Chapter 7
Nick
SHE DIDN’T MAKE A SOUND, but I knew the look. It was the same look I’d seen on lost kids in a police station waiting room, on battered women who couldn’t say what happened, and on those I dedicated my life to finding.
Nadya blinked. Just once, but it was a shuttered lens.
When her eyes opened again, they were glazed.
Her breaths came too shallow, like she was drowning in the middle of a cafeteria.
The fluorescent light threw blue-white angles on her cheekbones and made her seem smaller, younger.
I let the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable, just to see if she’d come back on her own. She didn’t.
I itched to touch her, just to offer her comfort because she clearly didn't want anything else, but I forced myself not to. Sometimes, even a gentle hand could feel like a trap.
Her next inhale was sharp enough to cut glass. Fuck.
I leaned in slowly, hands up and open—showing her the universal sign for ‘I’m not a threat.’ Then, I reached over and pressed my palm lightly to her shoulder. Not enough pressure to restrain, just enough so she’d know where I was.
“Hey,” I said, voice pitched just above a whisper. “Come back to me. You’re safe now.”
She'd always be safe with me.
Nadya didn’t look at me, but her hand loosened its death grip on the cup.
I watched for another breath, then tried again, careful to keep the words simple.
“I have a few ideas. Tell me if you like any of them, okay? First idea, I can get all the sugar I can find in this place, and we’ll just stuff our faces with it.
Second idea—which can definitely happen while we’re stuffing our faces with chocolate—is we just change topics and talk about something more fun.
And my third idea—which can still happen while we do the first two—is that we don’t have to talk about this whole thing with George.
If you’re more comfortable with it, you can write down what you know, and it’ll be just as good. ”
I waited until her chest eased down a notch. Her focus returned.
“What, no option for vodka?” she asked, voice dry like scraping the bottom of a gravel pit.
I let out half a laugh as relief washed over me. She was alright. “Not sure they serve vodka in this fine establishment.”
A corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but a little less agony.
“I think I’m all sugared out after the ice cream,” she said, and finally met my eyes. The stare was direct, but I could see her holding herself together with spit and duct tape.
“Okay,” I said, and leaned back in my chair, putting distance between us. “No more talking about the dark stuff.”
She nodded, let go of the cup, and started picking at the paper napkin in front of her, shredding it into confetti.
I considered what bullshit topic would be least likely to trigger a flashback. Humor seemed to be her go-to method of dealing with anything uncomfortable.
“Can I just say—these chairs are some kind of Geneva Convention violation.”
Nadya snorted. “Try spending six hours in one. I almost had to ice my ass.”
I grinned. “Brutal. You’d think with all the money they make from parking tickets, they’d spring for seat cushions.”
“They spend it on the light bulbs. Every time I blink, I get an afterimage of the ceiling panels. Like a free rave but for masochists.”
I let her set the pace for our hospital-trashing small talk. Her shoulders unspooled, just enough to notice, but she kept rubbing the tattoo of three stars on her wrist, and there was still an ocean of sadness in the depth of her eyes.
Slowly, her voice steadied, and her smile became a little less forced.
“You know, you’re really good at this,” she said.
“Good at what?”
“This.” She waved her hand like that would’ve explained it all. “Most guys would’ve run the other way after my freakout.”
Yeah, and most guys would’ve been happy with a pat on the back for a quick rescue, call it case closed, and go on with their life.
I couldn’t do it, not when I had this nagging feeling that there was more to Ljuba’s kidnapping.
And yeah, it was a good excuse to spend more time with the woman I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for two damn years.
Either way, I was digging deeper into it.
“I learned early on that being a weak asshole is the worst strategy when you’re trying to get the girl,” I answered.
This time, she did smile—a full one, a real one. The dimple on her left cheek looked so freaking cute I wanted to poke it.
I steered the conversation away from anything dangerous. “So, art? You work at a gallery, right? Or are you one of those tortured genius types who moonlights as a barista?”
Of course I had done some research about my victim and her family, so I knew Nadya worked at a gallery now.
“Wow,” she said, “you just made fun of every Brooklynite I’ve ever met.”
“I aim high.”
She tapped the side of her empty ice cream cup. “I work at a gallery, but I also paint. It’s...cheaper than therapy, and if you’re lucky, people will pay you to keep doing it. Larisa, my boss, says I have ‘a gift for emotional terrorism.’ That’s a compliment, by the way.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You paint haunted dolls, or what?”
“Haunted everything. But sometimes, yeah, people. Faces that look like they’re about to cry or punch you in the face. I’m a hit at children’s birthday parties.”
