Abbie gasped for air. She wanted to yell, but she was still trying to shake the vision of David’s limp body clear from her mind.
The large man blocking the door moved aside. A smaller man, dark hair slicked back wearing a dark suit, emerged through the doorway.
Abbie managed enough air to speak in a staccato-like fashion. “Where’s Emma?”
“Do you mean is she alive?” said the man in the dark suit.
Abbie’s brow wrinkled. I heard that voice… that accent before. She responded to the dark-suited man with a single nod.
“She is for now,” he said, “but for how long is entirely up to you.”
“What do you want?”
“I want the briefcase your father left you.”
“Why? What possible interest could you have with it or my father,” asked Abbie.
“It’s simple. You bring it to me, and I let Emma live to find a new husband.”
“It’s locked. I don’t know how to open it.”
“Let’s worry about opening it once it is here, yes?” he said with a sinister half-smile.
“Honestly,” Abbie said. “I don’t know.”
“Let me worry about that,” said the man. He pointed to the additional large man that joined the other. “You and Sasha will go get it.”
“It’s lunchtime, and my father’s house is across town. That’s going to take a while.” Abbie explained.
The man provided another sinister smile. “You have an urgent appointment somewhere?”
Abbie identified the sarcasm even with his thick foreign accent. Russian?
“I was going to meet my boyfriend for lunch…before Emma called.”
He used two fingers to push his sleeve behind his watch. His face frowned. “No,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry to tell you that you no longer have a boyfriend. He fell from his apartment earlier this morning.”
“You killed him?” She asked emphatically, but there was emotional distress in her voice.
The man let out another laugh. “Silly girl, the fall did not kill him. It was the sudden stop at the end.”
“You bastard,” Her eyes pooled with tears.
The dark-haired man moved swiftly toward Abbie.
He scared Abbie by how fast he moved. He was inches from her face before she knew it. He frightened her further when she realized he had the tip of his knife pushed against the side of her neck.
He spoke slow and carefully, enunciating each word to ensure she understood his English through his thick accent. “I can understand how a young girl gets emotional at a time like this.”
She felt his warm breath puffing against her face.
“But do not mistake my charming personality for mercy.” A small twist of his wrist made a small nick in her neck.
Abbie felt the blood in her neck rise to the surface.
The man removed his handkerchief and dabbed Abbie’s neck. “You’ll do as you’re instructed…politely. In return, I’ll let you and your friend Emma live.” He handed her the handkerchief. “A little pressure will stop the bleeding.” The man smiled. “Since you have a bit of a ride, you should go now.”
Chapter 25
The gang of foreign misfits led by the small man in the dark suit reunited Abbie and Emma in the living room. Their reunion was short and unpleasant, considering the circumstances. Emma looked like a wreck. The skin around her eyes was puffy, bordering on swollen. The blood vessels in the whites splintered in all directions. Her nose continuously drained, and her cheeks appeared as if they were permanently painted with a dull shade of pink.
The small man announced to everyone in the room that it was time to go when Abbie’s phone sounded an alert that the Lyft driver was outside waiting on them. The small man gave Abbie’s phone to Sasha and directed him to escort Abbie and Emma to Dr. Talbot’s house while he remained with his other colleague at Emma’s.
He alternated his index finger between Abbie and Emma. “If either of them gives you any trouble, kill the doctor.” He followed with a few words in Russian.
Sasha answered in the same language.
The man provided his undivided attention to Emma and Abbie. “Do we understand, ladies?”
Abbie and Emma nodded.
Sasha urged the two women out the door when he pulled back the slide on his pistol and waved it toward the door before concealing it in his coat pocket—but still pointed towards Abbie and Emma.
Abbie followed Emma through the front door and down the steps. Sasha followed closely behind with his hand in the pocket that contained his firearm. They made their way down the remaining flights of stairs.
“Hi, Dr. Hoffman,” said the balding elderly man.
“Afternoon, Mr. Farley.”
Thomas Farley was a kind man in his mid-sixties who lived across from Emma and David. Emma would often see him early in the morning when he returned from his morning jog.
“I didn’t see you this morning,” said Farley. “You have today off? Sleep in?”
Emma tried to act normal, but her voice and appearance did not match the words she spoke. “Oh, yes… I… I had a long shift yesterday. Needed the extra sleep.”
“Have you been crying?” He asked. “Everything okay?”
Emma answered quickly. “Everything’s fine. Allergies,” she said as a silver Acura pulled to the curb. “Sorry, Mr. Farley. I need to go.” Emma pointed to the car. She opened the door and moved aside to let Abbie into the vehicle.
Abbie passed between Emma and Mr. Farley and slid to the far side of the backseat.
“Are you sure?” Farley insisted.
“Get lost,” Sasha interrupted by pushing Farley to the ground, away from Emma and the car.
“Hey,” yelled Farley.
Emma moved quickly and decisively. She slammed the rear door hard, closing it on Sasha’s fingers
“Go! Get out of here!”
