Christof Brutal (Bad Russian Book 12)

by Alice May Ball

“Two ways.” she nibbles my earlobe. “One, I knew it when I felt you tense up.”

  I kiss her soft, wet lips. “And the other?”

  She chuckles. I love the tinkling chimes of her laugh. “I thought so, too.”

  “But you caught it.”

  She nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “Do you think we could make a deal with them? So we can just stay here in the dark, forever?”

  “We’d have a problem with the people whose boxes all of these are.”

  “We could hold them to ransom,” she nuzzles deeper. “Every time they send us food, they give us a key, and we give them the contents of that box.”

  I pull her closer. “It’s a good plan. But how would they know we’d given them everything in the box?”

  “Why would we want it? We’re not going anywhere.”

  I kiss her again. I think I’m starting to see why they call it ‘falling’ in love.

  “Max. It’s a great name,” I tell her, stroking her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “Really suits you.”

  “You know, when I tell anyone my name, anyone at all, the first thing they always ask me is, ‘what is it short for.’ Everybody asks me that.”

  “It’s not short for anything, though, is it?”

  “No. But how do you know that?”

  “I don’t know. I just knew.”

  We sit close around the glow of my phone screen. Bridesmaids opens with the most stupid sex scene, and it makes us both laugh so hard. The guy is such a dick, it makes us laugh and cringe for her at the same time.

  The movie is even sillier than I remember it. Watching it with Max, I laugh so much my cheeks start to ache.

  We keep everything on the table, and she curls up in my arms. At some point she wakes me to make love again. Gently this time. Letting our bodies find each other. Explore the currents and rhythms.

  We do that all night. Sleeping, loving, dozing, fucking. The night is perfect and for hours, somehow, we manage not to drop anything onto the floor.

  Until my pocket holster somehow slips out of my coat pocket. Light blasts us like a kick in the eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, “Cover your eyes.”

  She’s still whispering. “You brought a gun.”

  Her voice is small and fearful.

  “Did you have it with you at Bosman’s house?”

  I whisper, too. That part of our bubble is unbroken. “Of course.”

  “You didn’t point it at Bear, though.”

  “There was no need.”

  “And you didn’t take it out when they shut us in.”

  “It wouldn’t have been any use. I thought about it, but by the time I got it ready and aimed, the door would have been almost shut already.”

  “But they don’t know you’ve got it.”

  “Assuming they’re not listening in. And assuming I didn’t miss a camera. Even if I did, really. Unless they look very hard and have extremely high resolution cameras, it will just look like a wallet.”

  “Christof, I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “You don’t have to feel any way about it at all.”

  Chapter 14

  Her

  The two cookies are nowhere near enough for a breakfast, even though Christof sticks to his insistence that I have them both. We kept back the last of the water until morning, but it’s gone now.

  We’re tired from sleeping on the hard tabletop. We’re both black-eyed and rumpled. And I’ve never been happier in my life.

  At exactly ten o’clock, a deep clunk comes from the huge door and it starts to swing open. I was for standing to one side, tight against the wall on the hinged side. Christof stands square in the doorway, though. I don’t think he’s doing it to impress me, but I’m impressed, right in what’s left of my panties. I bunched the ragged remains of my pantyhose into my purse.

  An accented male voice says, “So. We’ve been thinking about what will be the right ransom.”

  Christof looks mildly amused, “Oh yes? Have you kidnapped someone’s cockapoo?”

  “Funny. We think fifty thou is about right. Each, of course.”

  “Expensive doggos in your neighborhood.”

  “You don’t want to get out of here?”

  “You mean us?” He laughs and look back at me. “Where would a pair of morons get that kind of money? Because you must think we’re morons if you believe that you’ve got any chance of that gag paying off.”

  The olive-skinned man steps forward, and for the first time I see him. He’s broad and thick, and the skin of his face is pockmarked.

  Christof raises a hand to stop him. “This is our territory until you let us out,” and the man stops dead. “So,” Christof say reasonably, “What’s your plan B?”

  The man says, “What?”

  “After you demand your ransom and we invite you nicely to go and fuck yourselves, what then?”

  “Señor, you’re not in a great position to negotiate.”

  “Who’s negotiating? Since we had all night to think about this, and all night to compose a couple of short text messages, we told everyone in our contact books where we are and to tell the police to come and get us. We sent them as soon as the door opened.”

