
“Medvezhonok, why you are abandoning me to front seat?” Aleks grumbled, squeezing his door-wide shoulders into the narrow space between the driver and passenger seats.
“Payton asked me to sit up here, you big bear,” I replied with a hint of teasing. When I’d first met Aleks, his colossal size and even larger personality had intimidated me in the extreme. I’d been in fight-or-flight mode for half of my life and learned it was better to avoid drawing attention.
In contrast, Aleks thrived on it, but now, his presence offered security and warmth, like all the guys on my team.
Aleks scoffed, his ombre locks spilling across my shoulder as he whipped his head in Payton’s direction. “Emerson, why you do such thing to me? I was good on assignment with Boulder today.”
“Really?” Payton commented lightly as he merged into traffic. “So you didn’t engage in fisticuffs with gang members, and we don’t have to worry about backlash or retaliation?”
Aleks snorted. “I hope they are so stupid only.”
I tried not to smile, because Payton cast me a censuring look in warning, as if I was the one leaking machismo out the ears. “You mean, you hope they are only so stupid.”
“Nyet, medvezhonok, I do not hope they are little stupid. I hope they are much stupid. It is more fun.”
Sometimes, I wondered how much his resistance to leveling up his fluency in English stemmed from a lack of desire since most of the time, his interpersonal communication skills were sufficient to get the job done, or if Aleks enjoyed pointing out the absurdity of the English language that collected rules and conventions from around the globe and melded them into a very confusing alphabet soup non-native speakers had to muddle through.
To this day, I couldn’t talk about the rain without recalling the two hour long heated discussion about the American idiom, “It’s raining cats and dogs.”
When Aleks heard the phrase, he decried English as stupid and said that his team would use “raining like from a bucket” as was “proper.” Since I spoke more than nine languages on a bad day, the dinner table had glanced my way in a unanimous request to deal with the obstinate Russian, only to be shocked when I shrugged and confirmed Aleks’s proclamation. Most countries did say some variation of that.
Bryce, Duane, and Corbin had stared in disbelief, but Brock relented and said that they also used that phrase in the Serbian language, along with the ever-powerful phrase, “Axes are falling from the sky.”
From there, Jace and CJ mentioned the similarities to the “pouring from a bucket” in German, but stressed the fact that Germans also said, “Raining young dogs,” so English couldn’t be that crazy.
Then they’d turned once again and persuaded me to tell them the most absurd phrase of the languages I spoke, to which I informed them of the Japanese phrase, “Earth and sand descending.”
From there, it’d snowballed until someone pointed out that I didn’t speak Japanese.
“I’m not fluent, but we did a job there once.”
That was that. They didn’t press me on sensitive topics if I didn’t elaborate on them.
I loved that about them.
I loved everything about them, including Aleks and his refusal to conform to lingual conventions.
“Callie,” Payton began, drawing me from my thoughts. “I was wondering what your opinion was on Mr. Coppola’s supposition.”
I racked my brain but came up short. “About what?”
“That Tarasovich could have picked up someone adept at technology, such as yourself, along the way. Do you believe his concerns to be true?”
The sun shone through the window, warming me as I watched the passing houses and Spanish moss covered trees. When I first arrived in Virginia, I’d never seen the humidity loving plant. Oh, how quickly my mind associated their hypnotizing movements in the gentle breeze with slow afternoons and home.
“Tarasovich…” I began, searching my brain for how to explain my reasoning. “His methods, while they haven’t always been hands-on as he experimented with what he liked, have consistently demanded precision for maximum effect.”
“He is control fuck, da?” Aleks guessed.
“Ah, I think you mean control freak, but yes. He has exacting standards because he wants his outcomes to be just so. Whether that’s to wrangle the most emotional despair he can from each victim to prolong the sadistic satisfaction he receives from their death, or because he has strong OCD tendencies to the point of being neurotic about it, I’m not entirely sure.”
Payton, who had a degree specializing in psychology, hummed. “You’d be surprised how often those two traits go hand in hand, luv.”
That wasn’t that surprising. I’d observed many broken or messed up psyches from the shadows beneath Ivanov’s “tender loving care.”
As if the mere thought of him cast a beacon, the boogeyman himself materialized in the backseat. A cold wash of shivers preceded his bland, impersonal voice. “Miss me already, Callie?”
That split second of chills kept me from visibly flinching. I licked my lips, scrambling for the dangling thread of conversation with the living.
