by Desiree Holt
Boston ran his fingertip around the edge of his mug. “Big business in Taurus these days. Good for concealed carry.” Texas law had long allowed those who qualified to carry a concealed handgun, and a significant number of the population took advantage of it. “The Taurus models are actually knockoffs of Smith & Wesson, but they’re a lot cheaper and easily obtainable out of the country. Because they’re made in South America.”
“Out of the country? But then they’d have to find a way to get them in. I thought, since 911, the government was tightening border controls.”
Boston’s laugh was humorless. “The people who buy these in quantity don’t have to worry about that. They have ways the government hasn’t even thought of yet. Besides people would hide under their beds if they knew how porous our borders really are.” His stare was piercing. “What is it exactly you want to know, Zak?”
“I want to know who buys this gun in quantities. Whose signature it is. You know enough about who buys what. If you don’t know about it, it isn’t happening. Come on, Rick. Just give me a direction to follow.”
Rick Boston was silent for a moment, sipping at his coffee. Zak could almost see his brain clicking through a checklist.
“Try the Russians,” he said at last.
“The Russians?” Zak tried to swallow his surprise.
There were a lot of lethal people running around Texas these days, especially San Antonio, not the least of which were the powerful drug cartels. But Russians? This was the first time he’d heard they might have a significant presence in this city.
Dalton nodded. “This seems to be the gun they favor right now. Cheap. Easy to carry, easy to use. And there are so many of them in distribution they can actually be anonymous. Just file off the serial numbers and dispose of them when you’re done.”
“Let me get this straight.” Zak kept his voice calm. “You’re talking about the Russian mob, the mafiyah, right? Here in San Antonio?”
“Who else?”
Zak frowned. “I haven’t heard even a sniff of them operating in Texas, let alone in this city. Aren’t they worried about the drug cartels defending their turf?”
“That’s not my problem.” Boston spread his hands. “You asked me a question. That’s my answer. But you might want to remember this. The Russian mafiyah makes the drug cartels look like a Sunday School class.”
A sick feeling crept from Zak’s stomach to his throat. He hadn’t had dealings with the Russian mob personally, but their brutality and disregard for life was legendary. How the hell had they gotten a foothold here? And without the rumor mill going wild?
His thoughts went back to the Demoffs, Zoe’s relatives on her mother’s side. But her uncle Ivan had been a part of the high profile legal community for too long. The firm where he was a partner had an impeccable reputation. If the man was entrenched with the Russian mob, Zak was sure he would have smelled it out by this time. And there would have been more visible activity involving Ivan. The Russians weren’t shy about making themselves known, convinced they could intimidate anyone who got in their way. Or kill them. More than that, his partners would have gotten rid of him, unwilling to have their skirts soiled by him.
In addition, Ivan was the one who had made the match between Zoe and Nate. He couldn’t see the man putting his own niece smack in the middle of danger. Boston’s answers were generating even more questions.
He took a swallow of his coffee, not cooling and bitter. “Okay,” he said, setting down the mug. “One more thing.”
“No.” Boston shook his head. “That’s as much as I can give you.”
“Listen, I didn’t come all the way for a five minute conversation.”
“That’s four minutes more than I give most people.” Rick’s smile had no humor in it. “You’re smart. You know what to do. Just take it from here.”
Great. Just what he needed to be doing. Poking around in the business of the Russian mafiyah. Somehow he had trouble seeing Nate Dunning involved with a bunch of criminals without souls, no matter how well they dressed. From everything he’d found out about the man, he’d have been scared shitless. Although maybe that was what happened. Maybe he didn’t mind a little run of the mill corporate trickery or siphoning money to the usual numbered offshore accounts. So what did he stumble over that precipitated everything?
He drained his mug and stood up. “All right. Thanks. At least for this much.” When he pulled out money to leave on the table, Boston gripped his forearm.