  “Señor,” the man spreads his hands open and shows huge teeth in a wide grin, “Seriously? You expect me to believe that?” It’s the first I heard of it, too, but I keep my face straight.

  Christof says, “No, Señor. But I do I expect you to seriously weigh the odds. Did I just think that up now? If I did, why wouldn’t I have thought of it just as easily last night? Are you sure you want to take a chance?”

  The man’s eyes narrow, and his chin flattens. “So,” Christof tells him, “Good luck with the murder / ransom plots, but, seriously, Señor? I don’t think you’re cut out for this line of work.”

  Christof gives him an easy smile. “Now, is there a Four Seasons or a Ritz Carlton in this district? Where do you get the best breakfast?”

  We don’t stop for breakfast. He tells me to follow him and he leads me to a chic apartment building in the Pearl District.

  The elevator goes right into his dreamy apartment. He makes me strong coffee and perfect, fluffy omelets with cheese and ham. As I wolf the omelets, he tells me, “I love to watch you eat.” As he picks up the plate, he asks if I’d like another, but I tell him, no.

  His steel and pale wood kitchen has big windows with views over the Willamette River and the city. His top-floor apartment is big and airy. He has art on the walls, sculptures on almost every surface, and paintings lean against the walls. Some in frames, some bare canvases, some pieces are wrapped.

  “Is this art all yours?”

  “Yes, but it’s all destined for clients. Most of them don’t know it yet though.”

  “Is the piece Bosman wants here?”

  “No, it’s in the gallery, down on the second floor. I’ll show it to you later if you’re interested.”

  As I’m drinking my second cup of coffee, he tells me, “I want to spend the day with you, but I have a couple of things I need to do first. Relax and make yourself completely at home. There’s plenty to play with and I won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

  “I don’t think there’s any way I’ll be able to keep my job. I’m really worried.”

  He puts an arm around me and kisses me on the top of my head. “You don’t need a job. I’ll take care of you now.”

  I let that go.

  After he goes out, I take the coffee and start to look around.

  The bedroom is huge. A massive bed has cream-colored silk sheets and covers. Tapestries hang on the walls, as well as paintings. The wide terrace has a glass wall that makes me feel a twinge of vertigo.

  The terrace wraps around to the living room, and that has the same view from the high windows. I curl up on the wide, low couch and try to think about my future. I realize that I haven’t completely taken in my present yet. I haven’t got my bearings.

  Lounging on
his couch, I’m shocked that the first thought in my head is, What makes you think you can trust the ex-bank-robber who carries a gun, who makes love to you with the gun still in his pocket, and doesn’t tell you?

  Chapter 15

  Him

  While I’m out, I call Bosman. Tell him if he wants the painting, come to the gallery and we’ll make a deal. “Bring cash.” and I hang up on him.

  Then I drive straight to the coast road. To his house. He’s going to pay for what he did.

  Chapter 16

  Her

  Christof has fabulous books. Not only art books, but all kinds. I’m in his study, leafing through a book of Parisian art from the early twentieth century.

  My heart skips when I hear a sound in the hallway. I overhear him talking on the phone. He’s saying, “No, she’s here. Sure. Come and take her if you want. I don’t care. You’ve got the girl I want, right?” There’s a pause. He laughs. “Great. See you in about half an hour.”

  I wait for him to move into farther into the apartment. As quietly as I can, I slip into the elevator and take it down to the garage.

  I check my car key fob in my pocket and head out of the building. Driving out, I pass the entrance lobby and I’m shocked to see Bosman and Bear, walking out. Bear points at me and they start to run.

  Fighting a nauseous panic, I drive uphill through the Northwest District. I don’t even know where I’m going.

  Chapter 17

  Him

  When I hear the elevator chime, my first thought is that it has been called down. “Max,” I call out. “Max, I’m back.”

  The silence in the apartment sets off an alarm bell deep down inside me. I call her phone. Impatiently, I’m still rushing from one end of the apartment to the other. Then I hear her phone ring. She’s run out, and she hasn’t taken her phone. Not even her purse.

  I grab the purse and mash the elevator button, thinking frantically. Trying to guess what can have happened.

