The space was actually cleaner than she would have expected. She’d heard somewhere that if you cleaned for a living, you let your own house go, or mechanics’ cars were never running well, and so on. But this guy didn’t fit that mold. Everything was organized and filed from what she could tell.
She started with his desk and went through his drawers. By the time she had gone through the office, she found two flash drives. She didn’t have time to look at them, she could only hope for the best.
The sound of tires going over gravel made the girls look at each other in fear. Surely this guy didn’t have a partner. Angel’s feet felt like they had lead in them as she went to the window and peered out without being noticed—until she saw who it was. Her husband and the agents had somehow managed to find her.
Angel rushed to the door with an urgency that only comes from fear. There were no guarantees the guy was dead, and she damn sure didn’t want him coming up those steps and doing some last minute thing that would change their destiny in a mere moment. It would be just like that bitch fate, for them to make it this far only be taken down at the last minute. When she grabbed the handle and realized the door had a double deadbolt that was locked on the inside as well as the outside, she felt like her stomach dropped somewhere down between her feet. The adrenaline dump in her system had her feeling like she was on speed. She screamed out to her husband as she fumbled with numerous keys that held no meaning to her. How many fucking keys does this guy have?
“Babe… slow down. This is a double-keyed deadbolt lock made by Schlage—look for a key that has Schlage written on it. It’ll probably be gold.”
She willed her hands to stop shaking and her mind to stop racing. “I found it. At least I think I did.” She said a prayer before she put the key in; the lock turned, revealing freedom and three FBI agents. There was one good thing about all this: it was going to make her look innocent; they could do what they’d been planning all along, pin it on Joe Monroe.
“Fan out”—Angel stopped Agent Turner midsentence.
“He’s down in the basement. I think I killed him. Oh God, I think I killed a man. She was shocked when Agent Turner answered in her defense.
“No, you protected yourself. Now fan out agents, and let’s get this house cleared.” Angel turned and looked at Rene, and when she nodded her head, a wave of relief rushed through her. I hope he’s dead because dead men tell no tales. It would free her from all the chaos she’d subjected herself to, and they could go back to being a family. There was just that nasty little detail of whether she had the right flash drive or not. She pushed the nagging fear from her mind. If she didn’t, the agents would read her body language like they were trained to do, and committing the captor’s murder would be for nothing. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Was this nightmare ever going to end? She didn’t realize she hadn’t even had the time to think about that whole issue of her being so comfortable with killing.
She hastily made her way towards the basement, making certain to step lightly so they couldn’t keep her from seeing Joe Monroe’s body. She needed to see him dead—she needed closure. She disagreed with people who said closure never came. She believed for some it might work like that, but for her, it didn’t. She was a woman who compartmentalized, and if she could see him dead, she could stick it in a nice, neat little file and rest assured that part of her life was over.
She eased down the steps, taking extra care when she reached the fourth one from the bottom with the creak in it that would be a dead giveaway. They didn’t see her as she silently stepped around the corner and looked at the man laid out on the floor motionless.
She’d been so light on her feet that they were shocked when she spoke barely above a whisper. “Is he dead?”
It was Rene who answered, and the look on her face was one of trying to prepare a civilian for what was to come because of the monster’s death.
“Yes… but you were defending yourself. You saved Jenny’s life too. I’ll personally make sure there are no charges pressed against you. You have a legal right to defend yourself.” Rene slowly made her way towards Angel, like an animal she was scared would bolt and run. “Remember… he tried to kill you; he told you he was going to kill you, the both of you. The sick bastard said he was serving you your last supper, and that’s why he used his best china. It doesn’t make sense, but many times serial killers don’t. He. Threatened. To. Kill. You.”
Angel was shocked that Rene was handing her a way to escape prison on a silver platter, and she was damn sure going to take it. She shook her head yes as their eyes stayed connected in an unspoken truce that the four of them would take to the grave. When she noticed that Rene looked behind her, she turned and realized Jenny was shaking her head in agreement too. The five of them would take the secret to their grave. Angel had no worries because no one wanted to go to prison, and the agents didn’t want to see two innocent women go either. Now there was just that nasty little issue of the flash drive.
“I want to go home—I just want to go home.”
“You three go, and we’ll stay and process the scene.”
Chapter Fifteen
He had wasted no time taking her home. For some reason, his mind went into aftercare mode—aftercare always came after a BDSM scene; it was the one thing that kept a submissive from going through sub drop. After such an adrenalin dump, there was only one place left to go, and that was down. It might not have been a BDSM scene she had experienced, but he knew there had been an adrenalin dump after all she’d been through.
The best way he knew to help her relax was to run a bath. He was seated at the back of the tub, and she was between his legs with her head resting on his chest. They sat for a while in comfortable silence; the kind that comes from being with someone you love so much that there’s no awkward need to fill the space with meaningless words.
“I don’t know. If you’d have been dead, I think I would have died with you.” His words came from the place of a man who’d just lived through the terror of not knowing. That place where there’s no starting point, no end because you didn’t know what the future held—whether it lasts a day, or a year, its effect is the same: no control. Could we ever control what life was going to bring us, or worse yet, take away? No, we can’t. But in the act of trying we’re given false security, and false security is so much better than fear.
