The window beside him shattered. The Varrio shot up in a wide arc, chipping tiles off the neighbor’s roof. When he fell, I saw Tran standing on the driveway, pointing a gun where the man’s head used to be. I nodded my thanks as Kateryna screamed, Ilya cried, and neighbors yelled for loved ones to get down or for someone to call the cops.
Time to go.
I shoved Kateryna and Ilya toward the street and was just about to follow when a woman exited the house, wrapped in a bath towel. A lush tattooed vine of orange and blue flowers flowed over her naked shoulders and down her bare arms. Her hands were empty. Her mouth hung open in horror as she looked from her dead friends to us.
I glanced at Tran and shook my head.
If even one of them sees us, they all have to die.
I knew what I had promised, but Tran had to understand the difference between the Varrio Norwalk 66 and some clueless gang groupie. Didn’t he?
I raised my weapon—not at the unarmed woman but at Tran.
His mouth tightened into a sad smile as he stared at me with those beautiful cruel eyes. He never looked away from me, not for a moment, as he raised his arm to the side where he knew the woman would be, and shot her in the chest.
She crumpled to the driveway. Blood seeped through her towel and mingled with the orange and green ink of her tattoo.
Tran lowered the SIG and holstered it under his jacket. He knew I could have killed him at that moment.
But I didn’t.
And he knew that, too.
Chapter Fifty-One
I wiped the handle of the FN-57 with my shirt and tossed it under the car. If we ran into the cops, I didn’t want to get caught with a firearm. Better to leave it with the owners. Maybe the ATF would trace the weapon back to their Fast and Furious scandal. I’d like that. Regardless, another gun on the scene made it look more like a gang-related hit.
I checked to see what Tran was doing and couldn’t find him, so I gathered Kateryna and Ilya. “Time to go.”
I led them on a frantic serpentine route away from the house and into the gathering crowd, ducking and dodging as though fearing to be hit by stray bullets. Sirens blared as squad cars sped to the scene. Neighbors gathered in clumps to exchange information and express their horror. No one cared about two frightened women and a crying child—until a man yanked Ilya from my grip.
“Let go of that boy,” he yelled, shoving Ilya behind him.
Kateryna screeched. I tried my best to sound calm and reasonable as a large black woman blocked her path to Ilya.
“That’s her son,” I said.
“Maybe he is, and maybe he ain’t,” she said, keeping Kateryna corralled as she spoke to me. “Why you running from that hell hole of a house? You part of that gang? You sure as hell ain’t no relation to this here boy.”
As the sirens grew louder, the neighbors closed around Ilya to protect him from us. I scanned the area for surviving members of the Varrio Norwalk 66. Depending on who spotted us first—cops or Varrios—the good intentions of these people were going to get Kateryna and me detained or killed.
I held out my hands to show the woman they were empty and glanced at Kateryna and Ilya. “Bullets shot through their kitchen. They were scared. You know how that is. I’m trying to help—just like you.” I gestured to the neighbors behind her. “We’re all just trying to help, right?” I put my hands on Kateryna’s arms and rubbed them up and down to comfort her. “Can’t you see how you’re scaring her?” I looked at Ilya. “How you’re scaring him?”
The woman turned around and bent in front of Ilya. “Is that your mama?”
Ilya nodded and sniffed while tears rolled down his adorable cheeks.
The big woman’s shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. “Let him go, Kenny.”
When she stepped out of the way, her neighbors did the same, making room for Ilya to run into Kateryna’s arms. It was a sweet moment that we didn’t have time to savor.
I steered them away from the commotion as the patrol cars arrived. When we rounded the corner, I took out my phone and made a call. “It’s Lily. I need a ride.”
Since I couldn’t afford to have a record of this trip logged in a rideshare system, and since I didn’t want to use public transportation this close to a crime scene, I had called Kansas directly.
Please be my friend.
After a very long two seconds, Kansas responded. “Sure thing. Where are you?”
I sighed with relief. “The Alondra Library in Norwalk.”
“Be there in twenty.”
I pocketed the phone and examined my clothes. The black polo and pants hid the blood that had splattered on me when I had cut open Striped Crew. At a distance, it could easily be mistaken for water or coffee. Up close, under the scrutiny of law enforcement? It looked exactly like what it was.
When we got to the parking lot, I checked Kateryna and Ilya for injuries. Although neither were bleeding, both had bruises and dried-up cuts on their faces and arms. Kateryna’s golden ringlets had tangled into a ratted mess and her mascara had smudged from her tears. Whatever shoes she had been wearing with her pink sundress had fallen off long before Tran and I had found her tied to that bed.
I knelt down to Ilya. “Are you okay?” When he didn’t answer immediately, I felt his ribs and back. No broken bones. And from his comfort at my touch, probably no emotional breaks, either. Tran and I had gotten to him in time.
I left Kateryna to cuddle her son and walked my bike to the curb to wait for Kansas.
Tran’s BMW was gone, just like him, but the image of him murdering that woman remained. He hadn’t felt remorse for taking her life. He hadn’t even looked at her. He had been looking at me as he raised his arm, pointed his gun, and shot her in the chest. I could still see her blood as it stained the white towel and pooled on the gray cement.