“Don’t insult me by trying to pay for a lousy cup of coffee in my place. And let me give you a strong word of advice, my friend. If the mafiyah are the ones after Miss Lombardo, getting her out of town won’t be the answer. Another planet might help. And if you try to bring down their operation, buy plenty of bullet proof clothes.”
“Thanks for the warning. And the information.”
Driving back to his office once again, via a winding, circuitous route, gave Zak plenty of time to mull over what Boston had said. And to acknowledge the possibility that what the man said was true.
How the hell has Zoe gotten herself into this mess, anyway?
Chapter Seven
“You’ve got visitors,” Carol told him when he buzzed her that he was back.
“I do? I wasn’t expecting anyone that I know of.”
“That’s right, Mr. Delaney.” Her formal tone told him the person was within earshot of her desk. “I know your schedule is tight, but Mr. Demoff and his son say it’s urgent that they see you.”
Well, well, well. He was getting a chance to see for himself Demoff’s reaction to this situation. But why did he have his son with him? Sergei had a well-earned reputation for being uncontrollable. As good as Ivan’s reputation was in the community, Sergei’s was that bad. He had a temper and an ego, both key ingredients for trouble. When he’d researched Ivan two years ago, he’d found nothing but good press on him. Sergei, on the other hand, was the typical arrogant rich kid who, at thirty, still couldn’t manage to stay out of trouble. Zak wondered how Ivan handled that with his partners.
Just what he needed to make his day even worse. A Russian hothead.
“All right, Carol. I have to make a quick call. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Probably no more than five minutes.”
He took a moment to change out of the clothes he was wearing and back into the slacks and shirt he’d worn to work. Exchanging boots for loafers and stashing the Stetson, he picked up the phone and pressed the extension for Reno’s office.
“He’s got someone waiting to see him,” Amy, Reno’s secretary told him. “But if it’s urgent he can take your call.”
“Urgent in capital letters.”
“Okay, hold on.”
“Another crisis?” Reno asked when he came on the phone? “I had no idea what interesting women you had in your life.”
“I could do with one a little more ordinary right now. Listen. What do you know about the Russian mob? Or who can you get hold of that can fill you in?”
“The mafiyah?”
Zak could hear the note of surprise in his partner’s voice.
“Here in San Antonio, if you can believe that. And a very reliable source has convinced me that’s what’s happening.”
“What the hell has Zoe Lombardo gotten herself involved in?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Zak told him. “Can you help?”
“Yeah, actually I can,” Reno told him. “I’ve got someone waiting for me that will take about half an hour. Then I’ll get on it. But it could be tomorrow or so before I have any answers.”
“I’ll take anything,” Zak said. “And thanks.”
Hanging up the phone, he buzzed Carol and told her he was ready. He was sitting in his chair behind his desk when a light tap sounded on his office door. It swung open, and Carol ushered two men inside.
“I’ll bring a coffee tray,” she told Zak as she closed the door.
Ivan Demoff was tall, well over six feet, almost as
tall as Zak, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. He wore his thick, silver hair short, framing a typical Slavik face of high cheekbones and broad forehead. Piercing blue eyes stared out from beneath heavy brows. He’d met Ivan several times when he and Zoe were together. The man had always been polite but reserved and had a definite air of power about him. The media continued to paint him as a mover and shaker in the community.
Zak’s contact with Sergei had been infrequent and usually unpleasant. A younger version of his father, Sergei always looked at him as if he’d take great pleasure in slitting his throat. But then, Zak had figured out a long time ago that was Sergei’s usual expression—a penchant for violence that barely concealed a lack of the same intelligence his father had. He wondered what it took for Ivan to keep his son on a leash.
Zak shook hands with both men and waved them to the chairs in front of his desk.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Ivan began.
“We want to know where Zoraya is,” Sergei interrupted before he was even settled in his seat, his voice rough and edgy. “We demand to know.”
