by K. Marie
“Sorry mommy, I’ll pick it up,” she said, hopping down from the chair to retrieve them.
I turned my attention back to what I’d been doing; but looked over again when she gasped dramatically. “There’s mail from Papa!” Autumn announced, holding up a brown business sized envelope.
I scrunched my nose in thought, scrutinizing the envelope, vaguely remembering having received it. I took the envelope from Autumn’s hand and looked at the return address, confirming it was from dad. Now I remember receiving it. The mail arrived a few weeks ago; but got cast aside and forgotten about over the holidays.
Grabbing my neon green letter opener, I slashed through the top of the envelope and looked inside, to see two smaller white envelopes. It was the mail that had come to dad’s house for some strange reason. Retrieving them, I eyed the P.O. Box address in puzzlement, before once again grabbing the letter opener.
Unfolding the paper, expecting it to be junk-mail; I read the first two lines, and my breath stilled in surprise. It was a letter from John.
Actually, it was a copy of an email.
“Camry, since I received no response to my emails, I decided to write to you the old-fashioned way. Perhaps my emails were mistaken for spam?” I read John’s words, noting the obvious sarcasm.
“What does it say mommy?” Autumn asked.
“Uh, it’s just some business papers, penguin, something for work,” I answered distractedly, eyes still glued to the paper.
“Oh,” she said predictably, instantly bored.
I continued reading, pulse thrumming increasingly harder as I went. John once again alleged the baby to be his, and essentially accused me of being a gold-digger. John believed me to have broken things off with him, because a better opportunity came along.
“Asshole…” I muttered under my breath.
I shouldn’t be surprised or upset by his claims—I’d read the accusations before, but it still managed to annoy me. I can’t say I wasn’t wowed by Garland when we first met; but it had everything to do with the man himself, not his money.
Perturbed, I read on, as John became ridiculously repetitive. That is, until I got to the second page.
“Don’t be fooled by the wealth and good looks, Camry. You’re married to a monster; do you have any idea who you sleep next to at night? You and Autumn could be in danger…his first wife and child were murdered under suspicious circumstances…”
Ridiculous. John went on to basically accuse Garland of being somehow responsible for his family’s murder.
I was taken aback by his venom. I wondered if he truly believed this nonsense, or if he was only looking to create doubt in my mind. I still didn’t know the full story behind what happened to Garland’s family; it was an extremely sensitive topic, one that I’d admittedly tip-toed around. But, what in the hell did John know about it?
He ended the letter by urging me to phone, text, or email him, assuring me that he’s only concerned for my wellbeing.
“My ass,” I snorted. As far as I could tell, John was only concerned for himself. His anger over our break-up seemed to have turned into an obsession.
But he’s now missing. I reminded myself.
Gripping the letter in my hand, I sat in thought; pondering what John had written, wondering when he’d lost his mind. He seemed so unlike the man I’d spent almost two years with. John may have been a bit stiff and uptight about certain things, but he always seemed normal and grounded. That is, until I ended things with him.
I glanced down at the date-stamp on the letter, noting it had been written before Christmas, before John’s disappearance. Refolding and stuffing it back into the envelope, I eyed the other letter with trepidation.
Did I really need to read more of John’s bullshit?
But, I grudgingly reached for it anyway, ripping the letter opener through its seal. The man was missing, the least I could do was read what he might have last written.
The thought sent a sobering chill down my spine.
“Camry, STILL NO RESPONSE TO MY EMAILS…”
I cocked an eyebrow at the angry, aggressive use of all caps.
The letter went on to reiterate that the baby could be his, and that he wanted a DNA test, he would get a lawyer if he had to…yada, yada, yada. I shook my head in consternation, trying to wrap my mind around the absurdity of it. It was asinine. What kind of man insisted a baby was his, when the woman carrying it said otherwise? It was typically the other way around.
Why was John so pressed on the issue? Was this his way of keeping me in his life and communicating with him?
It’s completely mindless. What did he hope to gain from it? He couldn’t possibly think I would dump Garland and go running back to him to be a big happy family.
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
I read on, stopping halfway down the first page, when John goes on the Garland tangent again.
“Don’t be STUPID Camry! Vidov has ties to one of Russia’s largest criminal organizations. His family’s murder was a result of his involvement…his father doesn’t leave Russia for fear of imprisonment…”
Against my will, my brow began to furrow the more I read, and as crazy as I was beginning to believe John actually were; his words triggered a niggling of interest. Out of everything he’d said so far, the part about Garland’s father caught my attention. At the time of our wedding, he was unable to attend due to health reasons. But, Garland never really talked much about him, which I found to be odd, but refrained from prying.
Arrgh! Why was I even entertaining John’s hysteria?
Stop reading this shit! I scolded, knowing that I was playing right into his hands.
But, I seemed unable to stop myself, as my eyes were drawn right back to the paper. I knew I was being an idiot, was allowing John to accomplish exactly what he’d intended; to create doubt. But the seed had been planted.
Minutes later, after having finished reading, I felt disgusted with myself.
