When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of two bulky men approaching them. They moved with the thunderous grace of giants, and people quickly created a path for them in order to avoid being pushed out of the way. She recognized them for exactly what they were.

  Security.

  “Damn,” Ara whispered. “We have company.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The security guards were dressed identically in dark suits with crisp white shirts and black ties. A wire extended from their earpieces and disappeared into the lapel of their jackets. Both were muscular and broad-shouldered with meaty hands. They moved together like a well-oiled machine, trapping Luke and Ara between their wall of muscles and an actual concrete wall. It was clear they’d done this a time or two.

  The one closest to Ara had shrewd eyes and pockmarked cheeks. He towered over her. Each of his thighs was bigger than her waist, and although she was well trained in several martial arts, one punch from him and she’d be picking her teeth up from the floor for a week.

  Not a pleasant thought at all.

  His companion had a nasty scar that extended down the side of his face. It looked like someone had tried to cut off his right ear.

  “You two need to come with me,” Scar Face said.

  No introductions, no questions. Just orders. They didn’t show any visible weapons, but Ara had no doubt that there were several underneath their jackets.

  “I’m FBI Special Agent Luke Patrick.” Luke moved his jacket just enough to reveal the badge clipped to his waist.

  Scar Face’s expression didn’t lose its menacing edge, although he did do the courtesy of leaning back a bit.

  “You’ve been asking questions of our staff.”

  “We’re trying to gather some information about a girl who works here.”

  “Then you should’ve come to us directly and asked to speak with the manager.” Scar Face pursed his lips and jerked his head at his coworker. “Watch them for a moment.”

  He stepped to the side and whispered something into the wrist of his jacket. A moment later he returned. “Follow me.”

  Luke passed a glance to Ara, and she nodded discreetly. They’d come to the club for answers and they weren’t having much luck with the staff. Might as well try the manager.

  Of course, that was assuming they were actually being taken to the manager, and not to someone more dangerous. Ara shook the thought from her head. If this was owned by the mafia, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill an FBI agent. Particularly one whose team members knew where he was. No, she thought, they would hire a hit on them later if they felt Luke and Ara knew too much. Yet another pleasant thought.

  The two men flanked them as they crossed the upper floor of the club, Scar Face leading the way. Again, the crowd dispersed ahead of them, as though they were Moses crossing the Red Sea. At the back, opposite from the bathrooms, was a doorway labeled “Staff Only.” Scar Face opened it, and they followed him over the threshold. When the door slammed shut, the music level immediately dropped to a dull thud.

  Oh shit. Soundproofing.

  The realization had Ara’s heart pounding, and she silently gave thanks for the gun she had tucked under her jacket as well as the clutch piece in her boot. These guys might be bigger than her, but they were also probably slower, and guns were the ultimate equalizer.

  They moved down a long hallway, all sounds from the club nearly indecipherable now.

  Ara’s hands grew sweaty. She wiped them on her pants.

  Scar Face stopped in front of a closed door. Using a key from his pocket, he opened it and gestured for Luke and Ara to go inside.

  It was empty save for one scarred wooden table. The walls were concrete, no windows.

  “Please set any weapons you are carrying down on the table,” Scar Face ordered.

  “Not a chance.” Luke’s answer came easily, his tone deceptively calm. Ara could sense the tension in him. It flowed off like waves, feeding her own uncertainty about what they were doing.

  Scar Face smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We cannot allow you to meet Mr. Grishnokov armed. It is against our policy.”

  “Seems to me, I’m the one at a disadvantage,” Luke replied. “And it is against FBI policy to hand over my service weapon to anyone.”

  Scar Face jerked his head toward his comrade, who spoke into a microphone in his hand. A moment later, he gave Luke a nod. “You may keep your service weapon, but only if you empty and disarm it. In addition, we must insist you remove your jackets, along with any other weapons.”