Ivan glared at his son. “We agreed I would do the talking, Sergei. It’s very possible Mr. Delaney may not even know where your cousin is. If he does, he may not feel it is safe to tell us. Remember, our first priority is to make sure Zoraya is safe.”
“Bull,” the younger man spat. “He has her somewhere. You know it and I know it. Otherwise we’d be able to find her. Or she’d have come to us, her family.”
“Sit down.” Ivan spit out the words in a voice as cold as ice. “If you cannot conduct yourself in a professional manner, then you cannot be included in this meeting.”
The door opened, providing what Zak thought was a welcome interruption, and Carol entered carrying a tray with filled coffee cups and a small plate of pastries. Zak swallowed a smile. He could be entertaining a murderer, but his secretary would stick to protocol at all costs. She’d done the same thing when it was just the two of them, determined to set a certain tone for clients. She set the tray on the small table between the two client chairs, handed one filled cup to Zak, and left as quietly as she’d walked in.
“Please help yourself,” he told the two men. With all the coffee he’d already had this morning, his own drink was more a prop than anything else.
“We didn’t come here for social niceties,” Sergei objected rudely.
“Once more,” Ivan said, “and you will be done here. Your behavior is beneath us. Take your coffee and let me do the talking.” He looked at Zak. “I apologize for my son. He is something of a hothead, but he means well.”
Zak doubted that.
As soon as they had settled back in their seats, Ivan turned his hawk-like face back to Zak. “Again I apologize for his manner. He is just concerned, as we all are, for Zoraya. This is a terrible situation.”
Zak swiveled his gaze from one to the other, carefully keeping his face impassive. “I would love to help you gentlemen, and I agree Zoe is in an impossible situation. I worry for her safety. However, I don’t know what makes you think I have any idea where she is. We broke up two years ago. And I’m sure you’re aware the circumstances were less than pleasant.”
“I am,” Demoff nodded. “I am sorry it happened. But she is in terrible trouble and her resources right now are limited. They’ve frozen her bank accounts so she has no funds. She hasn’t come to her mother, Sergei, or me, so who then?” He spread his hands, palms up. “There is no place else for her to go.”
“How do you know about her bank accounts?” Zak asked, carefully keeping his face blank.
Ivan made a deprecating sound. “Please. I am her uncle and an attorney. It wasn’t so hard to find that out. If she had available funds, she could at least hide herself someplace. But all she has is whatever cash was on her personally. Since she did not come to us, you are the next logical person, despite your…falling out. She is innocent. We must help her prove that.”
“She is a foolish female,” Sergei broke in, a scowl creasing his forehead. “She was mad at Nate. They argued frequently.”
Zak lifted an eyebrow. “So her solution to the problem was to shoot him?”
“Everyone knows women react emotionally. Poof! She gets rid of him.”
“Sergei, shut up.” Ivan’s voice was so cold even Zak felt chilled. “Please show proper respect. Zoraya did not kill Dunning, and I don’t want to hear this foolishness from you anymore.”
Zak wondered, with the obvious affection Ivan had for his niece, if there wasn’t some jealousy in there on Sergei’s part.
Ivan turned back to Zak. “Zoraya may have been hot-tempered—a result of both her Italian and Russian heritage—but her weapon was her brain, not a gun. She is no killer. That I believe. But she is in terrible trouble and she needs her family. I can help her with this.”
Zak met Ivan’s knife-like gaze and held it for a heartbeat before speaking again. “You’re the one who introduced her to Dunning. Didn’t you have any reservations about that? Worry about who his other associates might be?”
“Nate was a client for many years,” Ivan explained. “A good one. My partners and I traveled in the same social circles as his family. His father has an impeccable reputation. I know there has been some…gossip about Caz Morgan, but the man is a financial genius. Many of us are clients of his investment firm. Under his guidance, Nate amassed great wealth. I handled the legal affairs for Dunning International, and nothing ever seemed amiss. Everyone I came into contact with was as professional as Nate. There was never a sniff of anything that would result in this.” He stared back at Zak. “Do you think I would deliberately put my niece in a dangerous situation?”