Emma tried to run, but Sasha snatched Emma’s long brunette hair with his working hand and slung her down to the ground by Mr. Farley.
Farley was appalled by Sasha's treatment of Emma.
“You okay?” He asked Emma as he helped her to her feet. He then directed his temper toward Sasha. He turned and face the large Ukrainian, but his forehead met the barrel of Sasha’s .45.
Sasha pulled the trigger, sending Mr. Farley’s frontal lobes out the back of his skull. The loud pop the pistol made drew the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Passers-by scattered chaotically in all directions away from the gunfire.
“Go,” yelled Emma. She pounded her fist on the rear window of the Acura.
Abbie saw fear on Emma’s face and the urgency in her eyes. That’s when Abbie heard another loud shot from Sasha’s handgun.
Abbie could not help from wincing and closing her eyes when she heard the shot and glass breaking. She opened her eyes to see Emma’s body disappear out of sight. The Acura’s rear passenger window was partially blown out, but Emma’s blood decorated the glass that remained in the back window frame.
“Drive!” Abbie yelled at the driver.
The tires ripped against the hot asphalt. Small puffs of smoke carrying the smell of burnt rubber irritated Abbie’s nose as the Acura sped away without yielding to any traffic.
Sasha fired off three more shots at the Acura as it sped away. Two bullets lodged into the trunk while the third connected with the back windshield, creating a sizable hole in the glass that spidered outwardly in all directions.
Chapter 26
“Who the hell was that, and why are they shooting at my car.” The Acura driver asked, who was weaving in and out of traffic as best he could without concern for drivers… or pedestrians.
“The big guy with the gun is Sasha. They’re shooting at you because his boss told him to if I tried to escape.” Abbie said while catching her breath.
The driver dashed through traffic skillfully, which sloshed Abbie from door-to-door in the back seat.
“What do they want with you?”
“My father left me a briefcase in his will. They want it. I told them it was at my father’s house.”
“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit. How about the truth?”
Abbie found the driver’s reply offensive. “This is my first hostage-at-gunpoint encounter. I’m not skilled enough to make shit like this up. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
The Acura weaved among several cars before taking a hard right. Abbie’s head hit hard in the rear driver’s side window.
“You drive like shit,” said Abbie as she pulled herself upright and rubbed the painful bump on her head.”
“This is my first get-your-ass-shot-at-for-no-reason encounter. I don’t know what else to tell you. Are they following us?”
“You have a rearview mirror?”
“I can let you out here.”
The driver’s comment was all the incentive Abbie needed to turn and look. She struggled to get a clear view of what was behind them with the dozens of cracks the bullet hole created in the rear window. Abbie also realized how idiotic her rearview mirror comment was.
“I don’t see them.”
The driver slowed the vehicle to a pace that blended with the flow of traffic. He took another right, drove a few more blocks, and then took a left. “So, where to? Your dad’s place?” He asked.
“No, my apartment,” she said and gave him the address.
“I thought you said the briefcase was at your dad’s?”
“I did,” said Abbie, “I lied.”
“You lied to a man holding you and your friend at gunpoint?”
“Again,” said Abbie, “not that skilled.”
Twenty minutes later, the Acura pulled next to the curb outside Abbie’s apartment.
The driver turned and faced Abbie. He handed her a small pad of paper and a pen.
“Name and phone number,” said the driver.
“Seriously, you’re trying to pick me up?”
“Oh yes, nothing screams ‘date night’ like being shot at.”
Abbie held a confused look at the driver.
“The damage to the car? I’m not paying for it.”
Even through the stress of being taken against her will and shot at, Abbie still found disappointment with the driver's answer. Not the damages part, she would expect the same and probably not be as polite as he was. Just once, Abbie would like it for a total stranger to ask her for her number, even though she would never give it out. She was not that courageous.
Abbie scribbled her name and number on the pad and held it out to the driver but dropped it when she and the driver jumped back from the sound of knuckles rapping on the glass of the driver door.
Two men opened the driver and passenger door. They politely but physically encouraged both Abbie and the driver to exit the vehicle.
To Abbie’s surprise, and to the surprise of the two men, the Acura driver was tall—over six feet tall—at least six-four or six-five. Also, he was massively large, starting at the shoulders moving down—biceps, chest, forearms, hands—his whole body. Abbie noticed his high-cheekbones, his rugged, French-trimmed beard, and a mouth that seemed to have a permanent smile—but not now. His hair was long, with soft highlights blended at the ends. He was definitely someone Abbie did not want to meet in a dark alley—smile or not.
A slender woman with long flowing red hair wearing a business suit and dark sunglasses emerged from a black SUV parked on the opposite side of the street. She crossed the street and approached the two men that held the manly driver and Abbie close to the Acura.
“Abigail Talbot?” the woman asked as she pulled strands of windblown hair from her mouth.
“Yes.”
The woman pulled her credentials from her jacket and flashed it to Abbie and the driver.