“You’re right, Payton. Tarasovich started at a young age and managed to not only survive but build a name for himself. He’s thriving. People seek out him because he’s the best person to send a message, and he always gets the job done.” I paused, remembering the two survivors who prompted this entire search, and amended, “Well, usually. He considers himself a savant of physical pain and punishment, and part of that arrogance has always meant flying solo, even if people commissioned his talents. I doubt he’d willingly branch out now just because he lacks technological know-how.”
Payton flashed an enigmatic smile. “Ah, hubris. It makes our jobs so much easier when criminals have a weakness to exploit.”
“And what would you say my weakness was, dear Callie?” Ivanov demanded, sounding amused, but he once used the same voice while sipping tea as an entire family was brutally murdered not ten feet from him. One of his workers had failed to meet Ivanov’s demands, and he, along with his young wife, had paid the price.
“Mm,” Ivanov hummed, sending an icy breath over my ear despite the cramped conditions of the car. “I remember that time. When Anatoly got a little too carried away, I’d ordered you to fetch me a clean saucer of tea.”
My hands had been shaking so badly, I’d nearly dropped the bloody porcelain.
Ivanov chuckled. “If you had, I’d have told Anatoly to add one more to his tally that day. I was in a less than pleasant mood. Oh well. As Americans say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
My hackles stood at attention as the weight of that statement hit me for more than just the horror of being killed over dropping a bit of cheap china.
Doubt curled through my gut. The careless attitude about people’s livesalways made Ivanov stand out as such an awful monster.
What concerned me was how spot-on my brain mimicked Ivanov’s response. Scarily accurate didn’t even begin to cover how closely my mind had just captured Ivanov’s entire persona.
I jolted in place, spinning when something tugged my hair.
“Sorry, medvezhonok. I was inspecting new color. You changed it again.”
“Y-Yeah, I did.” My heart rate slowed from a gallop to an agitated trot.
Aleks narrowed his arctic blue eyes. “You are bouncy.”
“Jumpy,” Payton corrected, also giving me a side glance.
My breath escaped in a sigh when I didn’t see Ivanov anywhere. He’d disappeared again. “Sorry. This case has me a little wound up. Ghosts from my past keep haunting my head.”
One thing that Yolo had taught me between bouts of physical training was how to lie with the truth, since I still absolutely failed at lying about fifty percent of the time. The key was to lean into exaggerated facial expressions, make people assume I was joking or sarcastic while tossing truths.
“Of course. It would be more shocking if you weren’t after our briefing,” Payton agreed.
At the last minute, I swallowed the whoosh of relief that fought to escape after being let off the hook, and instead slouched in my seat, determined to stare out my window for the remainder of the trip.
My plan worked too.
Once we pulled onto the long drive winding through the trees that led to our house, I stiffened as the Italian man’s words coaxed doubts to swirl.
What if Tarasovich had made strides?
Could we be in danger?
No, even though he was active again, Tarasovich had operated as if things were business as usual. Just because being in the same country was too close for comfort, that didn’t mean he sought a confrontation.
Relax, Callie.
The double-decker covered front porch popped into view, providing a pleasant distraction.
The house had been undergoing construction when I’d first glimpsed it, with only a few bedrooms and offices completed. Then, the Emerson and Tate Teams merged, adopting me into their fold, and suddenly a lot more changes happened to accommodate the influx of residents.
We each had our own room, and the original Emerson Team could have stopped at that, but they hadn’t. They’d made sure each person had a personal space for their interests as well. From Corbin’s five-stall garage to the fully stocked medical suite for Duane, the house acted as a small community for the varied personalities our team—our family—boasted.
They’d generously given CJ and me our own offices even though CJ kept a full computer system in his room—his “hobby” setup—and I’d have been content curled up with my laptop in a corner somewhere. CJ enjoyed tinkering and beefing up his technology. Circuit boards, fans, and masses of wire always lined the flat surfaces of whatever areas he considered his.
While there was no doubt that habit had come in handy—like when we’d needed to hack Estonian traffic cameras on the fly—I’d been raised with nothing to my name, forced to make-do and think on my feet.
I could be debriefed on a situation and mentally tally what tools I’d need based on size, functionality, and appearance. CJ’s bigger is better mentality stemmed from working safely within Delta, but onsite jobs required stealth and portability. Anything resembling a hacker’s tool drew red flags, which could mean the difference between life and death. On top of that, all equipment had to fit inside a backpack. None of the neon-wired, flashy light pieces CJ produced from time to time fit the bill.
They were near works of art when he completed them, which should have been no surprise since his twin, Jace, was a painter and graffiti artist.
