The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4)

by Suzanne Steele

  I open the car door and step out, making certain not to slam it. I toss the cigarette I’ve been smoking down on the ground and stomp it out. I reach down, picking up the butt and placing it in my pocket. I slink along the side of the house, using the landscaping to shield me from view. I lift the potted plant by the back door and roll my eyes as I retrieve the house key. Fucking typical.

  I venture inside. The familiar fragrance of air freshener and potpourri greet me and remind me of some of the more pleasant aspects of my previous life. I advance through the kitchen, dining room, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. Her rhythmic breathing tells me she’s in a deep sleep.

  I imagine what her blonde hair would look like turning red with her blood after I slit her throat but I don’t give in to the temptation—not tonight. Tonight I’m here for a different reason. I consider the perfumes that are arranged on a small oval vintage mirror on her vanity table. One bottle is nearly empty, probably the scent she wears every day. I slip that one into my pocket with a smirk. Obsession. How very trite.

  I give the walk-in closet a cursory once over, looking for something that I had hoped would be easy to spot. Something of mine that entrusted to her keeping long ago, in what feels like another lifetime. I want it back. The lock box shouldn’t be that hard to find. At one time, she was one of two people I trusted in this whole world. But not anymore. Not now. I guess preserving the status quo was more important to her than our friendship. So be it.

  When there’s no sign of what I’m looking for, I consider waking her up and demanding that she return it to me. But I’ve waited too long, just to fuck everything up by being impulsive. No, slow and steady wins the race, as the saying goes.

  I step silently back over to the makeup table and move a few items around, changing their positions. Most people really are creatures of habit, repeating the same routines over and over with no conscious thought. It gives them a sense of control, which in turn creates a false sense of safety. Ah, the things we do for some semblance of wellbeing.

  Next, the bathroom. I study the placement of the high dollar shampoos and conditioners. At first I consider putting the shampoo where the conditioner is and vice versa, but she might not notice that. I want her to know someone was here and then I want her to second guess herself. I want to disrupt her thoughts tomorrow even when I’m not nearby. I do love a good mind fuck, especially with the group of people I have in mind.

  I toss around the idea of pulling my medical gloves off and tossing them in the small garbage can under the sink but think better of it. I don’t want to leave any proof of my presence here. What I do want is to cause this woman to doubt her sanity. After all…if you can’t believe in yourself, who can you believe in?

  I ease over to the door and remove the small, Play-Doh- like substance in my pocket. I press her house key into it to get the impression I’ll need for a duplicate. I slide it carefully into a small matchbox I brought with me for just this purpose. With the box tucked safely in my pocket, I study the key to make sure none of the soft material has adhered to its grooves.

  I leave as silently and emptyhanded as I came, frustrated at not finding what I was looking for. What the fuck did she do with it? I’ll have to return for a more thorough search when I don’t have to worry about being caught. I’ll make my presence known at a time of my choosing, and when I do it will be with a bang.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nikita

  If I’ve learned anything in my line of business, it’s that no one is ever what they seem. We all harbor secrets. The attorney-client relationship is sacred, as far as I’m concerned. The things clients have told me behind closed doors would raise the hair on the back of most people’s necks, or even turn a few stomachs. The fine, upstanding businessman who killed his wife to ensure she wouldn’t financially ruin him, when a prenup would have been so much easier. The soccer mom who put a hit on her husband to make sure she continued living a life of luxury. And those are just my few ‘civilian’ clients; that doesn’t begin to cover the secrets my family holds. My father has insulated me from knowing the specifics of secrets, but the ones I do know will go with me to the grave.

  My family may be built on a foundation of secrets and subterfuge but we don’t kill off our own as a means to an end. For vengeance? Yes, as a matter of honor. But not to improve our personal circumstances. Maybe that’s why my conscience never bothers me.

  If this guy had a personal vendetta against the dead cop, I want to understand why. The best way to find out more about the killer is to research his victim. My expertise as an attorney is going to make it easier for me to access any sealed records. The fact that I’m a Glazov is going to make it nearly impossible for the dead cop’s secrets to remain hidden. If she was dirty, I’ll find out.

  “What are you doing?” Natasha asks as she sets a cup of coffee down in front of me. I can’t help but smile when I think about how my father drinks his coffee from china that once belonged to a Russian tsar. As kids, we thought it was so cool when Dad would tell us the history behind it. I still do.

  “Sit down,” is my only reply. She sits next to me, holding her coffee cup with both hands as if it’s keeping her warm.

  She watches as I type the cop’s name, Karen Conner, into the Louisville police department’s website.

