Chasing Sergei
Chasing Sergei
Aubrey Collins
Copyright © 2017 LFD Books
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Chapter 1
Grabowski slammed her laptop shut and stood up from her desk. She paced around her office, a frown etched on her face. Frustration shone in her eyes. She rubbed her neck. Her entire body was stiff and sore. She'd been sitting in that chair for the last six hours, locked in her office, away from everyone else at the Bureau. As much as she hated to admit it, this investigation was starting to get to her.
Take it easy, her father would've said. You’re just a rookie. Don't push things too hard. You’ll end up alienating your fellow investigators. She was never one to take it easy. Never one to calm down. She was full of ambition. Rookie or not. She only knew one way to work. Only one way to live. Full throttle, pedal to the metal. This would help her quickly work her way up the ranks, something that she was anxious to do before her father, a long time Philadelphia cop, succumbed to the cancer that had been tearing away at him for the past 3 years.
She checked her watch. 330. Nicholson should've been back an hour ago. She hadn't even noticed the time go by. They had an evening surveillance assignment. Sergei Malikov. They would be watching him again, for the 15th straight day. He was a Russian playboy. At least that was his cover. They suspected him of being a spy.
She had never much been into politics. But the result of the last election was something that she couldn’t live with. It was not a free and fair election. No way. There had been foreign interference. The Russians. She was sure of it. But now she had to go about digging up some real, hard evidence that she could take to her boss, the Regional Director. Once she turned it over to him, she hoped that he would finally go in front of Congress and reveal their findings.
She felt a deep patriotic duty to get to the bottom of this case. Unfortunately, not everyone in the building shared her enthusiasm or sense of patriotism. This was a great source of disappointment for her. It seemed like only half of the Bureau had any interest in really figuring out whether or not the Russians had interfered in the election. What role did Russia play? Did the current administration collaborate with them? And if so, why? And what was there to expect in the future?
There were so many unanswered questions. But it seemed like there were also so many roadblocks being thrown up against the investigation. Her father had warned her about the internal politics that she would most likely run up against. But she was still surprised by just how intense it could be. Weren’t they all Americans? Weren’t they all fighting for the same thing? To protect the interests of the United States? If so, why was there so much political bickering?
The lack of teamwork frustrated her. But she wouldn't let it deter her. She was going to break this case. Rookie or not.
Someone knocked on the door. She spun around. The handle turned. The door opened.
Nicholson. He smiled and brushed a tangle of disheveled brown hair from his face.
She looked him dead in the eyes, frowning, brow furrowed. At least he's not drunk, she said to herself. Or not as drunk as he usually is by this time in the afternoon.
She crossed her arms against her chest. “Weren’t you supposed to be here an hour ago?”
Nicholson reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. His eyes opened wide. “Yeah, sorry about that. Ex-wife. Kids. Crazy shit going on in my life. Sorry.”
Her father always told her not to bring personal or family business into the office. Keep that crap at home, he used to say. Everyone's got problems. Nobody wants to hear about yours.
Despite those hard-boiled lessons, she couldn't help feeling some empathy for her screw-up of a partner. Apparently, he had really been going through a lot with his ex-wife lately. Divorce. Kids. Money. A messy settlement.
“Okay,” she said. “Next time if you’re going to be late, just call me.”
A sly smile passed across his face.
She shook her head confused. Not sure what had caused that reaction.
“Have you been anxiously waiting for me, Grabowski? Maybe touching yourself underneath the desk?”
Her face turned red. She turned her back on him and mumbled something under her breath. This was the bastard that they forced her to work with. Maybe the higher-ups were trying to send her a message. Maybe they were trying to break her. Or maybe they were just trying to test her spirit. There was no way to be sure.
She turned around, arms still crossed against her chest, face still burning red with anger and embarrassment.
“Nicholson, you’re a real special kind of asshole. I would be surprised if any women are touching themselves thinking about you these days.”
She walked past him and out of her office. She turned. He was still standing there.
“Are you coming or not?”
He shook his head slowly, smiled, and said something under his breath.
“What?” She snapped at him. “Is there something that you want to tell me?”
He finally walked out of the office and straight towards her. “You talk real tough for a rookie.” He wagged a finger in her face.
Her first instinct, which she just managed to suppress, was to grab his finger and snap it off. They rode the elevator down to the garage in silence. She didn’t want to look at him. But out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help noticing that he was smiling. What a prick!
They stepped off the elevator and into the parking garage.
She couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “I'm not surprised you got divorced. What woman would be able to live with you?”
“You talk a lot of shit, Grabowski. Just give me one night alone with you. I'll make you see things you never imagined.”
She shook her head. “Give me the keys,” she said.
He tossed them to her without argument. That surprised her. But he had probably had a nip or two while he was out.
“I love a woman that knows how to take charge and get behind the wheel. You probably like being on top, don't you?”