  Luke unholstered his gun and removed the clip, leaving it on the table. Ara let go of the breath she was holding. She pulled off her jacket, belatedly realizing when the air hit her arms, her hasty wardrobe choice had been a significant error. The sleeveless, button-up blouse was meant to be worn under suit jackets. Now she was being made to strip off all her outer layers, and the scars crisscrossing the backs of her arms were exposed in a way she never let them be.

  It was stupid, she knew, but she was humiliated by it.

  Luke’s gaze dropped to her arms and then rose again briefly to her face. His iron expression didn’t change, his lips didn’t even twitch, but she knew there would be questions later. Questions she would not, could not, answer.

  “Your weapon,” Scar Face gestured to her holster, snapping her back to the task at hand.

  Ara hesitated for a moment but then undid the clasp and placed the gun on the table. She felt naked without it.

  Scar Face stepped forward, efficiently doing a pat down, his massive hands covering every inch of her body. He quickly located and removed the knife from her pocket. She was upset with its removal but breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t find the second gun in her boot.

  After Luke’s pat down, Scar Face escorted them through another hallway into a back room. Ara stepped over the threshold behind Luke. The office was large, with dark-paneled wood and floor-to-ceiling windows with an impressive display of the city beyond. Plush visitors’ chairs faced a desk. The man behind it rose as they entered. His dark hair curled over his collar and framed a clean-shaven face. He had a strong jaw and a nose that had been broken at least once.

  His jet-black eyes locked on her, and Ara’s breath hitched. A tingle of apprehension crept down her spine.

  “Please, come in.” He smiled, but it did not soften his features. If anything, it made him look more predatory, more frightening. His gaze was still locked on her, following her progression forward. It was as if Luke was not in the room. As if he was speaking directly and only to her.

  The door clicked behind them, and Ara turned her head enough to see both bodyguards were flanking either side of the frame.

  “Luke Patrick, FBI.”

  The man barely acknowledged him, his gaze darting briefly in Luke’s direction. “I know who you are.” He cocked his head slightly. “But you . . . I don’t think my men caught your name.”

  “Ara.”

  His mouth twitched. “Ara. Lovely. Do you have a last name?”

  “Yes.”

  Now he chuckled, clearly amused by their battle of wills. She was not. Whatever game he was playing, she wasn’t interested in it.

  “I hear a hint of my mother tongue in your voice.” He came around the desk and approached her. As he grew closer, Luke stepped forward and there was a sudden rustle of movement. Ara didn’t have to turn around to know the bodyguards had drawn their weapons. Luke’s gaze darted toward the door, his mouth drawn tight.

  The man never paused in his movements. He continued forward, reaching out to take her hand. Drawing it to his mouth, he whispered, in Russian, “Lovely to meet you, Ara.”

  She held his gaze, not backing off or allowing even the slightest trace of fear to enter her expression. This was a game of intimidation. She could not allow him to see how much he rattled her.

  “You too . . .” Her voice trailed off and she raised her eyebrows, sending the message that she was waiting expectantly.r />
  “Dmitri, my dear. Dmitri Grishnokov.”

  He stared at her for several beats, and something hummed between them. His smooth words and gentle touch were in direct contrast to the uneasiness he created within her. She’d never seen him before—of that she was sure—and yet she felt an instinctive urge to get away from him.

  “We need to speak with you about one of your employees,” said Luke.

  “Of course.” Dmitri released her hand and walked back to his desk. “I didn’t imagine a visit from the FBI was purely for pleasure.” He waved a hand in the direction of the visitors’ chairs. “Please sit down. Would either of you care for a drink?”

  “No.” Luke stayed standing, and Ara followed his lead. Behind her, the guards still had their weapons drawn. It was impossible to relax with a 9mm pointed at your back.

  “I think you can call off your boys, don’t you?” Ara jerked a thumb toward the bodyguards.

  “Forgive me.” Dmitri barked out an order that had the two men immediately standing down. “Your colleague was making them nervous.”