I could have stopped him.
I could have pulled the trigger and ended his miserable life.
But I hadn’t. And now, that foolish girl was dead.
And part of me was relieved.
As much as I hated to admit it, Tran had been right. Even if we had been able to get her away from the gang in the confusion—which was doubtful—the remaining members of the Varrio Norwalk 66 would have found her. Then, having tortured every detail from her conscious and sub-conscious mind, they would have come for Tran and me and everyone I loved.
Had Tran thought of this as he raised his gun? Had his sad look of regret been for the girl who he knew had to die? Or had it been for the loss of whatever existed between us?
He had to have known that I couldn’t forgive him, no matter how necessary or inevitable the girl’s death might have been.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Kansas and I kept our voices low in the front seat while Ilya slept in Kateryna’s arms in the back.
“So, all those sirens for you?” Kansas asked.
“Afraid so—or rather, for the commotion we caused. Hopefully, they weren’t searching for us specifically.”
“But the witnesses. It’s broad daylight. How could they not have noticed?”
I shrugged. “Everyone was so worried about getting shot, no one looked to see who was doing the shooting. And by the time we ran away, we weren’t the only ones: the neighborhood was swarming like an angry hive. No one took note of us except for that man and woman.”
“Won’t they say anything?”
“I doubt it. They were feeling pretty guilty about traumatizing Ilya, and didn’t realize we were coming from that house.”
Kansas nodded but kept her eyes on the road. It was a lot to process. I let her do it in silence until we arrived.
“Thanks for the ride. You’re a lifesaver.”
She smiled. “I’m just driving the getaway car.”
“No small thing.”
“Look, how ‘bout I wait out here and give you a ride when you’re ready to go.”
“You sure?”
&nb
sp; “Yeah.”
I led Kateryna and Ilya up the path to Aleisha’s Refuge.
The cheery yellow house looked just as it had five days ago when I had hobbled up this walkway, bruised and bloody, expecting to find them safely inside. If they had stayed, would everything have gone as planned? Would Ilya be attending an Argentinian school and living with Kateryna in her cousin’s home? Or would Romanko’s thugs have found them and sent Ilya to Ukraine as he had threatened to do?
Stan opened the door before I reached the stoop. He must have heard the car and seen who I had brought with me because his expression was already fraught with concern. I watched him struggle to stay put and not pull me into a hug. He knew I wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Not today. Instead, he motioned us inside.
Seconds later, Aleisha bounded into the room. “You okay?” She took one look at Kateryna and Ilya and went into overdrive. Within a minute, we were all seated in her living room with iced tea, milk, cookies, and a first aid kit.
“Same plan as before?” she asked, watching Ilya devour one of her homemade chocolate chip cookies.
I turned to Kateryna. Despite all the bloodshed and horror, it wasn’t my decision to make. This was her life and her son and her cousin in Argentina. If Kateryna wasn’t willing to make the move, I couldn’t force her to do it. I could, however, call social services, because there was no way in hell I’d let Dmitry Romanko get near his son ever again.
Much to my relief, Kateryna nodded her assent. I squeezed her. “Yes. Same plan as before. But this time, they can’t use their own passports.”
Stan grunted his approval.
I leaned toward Kateryna. “You’re sure you never told Dmitry about this place?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Okay, then. We’re set. I’ll get the passports, you call your cousin, and Aleisha and Stan will get you and Ilya on a plane. What do you want your new names to be? My thought is to use your cousin’s last name. That way she can tell everyone you’re relatives from her father’s side of the family. Any preference for first names?”
“Alex,” Ilya said, spitting crumbs in his haste to speak. “Please, Mommy. Can I be Alex?”
She kissed his head. “Of course you can. And I’ll be Anya. Anya and Alex Vovek. It sounds nice.” She glanced at me as she wrapped Ilya in a hug.
I smiled. It sounded more than nice; it sounded like freedom.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kansas stopped at the entrance to the alley behind our restaurant. “Are you sure this is where you want to be left off? Because I’m happy to drive you to the door.”
“Nope. This is fine.” I took five twenties from my backpack and handed them to her.
She pushed it back. “Are you kidding? I play superhero for free.”
I laughed. “Me, too. Sometimes.”
I lived rent free with unlimited food, no car expenses, and a standard of living I could support with what I earned from Aleisha and Stan. The tips and bits I got from waiting tables in Baba’s restaurant and helping his community friends with their website and social media needs kept me in pocket change. Any splurges were paid for with red envelope money gifted to me from Ma or Gung-Gung for Chinese New Year, Christmas, or my birthday. I could afford to help women like Mia. I just never had a pro-bono case collide so spectacularly with one I had been hired to do.
I unstrapped the Merida and rolled it to the sidewalk then hunched so I could see Kansas through her open window. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
She waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. If you want a ride in town, use the app. But if you’re ever in trouble, call my cell. I’ll come get you—no matter what.”
I nodded, swallowing the rising emotion. I had lost most of my friends after Rose’s death. It was nice to make another.