She stopped walking and glared at him. “If you say one more thing to me, swear I’m going to shoot you.”
He smiled and put his hands up in the air, playfully. “That's fine. I’ve survived gunshots before. Just don’t go to HR. That’s the shit that can kill a guy.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. She looked up to the heavens and shook her head. It was useless. There was no hope trying to be serious with this asshole. The Bureau had broken him. Years ago. Left him as a shell of a man. She was just gonna have to deal with it.
They got into the cruiser and drove out of the garage.
“Find anything new on your Russian lover man?” Nicholson asked.
“It's called an investigation,” she answered. “Remember when you used to do that? Remember when you used to wait until after five before you started drinking?”
“Is that one or two questions?” He asked.
“What?”
“Do I remember the days when I used to do investigations? Or do I remember the days when I didn’t get drunk before 5?”
“Nicholson,” she said.
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Chapter 2
Nicholson might've been full of shit. But he wasn’t lying when he said he loved a woman who enjoyed getting behind the wheel. These days, he tried to do as little driving as possible.
He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. His trusty bottle was there. Whiskey. Jameson. The bottle was half empty. But unlike most days, he hadn't yet dipped into it. This Grabowski, 25-year-old, blonde, green eyed, very curvy rookie, made him feel some sense of duty. It was som
ething he hadn't felt in a while. But something about her enthusiasm and her naïveté, reminded him of himself when he was younger. Gun-ho. Ready to chase down bad guys. Take on the big cases. Turn the evidence over to the Big Boss. Then head back into the field and do it all over again. That's how he had been until he learned just how things functioned within the Bureau. It didn’t take long before he got frustrated with all the internal politics. The ideological battles.
As they exited I-276, he rolled down the window and let the breeze blow through his disheveled hair.
He turned towards Grabowski. Her eyes were focused on the road. He smiled. She turned to him. He looked away. There was something so intense about those green eyes.
He couldn't help wondering, not that it really mattered to him, not that he was interested in getting involved with a woman these days, but he couldn't help wondering what kind of man she went for. He couldn’t help wondering what was she really like when you got her to let her guard down. He had never seen her like and he wondered if he ever would. He had never seen her drunk. And he had only seen her laugh once or twice. And they weren't even deep laughs. Just brief chuckles.
He had the sense that there was something deep inside of her haunting her. Something keeping her from truly living. But who was he to pry? Was he some kind of life coach? Or relationship counselor? Definitely not! He couldn’t help feeling that his life was falling apart. And he had been forced to admit, after months and months of denial, that his family was falling apart. Cindy wanted the house, kids, car, and 15,000 a month. Basically, she wanted everything he had. That’s how acrimonious things had become between them.
But beyond the material things what really pained him was that she wanted to severely limit the amount of time that he got to spend with the kids. Eight and six years old. Tommy and Taylor. They were going to court next week. His lawyer was sucking him dry. And he seriously doubted whether or not he would end up actually doing anything positive for him.
The bitch! She wanted to limit his visitations to once a month. Was he really that much of an embarrassment? Was his presence really that detrimental to Tommy and Taylor?
He sighed heavily and looked out the window with sad eyes. A young couple pushing two strollers came out of a restaurant. They turned to each other, smiled, and kissed on the lips.
He sighed heavily again. That used to be them. He and Cindy. Everything was going so well. He was a rising star in the Bureau. She had quit her job as a teacher to stay home and take care of the toddlers. He earned enough. And he was sure that within a few years he would be earning a lot more. Everything seemed to point in that direction. But then, what had happened? It had all gone wrong.
He lost his cool. Beat up a witness. And if that wasn't enough, when he got home, completely drunk, he had taken out more frustration on Cindy. He had never done anything like that before. It was something that he would always regret. He was lucky not to have been arrested. But he had been demoted within the department. Put on probation. All eyes were on him.
The next time he messed up, would be the last time.
But what had gotten him into trouble in the first place? It was his love of the job. His love of hunting down the bad guys. Protecting American citizens. That's what had gotten him in trouble. At least that was part of it. At least that was what he liked to tell himself. There was probably more to it than that. Much more. His ego. His obsessive need to prove himself.
It wasn't like he didn't enjoy a stiff drink before everything had started to fall apart. But these days, things were very different. A sort of nihilism had taken over his worldview. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. He had grown numb. The injustices that used to keep him up at night, which would make him spring out of the bed in the morning, full of blood rushing through his veins, hard cock throbbing in his pants. All that was gone. And what was left in its wake? Nothing but questions, doubts, insecurities. If he couldn't be a cop, what was he good for? Nothing. Might as well drink, might as well destroy his liver and brain cells. Without the passion for this job, there was no point going on living.