  He opened a decanter and poured himself a generous glass of vodka. “How can I help you, Agent Patrick?”

  “Gina Antonova.”

  “I’m not familiar with that name.”

  “She’s one of your employees here in the club.”

  “Forgive me, Agent, but I have so many.” He replaced the decanter’s lid with a clink of glass against glass. “I truly cannot keep track of all of them.”

  “Perhaps this photo will help.” Luke placed the DMV picture of Gina onto the desk.

  Dmitri crossed over, and taking a sip of his vodka, studied it.

  “She’s beautiful. Ivan, does this woman work for me?”

  “She does, sir. As a bottle girl.”

  Dmitri smiled and pushed the photograph away with one finger. “There you are, Agent. Question answered.”

  Luke’s jaw tightened. “When did you last see her?”

  A smirk played on Dmitri’s lips. “As I have already shared, I don’t keep track of all my employees. I’m sure the last time she worked is on the schedule.”

  “I would like to see the schedule.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your bottle girl was murdered.”

  If Dmitri was surprised or shocked by the news, it wasn’t apparent. His expression remained placid. Yet the fingers holding his glass tightened slightly. Just enough that Ara caught it before they relaxed again.

  “That’s a shame.”

  Luke arched his eyebrows. “A shame? It sure is. Her head was blown off.”

  “Tragic.” Dmitri calmly took another sip of vodka. “But that has nothing to do with me.”

  “Great. Then you won’t mind providing her schedule. In addition, I’d like to conduct employee interviews and search the club premises.”

  “I’m afraid I would mind.” Dmitri leaned against the desk. It should have weakened him, the slightly shirking stance, and yet it didn’t. He oozed power and control from every pore of his body. It took all of Ara’s self-control not to repeatedly glance between Dmitri and Luke. Both of them seemed to have the same temperament, the same cool exterior. And both of them had a world of emotions hidden within those shells.

  She knew Luke’s.

  She didn’t know Dmitri’s. And it worried her.

  “If you would like such information, then you must provide me with a warrant.” He smiled graciously. “I’m sure, as an FBI agent, you will have no trouble obtaining one.”

  “Correct. So let’s just cut through all the red tape and allow me the access now.”

  “Impossible, Agent. You have people you answer to, but so do I. I cannot allow a search of the premises without a warrant. Come back with one and you will have my full and utter cooperation.”

  Dmitri waved a hand, and the two bodyguards stepped forward. Scar Face took Ara’s arm and tugged her toward the door. Obviously, the meeting was over.

  Luke jerked out of the other bodyguard’s grasp. “No need to manhandle me.”

  “It was wonderful to meet you, Ara.” Dmitri called out in Russian, before the door shut behind them. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  * * *

  “Do you know him?” Luke demanded once they were outside.

  “Dmitri?” Ara shrugged into her jacket. “No. Never met the man before.”

  “Well, he certainly liked you.” Luke moved toward the car with a furious stride. “What did he say as we were leaving?”

  “That it was—”

  “Wait!” A woman called out, and Ara turned to see Michelle jogging toward them. Her breasts bounced against the neckline of her tight T-shirt, her curly hair keeping their rhythm.

  Ara placed a hand on Luke’s arm and passed a glance to him. He read her expression and inched behind her. A silent assent, allowing her to take the lead.

  When Michelle reached them, she was slightly out of breath. A slim hand fluttered to her throat. “I need—I need to tell you something.”

  The woman glanced behind her, nervously. Ara followed the direction of her gaze. No one, it seemed, was watching them. Still, she placed a hand on Michelle’s elbow and led her deeper into the shadows, away from the main street and the lights.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s about . . .” Michelle’s eyes narrowed as Luke stepped closer.

  “He’s with me.” Ara squeezed Michelle’s elbow before dropping her hand. “FBI.”

  Michelle hesitated, suspicion and fear evident in the stress lines around her mouth and eyes. Ara understood her worries, could read them as easily as if they were flitting through her own mind.