Sergei growled something at his father in Russian. Ivan made a slashing motion with his hand and answered him in a voice colder than ice. Zak watched the two of them much as he would observe two snarling animals, and wondered what Sergei’s role in all of this was.
“Let me assure you,” he told them. “I am as concerned about Zoe as you are. I only wish she had come to me so I could protect her and help her find out who did this, who set her up.”
“Her mother is very worried about her,” Ivan told him again. “Distraught. A friend is with her right now, but I fear for her health if Zoraya is not found soon.” His tone changed to a pleading one. “I am asking you, Zachariah, man to man, if you know where Zoraya is. If you have hidden her somewhere, convince her she should be with her family.”
“I told you I don’t know where she is,” he repeated. “So I guess it’s up to you to make sure Zoe’s mother is cared for and reassured.”
“I could do that much better if I had answers for her.” Ivan studied his face with his glacier-blue eyes. “You swear to me you don’t know where she is? If you are hiding her, you could be putting her in terrible danger.”
“I’d say she’s already in more danger than she needs to be. If Zoe wanted to go to you, she would already have called.” He leaned forward. “If you know anything about Nate Dunning’s business that can provide answers here, my advice to you would be to tell the police right away.”
“We have already spoken with the police.”
Again Sergei barked something in Russian. Again his father snapped at him, rose from his chair, and indicated Sergei should do the same.
“I’m sure you realize we are bound by the rules of client confidentiality,” Ivan said to Zak. “However, I would not put that before Zoraya’s safety. I hope you mean it when you say you don’t know where she is.” There was a hint of underlying menace in his tone. “I would hate to think Sergei is right and you are lying to us about something so important. She belongs to us, Mr. Delaney, not you. We need to find her.”
Zak couldn’t doubt the sincerity of the man’s tone. It was Sergei who roused his suspicions. He rose from his desk chair, indicating the meeting was over, and shook Ivan’s hand. “If I have occasion to see her, I’ll be sure to tell her to get in touch with you.”
“Please. I hope you
mean that.” He reached his hand across the desk.
In a pig’s eye.
Sergei did not offer to shake hands. Niceties weren’t part of his personality. “I still think you are a liar, Zak Delaney. I hope you do not cost Zoraya her life.”
He turned a cold glare to Sergei. “That’s the very last thing I would want to happen. Keep that in mind.”
Again Ivan muttered to Sergei in Russian, then turned back to Zak.
“You know where to find me. Please call me at once if she gets in touch with you. As I say, her mother is sick with worry, as are we all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Zak told him.
He watched the two men leave, Sergei still muttering in Russian in a low voice.
Well, weren’t we just a couple of junkyard dogs in a pissing contest.
He picked up his desk phone and pressed three numbers. Jay Browning picked up at once.
“I’m working as fast as I can, Zak,” he said without even a hello. “Reno handed what he had learned, which wasn’t much, off to me because he had a client meeting, and I’ve had three people working on it. But I can tell you this much. None of the companies on the list you gave me exist. And I’ve tried every combination of letters and every possible source I could find to see what I could come up with. The actual owners are buried so deep I’m having to write a program just to unpeel the layers.”
“Damn.” Zak rolled a pen between his fingers. “I think I expected that.”
“Also, nada so far on the valet parking.”
“Are you telling me none of the valet parking services in this entire area worked Nate Dunning’s parties?” Zak dropped the pen and sat up in his chair.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s gotta be another privately owned enterprise like the ones on this list, with no public face.”
“Makes sense,” Zak muttered, “considering who they probably work for.”
“You want me to ask Keith to help? He’s got the street creds to ask questions.”
“No, I have Keith on something else. Larry Blake’s just back from his job in Mexico for Continental. Let me put him on it.”
