Dangerous Allies (The Ruby Danger Series Book 1)

by Rickie Blair

  Antony put his glasses back on.

  “Have you ever heard of the vor v zakonye?”

  “The Russian mob? Sure. Why?”

  “They’re blackmailing me. That twenty million in bonds was for them. And now the bonds are gone. They disappeared on the boat.”

  Hari stared for a moment with his mouth slack.

  “What do you mean, the bonds are gone? And how did the Russian mob get involved?”

  “Remember Kyrgyzstan? The oil deal?” Antony stood up, walked across the room and flopped onto a sofa. The terrier, which had edged out from behind the furniture while the men talked, retreated.

  “That deal was legit, Antony. You went there to get investors and you did. So what the hell happened?”

  Antony rubbed his hand across his chin and gave a slight shrug.

  “They said they’d go to the SEC if I didn’t get them the twenty million.”

  Hari looked puzzled.

  “Go to the SEC about what? What else did you do?”

  “Do the details matter? We need to pay these guys. How fast can we put together another twenty million?”

  “I don’t think we can. And yes, the details matter. Let me understand this. You’re caught between the Russian mob and the SEC? How the hell did that happen? I know you’re not keen on going to prison and clenching your ass for the next twenty years, but the Russian mob? They kill people, Antony. And they kill them in nasty ways. You have to go to the police.” He paused and then his face brightened. “Hey, they might put you in one of those witness protection programs, and I’ll never have to see you again. So there is a potential upside.”

  “I can’t go to the police. The mob will tell them I killed Ruby.”

  Hari stared at him.

  “What did you say?”

  The terrier peeked around the end of the sofa with wide eyes.

  “The FBI questioned me on the boat. There was a New York cop there, too. If there hadn’t been video of Ruby doing the high dive—”

  Hari swallowed and looked away.

  “—I’d be in prison right now. And not for insider trading.”

  “If Ruby committed suicide, why would anyone think you killed her?” Hari said softly. His eyes narrowed. “You got a little physical with her, didn’t you? On the boat.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s why she called. I thought so, but she said—”

  “Wait a minute. She called? When?”

  “From the boat. She found the twenty million in bearer bonds and the phony passports. I told her I knew nothing about it. I lied for you.” Hari shook his head. “You bastard.”

  “She found the bonds? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It hardly matters now, does it?”

  “No, you don’t get it. That video doesn’t show her jumping. It shows her standing on a balcony and then the camera moves somewhere else. They assumed she jumped because no one could find her.” Antony got to his feet and paced the floor. “Jesus,” he said, “Ruby took the bonds. And those Russian bastards think I have them.”

  Antony slumped into a dining chair and closed his eyes. He pressed both palms on the surface of the table and rubbed them along the edge. Ruby had insisted on ‘reclaimed’ wood and the designer had suggested Brazilian peroba rosa, whatever the hell that was. Antony pictured himself, spread-eagle on the polished peroba rosa planks with a knife in his gut, blood dripping onto the floor.

  “There might be a way,” Hari said. “How much cash do you have in your personal account? Because—are you listening?”

  Antony looked up dully.

  “What personal account? You know all my money is tied up in Carvon stock, and this house, and the apartment in New York, and—”

  “Ruby also found a list of deposits to an offshore account on your laptop. What about that money?”

  “What list? What are you talking about?” Antony narrowed his eyes.

  “Deposits to a bank in the Caymans. Sound familiar? She wouldn’t tell me how much, but it sounded substantial. And by substantial, I mean more than twenty million.”

  “I had to have something to live on,” Antony mumbled.

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Hari’s mouth slackened.

  “Five hundred million?”

  Antony looked away without replying.

  “Well, there’s your answer, then. Take the twenty million out of your little nest egg, asshole.”

  “Can’t. It’s not in my name.”

  “Whose name is it in?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “This gets worse and worse. Sell the house, then.”

  “Impossible. The deal would never close in time.”

  The dog, which had crept closer, nudged Antony’s leg. He stood up, scooped a foot under its stomach and tossed it across the room. It slid into the wall and cowered there, tail tucked between its legs.

  Antony scowled and turned back to Hari.

  “I’m leaving for Toronto. Vanessa will announce that we’re holding the annual meeting at our branch office there this year instead of in New York. That’ll buy us more time. Forget about this,” he gestured at the remaining papers. “You go back to the office and deflect the press until I can find Ruby and the bonds.”

  “You’re assuming she isn’t dead?”

  “Well, someone sure as hell took those bonds from that safe and it wasn’t me. And would you jump overboard with twenty million in your pocket?”

  Hari narrowed his eyes.

  Antony looked up from shoving papers into his briefcase.

  “It wasn’t me, okay?”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” Hari’s face brightened. “Although, it is the kind of thing Ruby would do, she’s always been impulsive.”

  “She’s always been a problem, Hari, and now she’s a twenty-million-dollar problem.”

  The dog crawled a few steps nearer and whimpered. Resting its head on its outstretched paws, it stared at Antony.

  “And get rid of that.” Antony pointed at the terrier.