As the olive SUV vanished into dusk, the weariness kicked in. The ultralight pack on my shoulders weighed me down, and the alley to our restaurant elongated with every trudging step. I yearned for sleep, but it was only six-thirty and sunset was still over an hour away. It had been a very long day.
The sun cast deep shadows that played tricks with my vision and made me see things that shouldn’t be there—like the man standing beside the black BMW.
I leaned my bike against the wall and walked toward Tran. “You followed me from the library?”
“I did.”
“So you know where I’ve been.”
“I do.”
“And where I’m going?”
He glanced at the back door of our restaurant beneath a sign for Wong’s Hong Kong Inn.
“Peachy.”
He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He had brushed his hair into smooth, dark waves and changed into a new jacket and pants that were free of blood. Once again, I thought he looked ready for a date. Then his amusement vanished and the inscrutable killer returned.
“What now?”
His pointed brow raised. “We have unfinished business.”
I unclipped the karambit, slid it behind my thigh, and flicked open the blade. No matter what business Tran thought we had between us, it wasn’t going down without a fight.
He raised his empty hands. “Not that kind of business.”
I relaxed my arm and let the karambit hang into view, blade open and ready. “I’m listening.”
Tran glanced from the blade to my face and nodded with approval. “Things ended abruptly today. Things that should have been said were not.”
I relaxed my stance. I finally understood what he wanted, but the words I needed to say wouldn’t come. I kept seeing the unarmed woman lying dead on the driveway. How could I thank the man who had done that to her?
Still…
Without Tran, I never would have found Kateryna and Ilya. And if by some miracle I had, I never would have gotten them out on my own. They wouldn’t be safe with Aleisha and Stan, and I’d probably be dead. I knew this, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to thank him. Because none of his heroics would have been necessary if he hadn’t first killed for the Ukrainian mob.
I sighed. None of that mattered: Tran had saved lives today.
I folded the karambit, clipped it to my waistband, and spoke the words that needed to be said.
“Thank you.” And was surprised to find they weren’t as painful as I had expected.
“You’re welcome. But that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “You’re here to clean up.” We were standing in the alley outside the restaurant where Baba, Uncle, DeAndre, and all the other good people of our staff worked.
“Easy, K. Or should I call you Lily? I’m not going to hurt your family or you.” He glanced at my hand, now poised over my knife. “Unless you give me reason.”
I crossed my arms. “Fair enough. What do you want?”
“To say goodbye.”
“For the day or for good?”
Time suspended as everything we had never said and never would say flew back and forth between us. A gamut of emotions welled inside of me: mistrust, admiration, respect, hate, and other emotions I would never—ever—admit.
“For good,” he said, then turned and headed for his car.
“Wait. That’s it? You ambush me in a dark alley so you can say goodbye? Not buying it. What’s going on, Tran? Why did you really help me? And don’t give me that crap about wanting to see what I’d do. You risked your life and pissed off a lot of people today. Why?”
His shoulders slumped as he turned. “They shouldn’t have taken the boy.”
I thought about our conversation in the library parking lot before we had gone to rescue Kateryna and Ilya, when I had accused Tran of not having a conscience.
“It’s about Vietnam, isn’t it? What happened there?”
Tran shook his head, and for a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer.
“You know what they call unnamed babies in Vietnamese orphanages? Ngu
yễn Văn A, if it’s a boy, and Trần Thị B, if it’s a girl. A and B. The first letters in the alphabet. Except in my orphanage, they already had a boy they had named Nguyễn Văn A. So, instead, they gave me the girl’s placeholder surname of Trần and the American first name of Joe, because someone thought my father might have been an American soldier.”
“G.I. Joe.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re older than I had thought.”
He chuckled. “Good genes. Maybe that’s why I’m also good at fighting. Or maybe I got good at fighting because of what they did to me.”
I wanted to know, but I was afraid to push. So I waited until he was ready.
He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair and pulled. “I was seven when I killed for the first time. It was another orphan, an older boy who…” Tran paused. “No one paid much attention. Then I killed a man. And that drew all kinds of attention. The nuns threw me out, and the guerilla warriors took me in. I escaped to Cambodia a few years later when I met a man with an eye for talent.”
He stared at the ground as his face furrowed and twitched with memories. They must have been horrible because what I saw in Tran’s expression made me want to weep. Then he cleared his throat, regained his composure, looked into my eyes, and spoke in a hard and unforgiving voice.
“Children. Should never. Be hurt.”
He had answered truthfully about why he had helped me rescue Kateryna and Ilya; I was certain of it. Just as I was certain that I’d feel the same way in his position.
“What about Freddy and the others? Are their families and loved ones still in danger?”
“No. I did what Romanko hired me to do.”
“For Zherdev?”
“Mostly.”
“The Koreatown hit?”
“That was for Romanko.”
“You, Romanko, Zherdev get to destroy lives and walk away like it’s nothing?”
Tran shrugged. “Everybody pays. Maybe not in the way you want them to, but they always pay.”
The Ninja Daughter Page 24