  “You have nothing to fear from us.” She locked gazes with the woman. “I promise.”

  Michelle licked her lips. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” Another glance over her shoulder. “If I got found out . . .”

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Ara already knew what Dmitri would do to her.

  “Gina was my friend.” She angrily wiped away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “She didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  “No,” Ara agreed. “She didn’t.”

  “You should look into her boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie Flores. He’s probably the one who killed her.”

  Luke stiffened, and Ara knew he’d caught it, too. Eddie’s last name was the same as Nick’s. They couldn’t be brothers, since their background check on Nick proved he didn’t have any. But they could be relatives of some kind.

  “Why are you so sure Eddie had something to do with it?”

  “Because Gina was spying on him. For Dmitri.” Michelle’s mouth thinned. “Eddie didn’t know she was watching him, reporting his movements to the boss. If he found out somehow, if she made a mistake, it’s possible he would’ve killed her for it.”

  “What does Eddie do for Dmitri?”

  Michelle laughed grimly. “What doesn’t he do? He’d lick Dmitri’s ass if he had to.”

  “Where can we find Eddie?”

  “I don’t know where he lives. Eddie was smart enough to keep quiet about that. I did go with him and Gina one time to this guy’s house. Payment for some work the guy was doing for Dmitri.”

  By payment, she didn’t mean the passing of money. She meant an exchange of flesh. The delivery of his own personal prostitute.

  “Payment for what?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but the guy was into art. Had done something with some paintings Dmitri had.”

  Ara’s pulse picked up speed. Someone in the art world. Again, they were back to paintings. She didn’t know how the kidnapping fit into this whole scheme Nick had going, but it was becoming clear he might not have been working for the art gallery after all.

  Maybe he was working for Dmitri.

  But how did Sam fit into all of this? And Eddie? What was their tie to Nick and his paintings?

  “I don’t know anything more than that.” Michelle waved her hands. “I didn’t really pay attenti
on to all the details. It was a quick job, in and out, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “But they talked like they knew each other, Eddie and this guy.” She reached into her bra and came out with a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Ara. It was still warm from the heat of her skin. “I wrote down the address for you. Maybe he can help.”

  “Thank you.” Ara held up the paper. “Truly.”

  “Find Eddie.” Michelle’s expression darkened. “And when you do, I hope you cut off his balls and feed them to the dogs.”

  She turned to leave, but Ara caught her arm. “Wait.” She took the folder from Luke and opened it up to the image of Nick. “Ever seen this guy before?”

  Michelle peered at the picture and then shook her head. “No. I have no idea who that is.”

  “We think he might be involved in Gina’s death.”

  The other woman shrugged. “If I was looking for the person who murdered Gina, I’d start with Eddie. Gina wasn’t stupid. She was street smart and tough, but spying on Eddie was a big mistake and one that he would’ve killed her over.”

  “What about Dmitri?” Luke interjected. “How do you know he didn’t kill her?”

  Michelle glared at him.

  “Because if Dmitri had killed her, we wouldn’t be talking right now. Dmitri doesn’t leave behind bodies.” Michelle’s voice was cold and matter-of-fact, certainty bleeding into every word. “The guy you’re looking for is Eddie. At least, that’s where I’d start.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ara turned over the conversation with Michelle in her mind. Eddie, Sam, Gina, Nick. Somehow all these people were connected, and at least three of them—Nick, Eddie, and Gina—were connected to Dmitri.

  Dmitri. In the car, in the dark, Ara allowed herself to shudder. He was one terrifying son of a bitch, and she had no doubt he would be ruthless with whoever dared to cross him. Michelle had done a really brave thing by providing them with information, and already Ara was regretting leaving her there. She’d tried to get Michelle to come with them, promised her protection, but the girl was having none of it. Still, she took the card with Ara’s cell phone on it. Maybe she would call.