  “Ruby’s dog? What do you expect me to do with it? Take it to the pound? I don’t have time for that. Wait until Zelda gets back.”

  “Don’t be stupid. It’s got a damn microchip thing. If anybody finds it, they’ll bring it back. Get rid of it.”

  “Bloody hell, Antony, I’m not in the animal disposal business. What am I supposed to—?”

  “If you’re squeamish, get someone else to do it.”

  Hari raised both hands.

  “I’ll put it in the car and deal with it later.” He scooped up the terrier and went out the front door, then returned for his briefcase and the folders Antony had stacked next to it. “You know,” he said, stuffing the files into his case and snapping it shut. “If Ruby is alive, she might be headed here.”

  “She’s alive, count on it.” Antony looked up. “Wait a minute. She must think I’m still on the ship. It’s not due to dock in Fort Lauderdale until tomorrow. Ruby probably thinks she can come here and get her stuff and I won’t know. I bet she’s on her way right now.” He grinned. “And if she has the bonds with her—bingo.”

  * * *

  Several hours later, as Antony fed papers into the shredder in his den, a car turned up the driveway and stopped. Antony had taken his Mercedes out of the garage and parked it around the corner after Hari left. Ruby knew he had driven the Mercedes to Fort Lauderdale, so she would think he wasn’t home.

  He padded down the hall in his stocking feet and opened the front door. A thin swarthy man in a Hawaiian shirt stood on the portico. The man beside him pointed a gun at Antony’s gut.

  “Hello, Antony,” Viktor said. “Mind if we come in?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A blast of searing air took Ruby’s breath away when she stepped from the warehouse on Pintado Island and onto the sidewalk. Pedicabs and pedestrians ambled through the leafy square and bicycle couriers swerved around them. Ruby loo
ked down at her clothes. The maid’s uniform was streaked with grease and dirt, and tears and sweat stained her makeup. She fingered a strand of the blond wig that curled over her cheek. At least her hair looked good. She sniffed the strand. Didn’t smell too good though. A restaurant on the corner, with outdoor tables under a latticed pergola, looking inviting and she headed that way.

  A hostess in a flowing blue dress and cascading beaded necklaces came to the doorway, holding a stack of menus on her arm. Her long hair swept around her neck and over one shoulder, where a beaded barrette pinned it in place. A frown knitted her brows as she assessed Ruby’s appearance.

  “Washroom?” Ruby asked with a smile, pointing to the rear of the restaurant and brushing past before the hostess could object. “I’ll be right back,” she added over her shoulder.

  Ruby zigzagged her way through the tables to the ladies sign in the back. There, she locked the door and turned on the tap to fill the sink. Tearing off the filthy wig and maid’s uniform, she dropped them on the floor with a grimace and plunged her face into the water. She stood up, tilted her head back and sighed as the cool water trailed down her neck. Then she reached for the soap.

  When she was done, she pulled a black cotton skirt and top from her tote bag and slipped them on. Taking out her makeup kit, she studied her swollen nose in the mirror.

  A few minutes later, ‘Billie Lou’ emerged from the washroom. Long auburn hair had replaced the short blond wig, and a skimpy black top fastened behind her neck. Golden bangles jangled on her wrist. She walked over to the hostess and smiled.

  “I think I’ll sit indoors, if ya’ll don’t mind,” she drawled, ignoring the woman’s surprise, “it’s so much cooler.” She settled into a chair and looked up expectantly.

  The hostess handed her a menu, but she waved it away.

  “I’m famished. I’ll just have what they’re havin’.” Billie Lou pointed to plates that were piled high with jerk chicken and rice on the table beside her. She shook out her napkin, placed it daintily over her lap, and winked at the man and woman who sat behind the chicken.

  The hostess nodded and walked away.

  Billie Lou swiveled her long legs out from under the table, crossed one over the other and pulled up her skirt to languidly scratch her thigh. The man at the table stared at her, until his wife poked his arm with her fork. He jumped and turned his gaze back to the table.

  Ruby smiled, turning her head away. Even half-filthy and exhausted, she still had it.

  When her chicken arrived, she tackled it with gusto, picking up the bones with her fingers like a true Southerner.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the waitress eyed the hundred-dollar bill in her hand. “I don’t know if we can cash that,” she said, turning it over. She placed it back on the table. “Sometimes they’re counterfeit. Sorry.”

  Ruby fished around in her change purse and came up with two twenties, which she placed on the counter.

  “Is there a bank near here?”

  It was two blocks to the neocolonial building that housed the nearest bank. The air-conditioned interior set off goosebumps on Ruby’s arms despite the sunshine flooding through windows that ran almost to the fourteen-foot ceiling. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor as she walked to a teller’s window and pulled a stack of hundred-dollar bills from her tote bag.

  “Could I change these, please? Into smaller American bills?” Ruby heaved her tote bag onto the counter with a clunk and smiled. “I didn’t realize what a problem those bills were going to be,” she said, patting the tote bag, “when I packed ’em.”

  The teller, a young woman whose rasta braids tumbled over slim shoulders, riffled through the bills and looked up.

  “Do you have an account with us?”

