Chapter 19
Nick
IT WAS ALMOST EIGHT at night when I got the call from Renat Volkov.
He was the New York office’s favorite pit bull and a man who spoke three languages, none of which were “friendly.” His voice sounded like someone whose vocal cords had spent a few rounds in a cement mixer, and he didn’t bother with hellos. He just said, “Took you long enough.”
Right. He had asked me yesterday if I wanted to grab drinks, and I never replied.
“I’m not in New York right now, but I’m probably heading back soon, so we can definitely meet up but not just for drinks. I think our cases are connected.”
The other end of the line greeted me with a tense silence before Renat finally asked, “What cases?”
“Katerina Orlova. The woman who’s kidnapping I’m investigating is connected, though she was never taken to those ‘playdates’. Her sister was.”
“Name. I need to interview her,” Renat said immediately.
“Hold your horses. There are three sisters: Ljubov, Nadezhda, and Vera Almaznayas. Ljubov is the one that got snatched up, but she’s fine now.
Nadya was the one taken to playdates. She’s with me now because we were looking for the house where those playdates were happening,” I explained.
“She has a hard time talking about it, but I have her written statement, and we found the house.”
Another pause. “Which one? There were two houses Orlova remembers, and I was able to track one, but she couldn’t remember enough about the other one.”
“A house with the blue door in Green Garden.”
A long breath whooshed through the line. “That’s the one I was missing.”
“Glad I could help,” I said before bringing us back to the real reason we needed to talk. “Is this the case you’re going undercover for? Because if it is, I need to know so I don’t accidentally blow your cover with my investigation.”
“It is, but it’s not like you can pretend the girl wasn’t kidnapped and you didn’t catch the perv in the act,” Renat pointed out.
“I know. That’s why we need to coordinate.”
There was a hum of agreement on the other end of the line. “If you kept your investigation only to that one kidnapping, that’d be great.”
“Already took it beyond that, but I can back off a notch,” I offered.
“And obviously, I’ll share whatever information I can with you, but I want those assholes locked away for good, including the perp I got on kidnapping charges.
I think he was trying to kidnap Ljuba to sell her, so I want to nail him for human trafficking too. ”
Another long pause. Renat wasn’t known for long speeches, but when he did talk, he always took his time to think his words through.
“You’re certain he was connected to it beyond the playdates?”
“Back then, he was at least a buyer, but the kidnapping now only makes sense if he was trying to sell her. She’s an adult now, and he’s not interested in adults.” Every time I had to say it, my stomach churned, but that was why I had started digging deeper.
“Alright. I’ll do my best to find how he’s connected, but for now, he needs to get locked up just for the kidnapping with no mention of trafficking. You can spring more charges on him later.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.” I looked out of the window, noticing how low the sun already was. Nadya would probably be hungry by now. “I’ll let you know when Nadya and I get back to New York, and we’ll need to meet up so I can tell you everything I’ve found so far.”
He grunted in agreement and after a quick goodbye, hung up.
I set the phone on the table and stared at it for a minute, then checked my text messages, hoping for a distraction.
There was nothing from Nadya. Damn, it had been almost five hours since I’d dropped her off, and we hadn’t talked since.
She’d better be okay both physically and emotionally.
Either way, I should go check on her and make sure she got proper food.
I jammed my feet into the boots by the door, threw on a windbreaker, and grabbed my badge just in case I needed to knock down doors.
The hotel lobby was quiet tonight, now that the game was done and over with.
Technically, Nadya and I could probably find separate rooms now, but I wouldn’t push it unless she wanted it. I needed her next to me.
The more I learned about her past, the more I wanted to keep her close to protect her. These people might’ve targeted kids from other countries because it was easier to make them disappear, but there was a reason Ljuba had been targeted.
When people were viewed as property, there was a sense of ownership.
When the three sisters ran away, their old captor hadn’t suddenly stopped viewing them as his property.