Though she was grateful for the love he gave her, she had other things on her mind. “I think something is wrong with me.” He knew to let her talk, so he didn’t interrupt her train of thought. “I don’t feel guilty about slitting a man’s throat and leaving him on a concrete floor to bleed out. The feel of his blood dripping through my fingers was euphoric—I liked it, Jericho. Yeah… I think something’s wrong with me.”
“Something’s wrong with me too. Look, Angel, when we’re born we’re wired a certain way. And if we’re fucked up, we learn to hide it from people and play normal just like everyone else. If you hadn’t killed that guy… he was going to kill you and keep Jenny because he thought he was in love with her.”
“It’s eating me up knowing I grabbed the wrong flash drives and that video is still floating around out there somewhere. I’m not out of the proverbial woods.”
“That… we need to deal with.”
“What if we can’t? If we can’t find it I’m going to have a dark cloud hanging over my head; always wondering if it’s going to pop up somewhere. Today, tomorrow, ten years from now?”
“Look at me.” She turned, craning her neck to get a better look at him. “There are things I can do—they’re last resort things, but they’re still available. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He spoke the last part as if talking to himself. “Relax and lean back against me, babe. Enough talking.”
She leaned into his body as his fingers lazily trailed over a nipple that was barely peeking up out of the water. The mixture of cold air, the warm water, and her lover’s touch sent a sensation of pleasure through her that made her reme
mber how much she’d missed his touch. Unashamed, she bent her knees and opened her legs to give him all access. He had seen every inch of her body, and now he’d seen the darkest caverns of her soul. She had changed, no longer the woman who wanted to die, but now the killer who’d developed a taste for blood. Even she knew that once you developed a taste for blood there was no going back. She’d crossed the line of suburban soccer mom, and now she was at the point of no return. Sure… she’d be able to get back into the life of being a wife and mother, but she would never be the same. She was no longer the woman who wanted to die. Now she was the woman who wanted to kill.
She closed out the intrusive thoughts and gave herself over to the senses he awakened. Her stomach trembled as he trailed his fingers down until they were under the water between her legs. It felt like it had been forever since she was in his arms, his bed, and in his life. She could feel the flutter in her lower abdomen that was like a silent alarm letting her know she was so close. Her hips moved in time with his touch, and even though he was seated behind her, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. She relaxed as the buildup continued until he took her where she needed to go: over the cliff and into the waters of the unknown—the pleasure of it all was something she was becoming accustomed to.
Chapter Sixteen
“I don’t know about this, Glazov. He’s a fucking FBI agent—an agent who works with Agent Turner and his so-called partner/fuck buddy. Have you forgotten Agent Turner is the reason you had to hide out in Russia over twenty years ago? Damn, cuz. You had to convince your woman you were dead; your pregnant woman. She could have lost Nikita over that shit. Fuck letting bygones be bygones. We don’t need these mother fuckers now. We’re going straight. I don’t like the timing on this.”
Glazov took a moment to answer as he tossed the pros and cons of having an FBI agent indebted to him around in his head. It wasn’t the kind of mistake he could afford to make.
“First and foremost: I don’t forget!” Glazov held Novak’s gaze long enough to let him know he didn’t appreciate the comment. “I say we listen to what he has to say. We investigate, and if it’s a setup, we’re not going into being legit blind. I don’t like being blindsided! You can’t find out what an enemy’s up to if you don’t keep them close. You know, I’ve never believed that old adage, but on this one, I think we can get a read on him. He’ll be on our turf. I agree… this could be one last ditch effort to come for us. God knows, Agent Turner can’t let anything go; he may be trying to make up for lost time—one last hoorah before he goes into retirement. If we play it like we’ve gone straight, he can retire and get over it. I’m sure me disappearing to Russia twenty years ago when he was hot on my trail hasn’t set well with him over the years. Maybe he’s looking to put me in the penitentiary before he retires. I want to know what’s going on, and if playing along means finding out his motive, then we will. We’ll tape the meeting, get it on surveillance, and then check out his story. Either way… we don’t go in blind. What’s that the Americans say? I like to be kissed before I get fucked?”
“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” There was always an element of hurt if Novak felt like he was being left out. The two were more like brothers than cousins. There wasn’t a whole lot that got to Novak that deeply. But Glazov and Novak’s wife, Katrina, were definitely two people who held that power.
Glazov wasn’t insensitive to it, though. He just wasn’t much on petting people. Novak had always had his back, and Glazov had a tendency to go out of his way for him. He leaned in and steepled his fingers on the desk, meeting his cousin’s gaze, so he was ensured he meant what he was getting ready to say. “Novak, you know your opinion is of utmost importance to me. I need to know you’ve got my back on this. You’re my eyes and ears, and nothing is ever going to change that. You. Are. Blood. You were there when my worthless father wasn’t. You’ll be there until the end. You’re family!”
It seemed to appease Novak for the moment, and he answered, “I’ve got your back. Always have, and I always will. When is he coming?”