  “Sorry, no. I’m a tourist.”

  The teller’s smile wavered.

  “Could you wait one moment, please?” She walked to the back and exchanged a few words with a woman at a large desk. Both women turned to look at her. Ruby smiled and waved, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. The two women conferred with their heads together, then the teller returned to the counter. She smiled and ran each bill under an ultraviolet sensor before counting the entire stack with quick efficiency.

  “There’ll be a small charge,” she said, opening her cash drawer. “Twenties and tens okay?”

  “Absolutely.” Before Ruby picked up the bills, she wiped both hands on her skirt.

  Putting her sunglasses back on, she walked outside and gazed at the bay where the Apollonis was moored. She had focused all her attention on getting off the ship, but she had only exchanged one problem for another. How would she get off the island?

  An ad on the back of a nearby bench touted, Larry’s ocean tours. See the islands from the air. Open year round. The name was familiar and Ruby closed her eyes, trying to remember. She opened her eyes with a start. ‘Larry’s Ocean Tours’ had been on the itinerary in Antony’s leather box. She got up and walked to an idling taxi.

  Larry’s Ocean Touring hugged a dusty field between two hills covered with dried grass. A scuffed-up six-passenger Cessna stood outside a rusted tin hangar whose bent doors were propped open with rocks.

  Ruby paid the taxi driver and walked into a tin-roofed wooden shack beside the hangar. The air inside was close and sticky despite a wheezing overhead fan. A young man in a T-shirt and denim cut-offs leaned across the counter. He was a kid, fifteen at most. He stood up, scratching the peeling skin on his sunbaked arms.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I understand you offer trips to the mainland? I can pay,” Ruby tilted her head, “cash, if you know what I mean.” She lifted her eyebrows.

  The boy studied her a moment.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We do tours. You know, for tourists?” A gecko scuttled across the wall overhead. “You want a tour? There’s the price list.” He pointed to a small sign on the counter.

  “I was hoping you could take me to Florida. To Boca Raton.”

  “Oh, sure. We do that. It’s three hundred dollars.”

  Ruby counted out three hundred-dollar bills and laid them on the counter. The kid scooped up the money and looked at her, waiting.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “We gotta have ID.”

  Ruby counted out another three bills and held them out.

  “Will this do?”

  “That’ll do fine,” said a voice behind her. The gecko scuttled across the wall into a corner.

  Ruby turned. A tall windburned man in a short-sleeved shirt and aviator-style sunglasses took the cash from her hand and tucked it into a worn leather wallet.

  “Follow me,” he said with a smile, slipping the wallet into the back pocket of his faded jeans.

  They walked over to the Cessna. The pilot opened the door, cranked down two metal steps, and extended a hand to Ruby to help her aboard.

  “By the way, the airstrip we use on the mainland is a little farther west than Boca,” he said as she climbed the stairs.

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, Ruby turned to look at him.

  “How much farther?”

  “’Bout a hundred miles.”

  She sighed. Great. Another obstacle. “That’ll be fine.”

  The pilot made sure she was belted in and her tote bag stowed under the seat before he cranked the steps back up, closed the door and eased into the pilot’s chair. He flicked a few switches and the engine roared, rattling the windows.

  Ruby leaned back, gazing through the cockpit window and up at the limitless blue beyond. For the first time in forty-eight hours, she relaxed.

  The pilot turned the plane so it faced the ragged runway and revved the engine. A taxi tore up the road, spitting dust. It fishtailed as it pulled up in front of the shack and deposited its passenger, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and carrying a briefcase. He went into the shack and came out with the teen, who pointed at the plane.

  “Looks as if we’re ge
tting another passenger,” the pilot said.

  Ruby turned to look out the side window, feigning interest in the landscape. She put on her sunglasses and patted the sides of her wig, checking for any tendrils of her own hair that might have escaped.

  The pilot opened the door and cranked the steps again.

  “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thanks,” the new passenger said as he entered the plane. He sat opposite Ruby and tightened his seat belt. “I was on the cruise ship,” he said to the pilot, “but my office called me back.”

  “Shame to interrupt your vacation.”

  “Yeah, but these days you can’t afford to turn down business.”

  The new passenger turned to Ruby and her blood ran cold.

  “Hello there,” Bogdan said. The cobra’s hissing mouth gaped wider as he grinned.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Cessna bumped as it touched down, jolting Ruby away from a dream of a fragrant bubble bath and a glass of chilled white wine. She sighed, furtively scratching her itchy scalp under the wig, and gave Bogdan a sidelong glance as the plane taxied to a stop on the sandy runway. Had he recognized her? She bent over to tug her tote bag out from under the seat in front. It was stuck. She tugged again.

  Bogdan stood up and leaned over her.

  “Let me,” he said, his tattooed arm brushing her legs as he reached for the bag.

  She shrank back with her hand on the window and turned her face away, her heart thudding.

  Bogdan yanked the tote bag out and placed it on her lap with a smile.

  “That’s a heavy bag. Did you win big in the casino?”

  She clutched the bag to her chest and shook her head, trying not to look at him.

  “Are you headed for Miami? We could share a ride.”