But recently the presence of Grabowski, had made him ashamed to be so defeatist. To be so weak. He could feel some of that old desire beginning to burn within him. He just hoped that he hadn’t already screwed things up too much.
“I think he’s meeting a couple models tonight,” Grabowski said.
“Great. I just wish we had cameras in the hotel room. I'd love to see some of that hot action.”
She turned to him with a sly smile. Then she fixed your eyes back on the road.
“What?” Nicholson asked, raising an eyebrow. “We got cameras in there tonight?”
Without turning to him, without saying anything, Grabowski nodded up and down, slowly, a satisfied smile slithering across her face.
“Damn!” Nicholson said. “I’m impressed.”
“Wow! What a day this is! I’ll remember it forever,” she said. Her sarcasm burned his face. “I actually impressed the great Mark Nicholson. It's all downhill from here.”
He looked at her in silence. What a bitch, he said to himself. But she was tough. She didn’t take shit from anybody. Didn't apologize for her attitude. He liked that.
“I never took you for the voyeur type,” Nicholson said. But now that I think about it, you gotta get your sexual kicks from somewhere, right? Don't we all?”
Grabowski didn't answer. Didn’t turn towards him. But he could see a frown cross her features. He loved when she got angry. It sent his imagination running in so many directions. She was probably a wild animal, an untamed, feral beast in the bedroom, kicking and screaming, biting and clawing, fucking and wild bucking like a bronco.
He could feel his cock beginning to tingle in his pants. He reached down and squeezed it.
Grabowski turned towards him, eyeing his face, then shifting down to the bulge in his crotch. She quickly turned back to the road. Her face grew even redder.
He smiled, confidence flooding through him.
“If only you knew, Kowalski. If only you knew.”
“Didn’t I tell you what I was going to do to you?”
“Well, I’ve got something hard and stiff that needs to be shot.”
She shook her head. “You don't ever stop, do you? Everything is just one big dirty joke to you.”
“I just don't know how to act around you. The young girls do that to me sometimes.”
“Well, the old guys creep me out sometimes.”
“37 is old to you?”
“Not necessarily. But on you it is.”
“Did I ever tell you that you talk a lot of shit?”
“Yeah, I know. What are you going to do about it?”
“I haven't figured that one out yet.”
She turned down a side street and cut off the engine.
“Why are we waiting here?” He asked.
She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled a pair of binoculars from under the seat. Moments later the back door of a building opened. A man with a briefcase exited. He walked past their car and raised his hand in the air. A black car stopped in front of him. The door opened. He got in. The car zoomed off. Grabowski turned the key, revved the engine, and they were off.
Chapter 3
Sergei rubbed the leather briefcase on his lap. He could only imagine what was in it. They never told him. Maybe they were empty. Maybe this was all just a test, Moscow’s way of playing with him, trying to determine whether or not he would be loyal. Whether or not they could trust him with an important mission.
He had never imagined living this type of life. Just a few years before, he'd been a struggling actor, good-looking, charming, a real lady killer, but not very serious about his craft. He never liked attending acting or preparing much for his roles. He preferred to just show up and wing it. That hadn't gotten him very far.
Despite his lack of acting success, shortly after his 30th birthday, he had come to the attention of Russian intelligence agents. They must have seen his utility. They
would send him to the United States where he would move in and out of politically connected circles. But he wouldn't do it as a diplomat but rather as a heartthrob Russian actor. The government had funded films that he starred in. None of them were that good. But that made sure that journalists and critics were afraid to write anything but glowing reviews about the films. Once that work had been done, his cover was complete.
He would be paid handsomely on his state-sponsored mission. And even so, everything he wanted—food, drinks, hotels, women—would be paid for. He wouldn't have to worry about toning down his party lifestyle. That was a great relief to him. All he really wanted was to lead a carefree, playboy life. And that’s exactly what they had offered him. It was almost too good to be true. And according to his doting Russian mother, it was in fact too good to be true. She had begged and pleaded with him before he got on that plane to DC. Don't trust them, she'd said, crying, pleading with him. It never ends well. Never.
His mother had always been a worrier so he didn't take her words that seriously. But 18 months into his mission, he had begun to notice that some of the other Russians that worked for intelligence agencies were no longer around town. And nobody had heard from them back in Russia. Where had they gone? It was a question that made him tremble. A question that made him regret ever getting involved with this life.
He was 33. He should've made more of himself by now. But this was the life he was stuck with. At some point, he hoped to return home, return to the party scene in Moscow, with stories to tell and money to burn, women hanging off his arm. He looked forward to that. But for now, he would continue living this playboy lifestyle, moving in and out of important circles.
How much longer could this go on for? He wasn't sure. What if his mother's words turned out to be true? Would his desire to live the high life, the playboy, fast life, come back to haunt him?
The car swerved quickly. He lost his balance. The briefcase fell from his lap.
Chasing Sergei: Dark Romance Page 1