A knock on the door was the tangible answer to Novak’s inquiry; the look he gave Glazov informed him he knew.
“Boss, there’s someone here to see you.” The bodyguard’s voice came from the other side of the office door.
“Come in, Lakov.” Technically Lakov was Glazov’s sister Vladimira’s bodyguard, but Glazov had gone ahead and brought him over from Russia when he brought his sister back to Louisville.
Lakov opened the door and ushered Jericho in with a slight bow to the Pakhan: Glazov. He exited as quickly as he had entered. He would remain outside the office door, guarding it to ensure no one interrupted the meeting with the FBI agent.
Glazov’s face was set in stone, and a slight nod was directed in the agent’s direction as a signal that it was okay to sit in the office chair opposite the Pakhan’s desk. His gaze was unwavering as he eyed the agent. The agent was experiencing what everyone did when the Pakhan was looking at you with a poker face and not talking: fear.
“Mr. Glazov, I’m certain you’ve already done your homework, and you’re well aware I work with Agent Turner. Please allow me to tell you the reason I asked to meet with you. It has nothing to do with FBI business. There’s no easy way to tell you why I’m here.”
“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for honest.”
“Good, because I’m in a bit of a jam.” Jericho breathed in deeply and forged ahead. “My wife killed a woman—it was a mercy killing, but nevertheless, it was murder in the eyes of the law. She also just killed man—a man who kidnapped her, and as you can imagine, it has put a spotlight on her. The problem we’re facing is: there’s a flash drive floating around that has a video of her performing the mercy killing.”
Novak sat with a Russian coin going over and under each finger of his hand as he stoically listened. It was a habit he had formed. He used it much like a business man might use a stress ball. Though Novak’s and Glazov’s expressions revealed nothing, neither had been expecting this drama when the agent came in—this was too fucking good to be true. You couldn’t think this shit up for a movie. If the agent was telling the truth, this was an opportunity to have him on the payroll. This drama would be easy to check out too. Life is fuckin’ good, Novak thought to himself. He was glad they’d taken this meeting now. His brain worked like a computer, figuring out the next move, and his cousin Glazov’s mind assessed people’s true motives. Together… they were un-fucking-stoppable.
“The man who had the flash drive is the man my wife just killed, and now we can’t find it.” Jericho took another deep breath. This was much harder to do than he had originally anticipated. “I’m assuming the bomb that was placed in the Sinaloan’s clubhouse was done by your organization.”
That got Novak’s attention. He unbuttoned his bespoke suit jacket and stood. He pulled out the Glock he wore in a holster and pushed it into the agent’s temple. “Motherfucker, I don’t give a shit about you being FBI! You’re on our turf now; unarmed I might add. Because if that big motherfucker outside that door did his job—and I know he did—you got no backup, no piece. You got nothin’ except a death wish. We didn’t blow shit up,” Novak lied. “We both know when you start talking bombs and blowing shit up, that’s federal time. After 9/11… that shit went into terrorism mode. We ain’t no fuckin’ terrorists—we’re businessmen… big fuckin’ difference! You and whoever you work for aren’t going to pin that label on us law abiding citizens! You feel me?” Novak’s head was cocked to the side, eyeing the agent like he was waiting for an opportunity to blow a hole in his head. Jericho knew these men wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if they thought this was a setup.
“I need help blowing up the dead man’s house because I can’t find that disk. I’ve got a wife and a kid…” Jericho breathed the breath of a man resigned, a willing to do anything to protect his family kind of sigh, “and possibly one on the way. I can’t have a murder coming back ten years from now to hau
nt me—my family.”
Novak pushed the gun barrel deeper into the agent’s temple and gritted his teeth. “See… I have a hard time believing that shit. Everything about this meeting stinks.” He leaned down and growled in the agent’s ear, “That big ass bodyguard out there checked you for wires too.”
“Novak!” Even though the Pakhan’s voice was calm, it held an air of authority. One word spoken by Glazov carried a lot of weight. He nodded at Novak to sit down, and when he did, his cousin placed the gun in his waistband rather than the holster he wore and sat down. This time it was Glazov who stood and spoke to the agent. He towered over Jericho to the point he had to adjust his gaze to look up and see him.
“Agent Jericho Cage, you’re correct in assuming I’ve done my homework. The question is: have you done yours?”
Jericho knew enough to know the question was rhetorical and he continued to listen.
“I don’t know you. You’ve never come to my house, or so much as even introduced yourself to me. Yet when you can’t go to your own colleagues, you come to me. I find it very disrespectful that you come to my house asking me for favors, and you don’t so much as bring me a bottle of Russian vodka.” Glazov tutted when Jericho attempted speaking. “Had you done your homework you’d know I’m in the diamond business, not the explosive device business. I’ll tell you what I will do, though… I’ll check out your story, and if I find out you showed me the disrespect of coming to my house where my wife and children are and tried to set me up, you’ll find you have a new enemy, one you’ll wish you never had. You may go now.”
Contradiction in Terms (Angel of Death Book 2) Page 6