  I get down to my car and gun it out of the parking level. Of course there’s no sign of her outside. I have no idea what to do and my mind is frantic. Then I see Bosman’s Escalade speeding by.

  It can’t be a coincidence. I keep a few vehicles behind to follow them. Traffic thins out as we pass into the leafier parts of the city. We’re headed up toward King’s Heights.

  Then they make a fast turn, and I lose sight of them.

  Chapter 18

  Her

  I’m going too fast. The roads narrow as I get more into woodland. The road bends. I’m hunting for my phone. I get a hollow, sinking feeling when I realize. I left it.

  When I look back up, I’ve drifted across the road. I steer hard. Too late. A big yellow truck heaves up around the next bend. I’m too far over.

  His horn blasts and I can’t think straight. I swerve. My wheel slips off the side of the road. The side-wind from the huge truck is pushing me farther off the road.

  I speed up. The car slips and slides, all over the road. I hit the brake. The tires scream and smoke. The pitch of the truck’s horn shifts as it fades into my rearview.

  In a black cloud, I’m skidding to an awkward stop in the middle of the road.

  I’m gripping the wheel. Another car is coming up the hill behind me. I have to get out of the way fast, but it will be Ok.

  He’s accelerating. I’m steering. I’m back on my side of the road and there’s a verge where I can turn off. Ahead, through the smoke, all I can see is the slope of the road. The Escalade behind me is still accelerating. He’s driving right at me.

  I can’t move any faster. He slams into me. My face and body are engulfed by the airbag.

  By the time the bag starts to release, there’s someone by my door. Opening it. Rough hands grab me by the arm and the neck and haul me out. He pulls me, drags me by my arm and rushes back to the Escalade. I’m hardly able to stay on my feet. It’s Bear! Bosman’s goon.

  He practically throws me up into the back of the SUV. Bosman is waiting on the back seat.

  Bear jumps into the driver’s seat. He slams my little Toyota and shoves it off the edge of the road.

  I shout, “Stop that!” but Bosman throws his arm in front of me.

  “That’s the least of your worries, believe me,” Bosman says. “You do what I need and I’ll look after you, all right?”

  Chapter 19

  Him

  Last time I had sight of them was almost a mile back. I’m driving faster and faster, and I’m starting to think I lost them and went the wrong way. I was so pleased with myself this morning when I saw the tracking addition had been applied to my EagleEye investigator’s service and I registered the number of her phone immediately.

  And her phone is in her purse, sitting on the seat next to me. My heart is hammering.

  Skid marks are in the road up ahead. Then I see her Prius. Nose down in a ditch. I’m relieved to see she’s not inside.

  I speed up. The road twists and winds.

  I see the Escalade. I floor the gas pedal. Uphill, I’m gaining on them fast. But with her in the car, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I get alongside them easily enough.

  Before I have time to think about it, I pull the handbrake hard and turn the wheel. The back of the Mercedes spins out in the handbrake turn. The back of the Escalade is swept around with it.

  The big SUV rocks hard. It looks like it’s going to roll. As soon as both cars are turned and facing back the way we came, I hit the brake. I stop. They shoot on ahead, lurching wildly.

  I’m counting on Bear being way outside his skill set and having to stop. He doesn’t. I have to chase after them again.

  Then his front tire pops. For the second time I think he’s going to roll. This time I’m having to brake. Speeding downhill, I’m in danger of slamming into them.

  I stop. He gets the bulky SUV to a messy stop, diagonal in the middle of the road.

  I didn’t bring the pocket holster.

  I reach in the glove box for the big .45 before I jump out. Quickly I shoot out another tire. Just to make sure I’ve got their attention. Bosman and Bear are both on my side of the car. Neither of them has a weapon out. But they’re both reaching. I squeeze off a shot, close to Bear’s head. The glass window explodes.

  The noise of a Magnum is enough to make most people stop and think twice. Bear and his boss are exceptionally dumb, though. They might need telling more than once.

  I could put another shell in front of Bosman. Spray his window into his face and on his lap. But that would risk cutting Max.

  I run around the back of the Escalade. I keep the barrel on Bosman. I yank the back passenger door open. Max is panic-stricken.

  “Come on, Max,” I make my voice firm and level. I keep the gun on Bosman, but we have to be quick. She’s not moving. My instinct is to yank her out, but I can see that she’s really afraid and confused. I hold out my hand.