Garland no doubt had his secrets, but he’s never made me feel anything other than loved and protected. It was going to take a lot more than John’s crazy spewing to make me start feeling any differently. John was completely unhinged. Could the man I’d once been engaged to, be so vengeful and vindictive as to make this crap up? Just to screw with my head?
Don’t let him win, don’t let him win, don’t let him win. I told myself over and over.
I quickly refolded the letter and stuffed it back into its envelope, wanting to be rid of it. Wanting desperately to clear my head, and to purge John’s words from my thoughts, I sprang to my feet.
“Come on penguin, let’s go have lunch,” I said to Autumn.
Forty-Nine
G A R L A N D
“You’re late,” I charged, scanning Viktor with a critical eye.
He looked like shit, as if he hadn’t slept in several days, at least.
“And here I thought you just a mere asshole, turns out, you’re an observant asshole,” Viktor returned, giving me the middle finger.
“That’s the spirit,” I laughed, slapping him on the back as we walked over towards the mats. “You should keep better nighttime hours, cousin; or else find yourself a less demanding woman, you look like hell,” I offered, enjoying fucking with him.
“My lack of sleep will be no impediment to me kicking your ass this morning,” he growled like a surly bear.
I grinned as I pulled my shirt over my head, anticipating him giving it his best shot. I welcomed the challenge. Aggression was the perfect outlet for pent-up stress.
“I guess I can cross the demanding woman off the list, you wouldn’t be in such a foul mood had you been recently laid,” I continued to taunt, pulling on the black hand-wraps.
Viktor ignored me as he did the same, both of us taking our stances in the middle of the mats.
He struck out first with a quick right jab, followed by another, that I just barely managed to block.
We went at it hard, Viktor on offense, and me pl
aying defense, both driven by our own personal demons.
We’d trained together as boys, a dictate handed down by both our fathers. Because we were evenly matched; in both experience and skill, the challenge was in gaining the upper hand, and the inevitability of one of us finally going down.
“Umph!” Viktor grunted as he staggered backwards—landing hard on the mat, my well-placed kick having knocked him off balance.
He gave me an opening, and I took full advantage of it.
When Viktor didn’t recover, but instead remained flat on his back heaving, I dropped down next to him. My breath whooshed rapidly from my laboring lungs, as sweat poured down my face.
Sparring was a hell of a workout; the benefits innumerable, and the after effects sometimes punishing. But, damn if it weren’t therapeutic.
“I’ll have to take a pass on you kicking my ass,” I told Viktor minutes later, grinning down at him as I pulled myself back to my feet.
It was part of our ritual, shit-talking the loser.
Though, there really was no loser in our game, it was more a test of discipline and endurance.
“You’ve been keeping late hours this week, problems at the firm?” I asked.
The security firm’s been operational just over two years now; but had been rapidly expanding. It’s quickly moved from mainly personal protection and nightclubs, to securing city and corporate contracts. The firm was a subsidiary of Vidov Enterprises, and as its CEO, it was solely Viktor’s baby. Soon, he would no longer have time to babysit for me; as Camry liked to call it.
“No problem, just short on manpower at the moment. I had to let two of my men go in the past two weeks,” Viktor answered, dragging himself off the floor. “One of the dumb bastards was caught twice getting under some woman’s skirt at the nightclub. The other moron was almost two hours late for his personal detail, he’d overslept,” he said in disgust.
Coming from a law enforcement background, discipline was ingrained in Viktor. He didn’t suffer fools gladly.
“Are you having difficulty finding replacements?” I asked. Because, I’d never met a man who couldn’t be bought.
“I’ve got a few men in the vetting process, but until then, I’m stretched thin. All of my men are on assignment,” Viktor answered.
“You sure you’re up for today? Joe and Stack will suffice if you aren’t, and I’m not exactly defenseless,” I told him.
He gave me a deadpan look. “That’s not happening. If you think I’d send you into the lion’s den without me, think again. Milovich is a treacherous, soulless bastard, who’d probably sellout his own mother to the highest bidder. You never know what shitstorm you might be walking into with him,” Viktor said with certainty.
“I’m familiar with Milovich’s reputation, but he’s also familiar with mine,” I returned unfazed.
Dmitry Milovich, a longtime Russian intelligence asset, wasn’t known for his morality or trustworthiness. However, his information was always solid. It’s his duplicitous nature that made any dealings with the man potentially problematic.
“I might have become somewhat relaxed since my stay in America; that doesn’t equate to me having gone soft,” I assured Viktor.
He eyed me skeptically. “I distinctly recall you wearing green and purple Mardi Gras beads the other day,” he challenged mockingly.
I smiled, as I recalled Autumn having placed the beads around my neck, as we’d sat poolside a few days ago. “With a couple of exceptions, of course,” I amended.
Sitting in the backseat of the Rover, I watched as the man approached, both hands raised with palms outward, to show he wasn’t carrying a weapon. Joe executed a full body search, removing the weapon tucked into his back waistband. At Joe’s all-clear signal, Viktor waived the man over, and opened the back door opposite me, directing him to climb in.
