Chapter 35
VLAD
“Say it again.”
“Elevator footage shows a stretcher. She looked pale. The guards said chest pain.”
I grip the arm of the door until the leather cracks. We’re three minutes from the building. My mouth opens to speak, but Nika isn’t finished yet.
“One more thing,” she adds, her voice cracking. “Immediately after that ambulance left, another one pulled up. Dispatch says they were the first call on record.”
The words hit harder than a bullet.
The first ambulance was a fake.
“I’m almost there,” I say, and kill the line.
Dmitri doesn’t speak. He threads us through traffic with small, decisive moves, the way he always does when he knows we need to be somewhere in a hurry. The tires hiss over slush.
We jackknife into the underground garage, sliding into the private bay. I swipe my passkey, the elevator waking with a shudder. The doors gasp open into the foyer, and before anyone speaks, I already feel the loss of her presence.
Nika’s at the console with a tablet, her jaw tight. Kostya and Mikhail hover near the entryway, wearing identical expressions that say they’d prefer a firing squad to a conversation with me.
“Talk,” I demand.
“Thirty minutes ago,” Nika begins, “Teresa told Kostya she felt dizzy. Tight in her chest. First, they suggested calling in the doctor, but she nearly passed out. So they called EMS. Two paramedics arrived within five minutes—caps low. They seemed legit. Lobby team checked their badges, everything looked right.”
Nika flips the tablet to show me the elevator feed.
Teresa on a stretcher, blanket tucked up to her chin.
Her eyes are open, not panicked, but distant.
Shock or perhaps resolve. The taller medic’s face is shadowed beneath the cap.
The angle of the cheekbones needles something familiar but can’t grab.
“Two minutes later,” Nika continues, “FDNY’s actual unit rolled up on a call they received from this address. The rig we saw headed south on Fifth without lights. Camera coverage is garbage in this snow.”
I move to the sofa. There’s a glass of water sweating on the table, a blanket tossed over the back, a book face down. I turn toward the bedroom and stop in the doorway. The bag she’d packed in case of an emergency is gone. The drawer where she keeps her passport is ajar. This was planned.
The first heat of fury burns clean through me. I go back to the foyer because if I stay in the bedroom I will tear the room apart.
Kostya swallows. “Boss, she said she felt faint. She was sweating, looked like she was going to pass out. We thought we did the right—”
“You did,” I cut him off. “A pregnant woman says her chest hurts and nearly passes out, you call for help.” I look at Mikhail. “Who verified the unit number?”
“Dispatch,” he says. “We called as they wheeled her out. The number came back as a private transport outfit. Tri-State. Ten minutes later Tri-State called back, said none of their rigs were within a mile of Midtown. By then the vehicle was gone.”
“Footage?” I ask Nika.
She swipes. We watch the stretcher leave. The camera stutters right as the rear doors close. The rig then moves down the ramp and is swallowed by white.
“Phones?”
“Her personal was found under the couch,” Nika reports. “Work phone is still in her office. No calls out from the landline. Last call in was forty-nine minutes before the ambulance showed. Caller ID… Trina Volkov.”
The name drops heavily.
Dmitri exhales. “It was definitely planned.”
“She wouldn’t risk this unless she already had a place to take Teresa,” Nika adds.
“Her place?” Dmitri suggests.
“Too obvious,” I say. “Trina’s smart enough to know we’d check there first. She’ll want somewhere she can control.”
We all go quiet for a moment, the reality of it settling in. Trina played the long game and none of us saw it coming.
Dmitri clears his throat. “So how do we track her? They’ll swap out the rig for another vehicle once they’re clear of the city. If she’s buying loyalty, someone will have to brag, or someone’s phone will light up where it shouldn’t.”
“We lock down movement without making noise. Airports, bridges, tunnels. Nothing stops, but everything is watched. Rostov and Lev slice up the map, Midtown to the river, West Side, too. Everyone else pushes coverage through Brooklyn and Queens. If they see the ambulance or a swap, they trail it. No cowboy work. Teresa comes home clean and safe.”
Nika’s fingers fly over her tablet. “Already flagging all CCTV within a one hour radius.
“Good,” I say. “Socials too—people film everything these days. If the fake rig got caught in the background of somebody’s video, we’ll find it.”
“What about phones?” Dmitri asks.
“Her personal’s dead,” Nika responds. “Last ping was here. I’m pulling tower dumps for new devices that left at the exact time the rig did. If they’re running a booster inside, we’ll see a trail.”
I lean both hands on my desk. “If Trina’s behind this, she thinks she’s already won. That arrogance is how we find her. She’ll want us to know, eventually. Until then, we watch every road out of this city. Stay vigilant.”
Mikhail and Kostya are still statues. I pin them with a look. “You’re repurposed. Kostya, you sit your ass with Nika. If she says jump, you ask how high on the way up. Mikhail, you’re on grunt work. Stick close in case I need an extra gun.”
“Yes, boss,” they say in unison.
She took her bag. She hid her phone under a cushion and let herself be wheeled past my men strapped to a lie.
Why, kotenok?
Dmitri taps my shoulder.
“Time to go.”