I snorted. “You’d make a killing at the FBI office. We could use more existential dread on the walls.”
She laughed, and it was genuine. I felt the ice in my gut start to thaw.
Nadya relaxed into her chair, legs stretched out, arms loose.
She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking a streak behind her ear, and I noticed her accent snuck into some words when she was animated.
Her voice sped up, higher and lighter, the words clipped at the ends.
I tried to memorize the sound of it, just in case I never heard it again.
“Tell me about your job,” she said, turning the spotlight. “You guys always kick in doors and shoot the bad guys, or is it mostly paperwork?”
“Oh, we definitely shoot the bad guys. On Fridays. The rest of the week is just HR videos and online forms that never load right. If I had a dollar for every time I got logged out of the FBI database, I’d have enough money to buy your entire gallery.”
She gave me a mock-scandalized look. “Don’t you know how much property costs in New York? You’re better off buying a gallery in Midwest.”
“Yes, but Midwest doesn’t have a sexy artist with a gift for emotional terrorism.”
“Shouldn’t you arrest me for emotional terrorism? I think that’s a crime,” she fired back.
“At the very least, I should handcuff you and interrogate you.”
“Promise?”
I couldn’t help it—I let myself grin. This girl.
We both lost it for a second, shaking with silent laughter while the guy at the next table side-eyed us over the rim of his coffee.
The connection I felt with Nadya was just as strong and instantaneous as the first time. I just couldn’t get enough, but that was exactly why I had to tread carefully. The first time we met, she ended up running. This time, I wouldn’t let her get away that easily.
She fixed me with a gaze that was all challenge. “So, Tuna. You ever solve a case with just the power of your winning smile?”
“God, no. My smile is banned in most states. They say it causes spontaneous dental decay.”
She grinned, then caught herself and sobered. For a long second, she looked down, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket. When she spoke, her voice was lower. “You want to know why he came after Ljuba.”
I froze. Every instinct screamed to keep it light, but this was the kind of opening you don’t get twice. “Only if you want to tell me,” I said.
“He had friends who were into similar stuff,” she said quietly. “Ljuba was his favorite, and Vera was too old to interest most of them, not that it stopped him from...” She swallowed hard, and abandoned that thought. “but he had no problem...”
She stopped again, tried to speak again, but nothing came out.
I got the gist, though. The fuckers had friends who didn't care about age.
It made my blood boil, but I pushed it down, forcing myself to think.
Thinking was more important than going on a killing spree as I hunted down every bastard who had laid a finger on Nadya.
I had an investigation on my hands, and this was simply another layer added to it. Logic over killing.
Just because George might not have been interested in Ljuba for himself anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t swap or sell her.
Prison sucked, but it was also an opportunity to make connections with other scum of the earth.
So, that would be my first step— I had to check who he could’ve met in prison who might be connected to human trafficking.
I also needed to look into his previous acquaintances. Just because I wasn’t going on a killing spree didn’t mean I’d let those assholes off the hook.
In cases with kids, most states made the statute of limitation more flexible, giving those children time to grow up and get away from their abusers. Then, they could report them. Of course, that also allowed most of the evidence to get blurred. Still, I’d find a way to get them.
I wanted to ask a hundred things, but I didn’t. I just listened, giving her the space to figure out where she wanted the conversation to go.
Eventually, she changed the topic, talking about her neighborhood instead.
The weird old lady who walked her cat in a baby stroller, the corner deli, the time she painted a mural, and someone graffitied a dick on it within twenty-four hours.
I let her drop the subject, knowing it would come up again.
She’d give me the information I needed in her own time either by saying it or writing it.
The chairs didn’t get any softer, but the air between us did. At one point, our knees bumped, and neither of us moved away.
The hospital intercom blared a code for the ER, reminding both of us that the world outside our table still existed.
“I should let you get back to your sister,” I said, voice softer than I meant.
“Yeah,” she agreed, but didn’t move right away.
“We should go out for lunch soon. I hear you got bagels in this city,” I said.
She glanced up, smirking. “Is that how you get all your witnesses to open up?”
“Only the ones with the good tattoos,” I replied.
She looked at her wrist, then at me. “Guess you’re in luck.”
We both stood, and for a second, it seemed like she was going to say something else. But she just nodded and headed toward the elevator.
I’d learned enough to know what kind of monster we were dealing with. But I also knew Nadya was sitting on something bigger. Something she couldn’t say yet.
The next time I saw her, I’d find better ice cream. But for now, I just sat and watched the lights flicker, trying to ignore the echo of my own heart pounding behind my ribs.