As far as George was concerned, the girls still belonged to him.
Who was to say others in that sick bunch wouldn’t feel the same way about Nadya?
And even if they didn’t, Nadya was a witness. I had to protect her.
I hopped on the bike and rode it to the warehouse behind a strip mall that had been converted into a series of studios. As soon as I got there, I went straight for the only studio that still looked occupied, if the light under the door was anything to go by.
I knocked twice, then twice again for emphasis. Nothing. Finally, a clatter from inside reached me, followed by a drawn-out groan, then the door opened, and there was my girl, covered in paint and smelling of booze.
“Hey,” she said in a subdued tone. “I just finished the painting. Want to see?”
“I do.” Not as much as I wanted to see her to make sure she was okay, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about her work.
Nadya stepped aside and let me into the studio where every light pointed at the canvas in the middle of the room.
Everything else in the room spoke volumes about how Nadya had spent these last few hours.
Art supplies, an empty bottle of whiskey, and two protein-bar wrappers on the floor.
The air was thick with the smell of paint and alcohol.
The canvas was a horror show, but in a good way: blue and yellow slashed with streaks of bloody red. The bottle looked half-melted, like even glass couldn’t withstand all the pain Nadya spilled onto the canvas. The symbolism wasn’t subtle.
I nodded at the empty whiskey. “Did that help?”
She gave me a sideways look. “A little.”
I scanned her face. No smudged makeup, no raw skin from crying. “Did you eat?”
“Protein bars,” she said, gesturing at the wrappers. “Very nutritious. They have vitamins and everything.”
I sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
We lapsed into silence, her staring at the painting, me staring at her.
She didn’t look drunk, only tipsy, which was probably worse because that much whiskey should’ve flattened someone her size.
That meant she had the kind of tolerance that came from frequent drinking.
She sat down on the drop cloth cross-legged, hands in her lap, and for a second she looked like a little kid with too many wounds inside and out. I crouched so I was level with her.
“You want to talk?” I asked.
She smirked, but the humor was thin. “Sit. But don’t talk. Talking’s dangerous.”
So, that was what we did. We just sat there, shoulders so close I could feel her heat, and looked at the painting about crappy coping mechanisms.
“I kept thinking if I could just pour enough of it out, the tank would go empty,” she said finally, staring at her paint-splattered hands. “But there’s always more.”
I got it. You worked in trafficking long enough, you learned that people were bottomless wells of pain.
“You know, I see doctors regularly for consultation, but it’s not necessarily for my own health. Sometimes, I just need to ask questions about how something works for my cases,” I started, hoping she’d listen to me if I presented it the right way.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, let’s take your old therapist. She sucked at listening to you, but she still gave you one good advice about art, right?”
She gave me a suspicious look. “I’m not going to a therapist.”
“You don’t have to go for therapy per-se. Think about it as mining for better coping mechanisms. Make it your goal and go from there.” I shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s up to you what you want to talk about, so talk about coping mechanisms.”
“Why would a therapist do that?” She rolled her eyes. “They want to make a buck and to do that, they have to have a whole bunch of sessions. If they just give up all the good stuff on the first day, no one will come back for more.”
Damn, she was a tough cookie to crack.
“My therapist would. Want her number?”
Nadya chewed on her lip for a moment. “Maybe I could do one session. But only to get some tips.”
I fished my phone from my pocket, thumbed through my contacts. “I’ll text you her number.”
“You know what would really help my healing process?” she asked while hopefully saving my therapist’s number to her contacts. “Greasy food and the company of a man who knows how to kill someone with a spoon.”
I smiled back, for what felt like the first time all day. “I could make that happen.”
We left the studio, locking up behind us.
The painting wasn’t dry yet, so we’d have to come back for it tomorrow morning.
For now, we just needed to find someplace to eat within walking distance.
There was no way I would let Nadya ride while she was still drunk.
Hopefully, she could get some help soon.