“Special Agent Kaitlyn Walker, FBI”
Abbie’s posture relaxed. “You here about the Russian guy?”
“What Russian guy,” asked Agent Walker.
The driver answered. “The one that splattered her best friend all over my car and then starting shooting at us.”
Agent Walker opened a leather-bound notebook she carried under her arm. Her fingers walked through several papers and folders until she snatched a document that caught her attention.
“Is this him?” she asked as she held out a photo.
Chapter 27
“That’s him,” said Abbie. She stared at the photo of the man with dark hair combed back wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. “That’s the man who killed David and Brian.”
“Who’s David and Brian?” The driver asked.
“My best friend’s husband and my boyfriend,” Abbie answered.
“You have a boyfriend?”
“Well, not really… a past boyfriend—” The question frustrated and angered Abbie. “How is this any of your business?”
“Why didn’t you call him instead of me? I’d still have a rear window,” said the driver.
Abbie’s frustration surfaced in her response in the form of extreme sarcasm. “Did you not hear the part when I told the FBI agent that this man,” she pointed at the photo, “killed him?”
Agent Walker interrupted. “Who are you?” She walked in front of the towering Acura driver. She was easily a foot-and-a-half shorter than he.
“I’m the Lyft driver.” He said.
“Do you have a name, Lyft driver?”
“Yes, ma’am. Josh Richards.”
“Awesome. Now that we all know one another, can you keep your trap shut while I talk to Ms. Talbot?”
Josh answered. “Consider it shut.” He pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips.
Agent Walker turned the conversation to Abbie. “This guy,” she pointed to the picture. “Did you witness him kill either of the men you mentioned.”
“No. I only saw David, afterward, dangling in the shower. That was right before he ordered one of the goons to take me—”
“—take you where,” interrupted Agent Walker.
Her interest piqued suspiciously… a manner that made the hair on the back of Abbie’s neck stand up. “They wanted me to get something from my father’s office… at the University.”
Josh blinked hard but kept silent as this was not the version of the story he heard on their dashing getaway.
“Get what?” insisted Agent Walker. She removed her sunglasses and made eye contact with Abbie.
“Something he was working on. Why are you so interested?”
“We believe your father was working on something that impacts national security.”
Josh spoke. “You believe?” His tone and the small laugh that followed made it clear he was not buying the story.
Walker shifted her eyes at Josh. She held a parental glare at him.
“Oh shit, the mom look. Don’t do the mom look.”
“You still talking?”
Josh backed against the car and covered his mouth. His eyes shifted from Agent Walker to the ground and back again, waiting for her to stop glaring at him.
Walker returned her attention to Abbie. “There was no explicit information about Dr. Talbot’s work. We were hoping you could help us.”
“How?” Abbie asked.
“This man,” she shakes the picture, “is Dimitri Petrov. You can help by telling me what he wanted.”
“Why are you here… at my apartment?”
“To warn you?”
“Thanks for the tip,” said Josh.
Walker returned her glare
“Sorry, it's a bad habit.” He covered his mouth, “I’m done.”
“Not about the Russians, smartass,” Walker answered.
“Then who?” Abbie asked.
Walker exchanged Petrov’s photo with one of a dark-skinned man that looked of Middle Eastern descent. “Sayid Sumesh. ISIS terrorist. He entered the country on a student visa with an alias. We believe he’s the one that killed your father.”
“Why?”
“Again. Something your father was working on. Are you f
amiliar with your father’s work?”
“Agent Walker,” said Abbie with confidence and with a little attitude at what the FBI agent was implying. “My father was a published author and a world-renowned researcher of genetics and virology.”
“And you are following in his footsteps.” Walker added.
“Was,” corrected Abbie. “I’m not the researcher or scientist my father was.”
Walker opened her leather notebook again, exchanging the photo of the middle eastern man with a manila folder. She opened it. “Graduated high school, valedictorian at the age of fifteen. Full scholarship… graduate degree before nineteen and currently completing the third year of your doctorate under your father’s tutelage.”
“Amazing. You can read,” said Abbie. “What’s your point?”
“My point, Ms. Talbot, is simple. We believe you know or can help us understand what your father was working on.”
Abbie fired back. “Agent Walker, you seem more interested in whatever my father was working on and less interested in the fact that my best friend, her husband, and my former boyfriend,” she eyeballed Josh, “were murdered by this Petrov guy. So, unless you are arresting me, I would like to leave.”
Agent Walker closed her leather notebook and circled her index finger in the air—a cue for the two men to leave their post by the Acura and return to the SUV. “You can go… for now.” Walker hands Abbie a business card. “If you change your mind or grow tired of getting shot at… call me.”
Josh stepped forward. “How about you protect her?” His interruption had newfound courage from a few moments ago.
Agent Walker, again, directed her intimidating glare at Josh.
“Nice try,” he said in response to the glare, “you only get to use that once on me. Look. I’ve known this lady for the length of a car ride, and these people are not screwing around.”
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