Our meeting had been of my choosing, on my terms. I judged the isolated waterfront and armored interior of my car, the safest bet for a conversation with a known spy. I didn’t trust Milovich as far as I could see him, and not even then.
“I see your distrustful nature hasn’t changed,” the man said, sliding in next to me.
I regarded him silently, communicating my disinterest in small-talk.
“Nor has your temperament, I see” he added, the corners of his eyes crinkling in humor.
“This isn’t a social visit, Dmitry,” I reminded impatiently, wanting him to get on with whatever information he’d come to impart.
“Greetings from back home,” he said more seriously, handing over the envelope that he’d produced for Joe.
I didn’t bother opening it.
“You might have trouble headed your way. Your name has been floating around amongst those who are too stupid to know better, but are bad news none the less,” Milovich said. “As you know, you have Petroff to thank for that, but this particular group might be of concern for their abject ignorance alone. They’re amateurs; eager to solidify their standing as formidable opponents, which makes them dangerous.”
“Who’s in charge?” I asked.
“The organization is headed by Jakov Mance, a former Albanian soldier who deflected and began his own militia about six years ago. He deals in anything illegal, or immoral,” answered Milovich.
Some of his information I’d already known, of course. Vlad’s creditors were numerous, but unlike the usual Bratva bookies and small-time criminal gangs he typically owed, the Albanian organization was fairly new on the scene. It’s rumored they operated by a different set of rules.
“It wouldn’t be the first time Vlad has thrown my name about to secure credit or protection; I fail to see the direness that was implied,” I said indifferently.
“The Albanians are in bed with a longtime enemy of yours, Oleg,” he told me.
Fuck. A problem I didn’t need.
“My source tells me he’s been providing ammunition—using Petroff as a pawn to fuel his own vendetta. He knows he can’t go after you on his own. But if he can convince Mance it’s to his own great benefit to try and take down Romanovich’s second, he wins; all while keeping his own hands clean,” Milovich said.
I’ve made more than my share of enemies over the years, it was impossible for a man in my position not to. But, none of them hated me more than Oleg, and for good reason.
“You have reason to believe Mance stupid enough to go for it?” I asked.
“In addition to the sum of money Oleg’s no doubt promised, he’s ambitious, and hungry for power. Mance will see it as his opportunity to solidify his standing, to legitimize him. I doubt it’s an opportunity he’ll pass up, however foolish,” he confirmed.
Dmitry might be a duplicitous snake, but he’s never given me bad intel. The only question is; which side was he working for?
“What’s the price for this information?” I asked, knowing the man never did anything for free.
He gave me a humorous look. “Consider it a favor to Romanovich,” he told me, before opening the door and climbing out.
With his parting words still echoing, my eyes lowered to the envelope he’d given me. I didn’t often receive messages from back home, especially ones in written form. Suspecting the source, its presence alone signaled something ominous on the horizon.
Tucking the envelope inside my jacket pocket, I decided to delay the inevitable. Sometimes, it seemed no matter how old we got, no matter how rich or how powerful we became, there would always be moments like this to remind us of how we got there.
C A M R Y
“Hi dad, how are things going in freezing cold Michigan?” I asked, once he’d finally answered his phone.
“Well, you’re definitely in the right place for winter, but also the wrong place for summer,” dad cracked, snickering at his own little joke. As usual.
I grinned, missing him more than ever right now.
“How are my girls? You waddling yet?” he asked jokingly.
“I do not waddle, I’m still very graceful on my feet,” I
said in affront.
“Ah…forever the optimist,” dad chuckled.
I listened while dad went into detail about his recent ice fishing trip. He went every year, the first week of February. My step-mother, Lilly, gave it to him every year as a Christmas gift.
“Has there been any news on John?” I asked, after he’d finished.
“He hasn’t turned-up yet, if that’s what you mean. The police aren’t being too vocal about it, but one of my contacts told me his home might have been broken into. It appears someone possibly came in through the patio; the lock had been broken. But then, it might have been that way before,” dad reported.
“That’s not likely, John is meticulous when it comes to home repairs. Was there anything missing—had the house been ransacked or anything?” I asked with a frisson of alarm.
“From what I hear, the place wasn’t trashed or anything like that, and there weren’t any signs of a struggle. But there may be some items missing,” dad answered.
“What types of things were missing?” I questioned, mentally picturing John’s small house and what he might have had of value.
“There was mention of some electronics, perhaps a computer. Of course, John may very well have taken those things himself if he left voluntarily,” dad suggested.
“I don’t like the sound of that, of a possible break-in, but how does that explain John’s disappearance?” I asked, goose bumps starting to rise.
Could someone have actually harmed John? Who would do such a thing? Why?
“What’s your honest take on what might have happened, dad?” I asked, knowing he’d already come up with a theory.
“The home invasion scenario doesn’t seem likely; unless kidnapping was thrown in for the hell of it. I would say at first guess; wherever John went, it wasn’t willingly. A man doesn’t just pick up and leave without a trace—having left everything behind, unless he’s on the run,” dad said. “Now, considering John’s job; and the sensitive information he has access to at any given time, I would think something job related more likely. Especially if there was a break-in and computer equipment was taken,” he concluded.