“Alright,” Payton began as we gathered outside the various cars. “You heard Mr. Coppola. Pack your essentials. Until we confirm some things about Tarasovich, for safety reasons, we’ll be staying at Delta once more.”
“You got it, boss man,” Corbin quipped, whipping his head to the side to sweep the tan locks from his gaze.
“You have ten minutes,” Paride added, catching the tail end of Payton’s orders as he exited his car, the last one to park.
“We’ll take as long as it takes,” Duane corrected, folding his thick arms and widening his stance. He looked utterly commanding as he stood his ground beside his beast of a black panther motorcycle.
“It’s risky,” Paride cautioned.
Duane’s eyes narrowed. “You’re demanding we uproot our lives because the task we’ve been assigned will expose us to substantial danger. As this is work-related, Delta can foot the bill for as long as it takes to reach completion. If you’re so worried, request a team out here to watch our backs.”
Corbin raised his hand. “Uh, yeah, I have a question. Wasn’t the risk supposed to come after we began investigating Tarasovich, and only if he had help from his own pocket-sized Callie?
Paride sighed, scrubbing his forehead. “I mean, sure, the threat is low, but never zero, and after reading that kid’s case file, I’d rather err on the side of caution, especially since Callie has caught his eye before. I assume you’d want the same. She’s your teammate.”
Corbin’s lips pursed, and after a beat, he stood down. “Touché, Parade Day, touché.”
“We’ll endeavor to get right to it then,” Payton claimed, taking the lead as we walked through the foyer that coughed us immediately into a vast living space big enough to host a modest ball should the need arise. A seating arrangement consisting of a trio of sofas, a glass coffee table, and twin topiaries on either side of the three-seater was the only furniture in the room, so the true focal point was the dual staircase and catwalk running the perimeter of the upper floor.
Paride released a low whistle that echoed in the distant rafters far above. “Nice place.”
“Thank you,” Payton replied, polite as could be. “Please, make yourself at home. We’ll be quick.”
“No, no. Take your time. It’d probably piss Harbin off if he got his team out here for nothing. I’ll go hang out on the porch, since this room doesn’t have any windows overlooking the driveway.”
He meandered to the foyer and stood by the front door.
Payton gave us a pointed look and moved to the archway to the right. We followed along like little ducklings in a row. I thought maybe he intended to take us to the conference area since it boasted a fourteen person meeting table, the most spacious room on this half, but he hooked left toward the rear of the house.
Did he intend to cram us into his or Aleks’s office? No, he bypassed those as well, angling for the door at the end of the hall that would spill into the garage. With most of our vehicles out front, we had plenty of space to spread out.
“What’s the plan, boss man?” Corbin asked, right at home in his turf as he hoisted himself onto one of his workbenches and kicked his dangling feet back and forth. “Are we staging a jailbreak?”
“Not quite,” Payton replied. “However, we never had a chance to discuss this, and I want to hear your opinions away from prying eyes. If there’s enough objection, I will fight this decision with the director. Also, on the car ride here, Callie said she doesn’t think Tarasovich would have joined with a hacker type, but of course, as Mr. Coppola stated, the risk is never zero.”
“I vote go to Delta,” Aleks growled. “Puny man imply we don’t know how to take care of girlfriend. We take care of girlfriend.”
The others agreed to various degrees, so it was settled shortly after to pack up what we’d need.
“Hey,” Corbin started as he hopped down. “Do you think we’ll get the mysterious Subbasement Delta again? Those were some nice digs.”
Technically, Subbasement Delta didn’t exist. Even the guys, who’d been employed there a lot longer than me, had been surprised when we learned of its existence.
Payton hesitated. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Possible?” Bryce drawled. “Where else could they house us? It’s the only residential area in the entire building. It’s not like they have dorms.”
Nobody responded to that, and we used the stairwell in the garage to head upstairs via Corbin’s bedroom. If Paride found it odd how we’d filed out of one room when he hadn’t seen us go upstairs, he didn’t comment.
I called the Cardinals on our way out. Sabra agreed that they’d check in on the house.
Later, we figured out the answer about Subbasement Delta.
Apparently, their solution to our living arrangements was retrofitting two classrooms on the seventh floor with some cots and blankets for our team and telling us to shower in the gym locker rooms on the opposite side of the building.
Brock flicked one of the rolling dividers meant to act as bedroom walls with a single finger, and the fabric shuddered.
Fancy.
We’d be living large for the next who knew how many weeks.