  “You think she was a dirty cop, don’t you?”

  “That, I don’t know. I do think the killing was personal, even if nothing in the autopsy suggested rage or passion. And I agree with the governor, I think she knew the killer. Digging into every detail of her life is the only way we’re going to find out who’s doing this.”

  “So it’s ‘we’? How does your father feel about you being involved?”

  “Being that this isn’t anything illegal, he’s fine with it.” I turn in her direction and lock eyes with her. “Natasha, I don’t think you realize what a fine line you’re walking here. You’re accustomed to working with cutthroat criminals. White-collar criminals can be just as ruthless in their own way. These guys will smile in your face the whole time they’re plotting your demise. In our world if someone doesn’t like you, they just put a hit out on your ass. In the world of white collar crime, they bide their time and come at you in more ways than one -- they chip away at your reputation, they steal your clients, and they deliberately try to piss you off so when you react you end up looking like you’re the one with the problem.

  “You’re not in this alone. We’re working this case together. You don’t have a choice because you belong to me and I’ll spend until my dying day protecting you.”

  I brace for an argument from her, but she leans over and kisses me, murmuring against my lips, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, baby.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Natasha

  It’s a haunting image. We only had to click through a couple of links on the LPD internal employee website to find her. It’s a formal portrait of a fresh-faced police officer, her uniform pressed to perfection, her badge polished to a high shine. Her blonde hair is secured in a severe bun, her expression is clear-eyed and solemn.

  How very jarring to see her alive and well, so unlike the unresponsive cadaver I examined at the morgue. This woman’s eyes shine with enthusiasm and purpose -- nothing like the unfocused, vacant eyes of her corpse.

  According to her bio, she’s twenty four years old, a two-year rookie on the LPD. She joined up after a military stint in Afghanistan. Pretty standard stuff. Neither of us expects to learn anything new. This is just somewhere to start. Suddenly an idea hits me.

  “We’re not going to find anything out like this. If you want to unearth someone’s closet skeletons, you’ve gotta go straight to their closet. Let’s check out her house.” I’m actually excited about the idea. This sitting behind a desk shit is boring, I need some action.

  Nikita looks away from the screen with a devious glint in his eyes. The corners of his mouth turn up just enough to let me know he’s intrigued by the idea.

>   “Looks like somebody wants to take a walk on the wild side. C’mon, Nikita, it’ll be fun. Doing this together will be awesome! This might be the only time you get a free pass from your father to break the law. Don’t you get sick of being the only one in the family who always has to walk the straight and narrow?”

  “You may be on to something. Let’s go.”

  “We can’t go right now, silly. It’s broad daylight.”

  “Yes, we can. We’ll be careful and she lives far enough outside the city that the nearest neighbor isn’t going to pay any attention to what’s going on anyway. It’ll be easier to search the house in the daylight. You’re not going to bail on me, are you?” he asks with a smirk.

  “Hell, no, let’s go. But, uh, you should probably lose the suit.”

  “Oh, really…”

  He stands slowly and unbuttons his shirt. His chest is a tan mass of muscle and I lick my lips as I remember how good his skin tastes on my tongue. The shirt drops to the floor, followed quickly by his socks, tailored pants, and boxer briefs. He kicks the clothes aside and saunters over to me. His hands are warm on my shoulders, exerting firm pressure until I drop to my knees. He takes my hands and places them behind my head and pulls me to him.

  I take his hardness into my mouth. I want to tease him and bring out the dark side of him that he keeps hidden behind his carefully crafted, civilized professional persona. He shudders when I lick that sweet spot of nerves just below the head and dip my tongue into the slit at the tip. He groans in pleasure, fists my hair and lifts me to my feet, leading me roughly to the bed and all but ripping my jeans off so that my ass is bare and exposed. Yeah, this is exactly what I need…to be taken.

  He slaps my ass harder than usual as he plunges his cock deep inside me, then he abruptly stills. His breathing is ragged and he’s seething with barely restrained aggression as he presses down on my neck until my cheek is against the mattress.

  “This is going to be hard and dirty, Tasha, to remind you who you belong to. This pussy? It’s mine. Always has been, always will be.”

  I can feel my core clamping around him, agreeing to his words whether I will it to be so or not. His hands dig into the side of my hips as he starts to move, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, almost frantic. My body trembles as an orgasm simmers in my lower abdomen, and I can’t help the wail that escapes me as wave after wave of pleasure rolls throughout my body. I never tire of this man. Whether he’s fucking me rough and hard, or soft and sweet, the sex is always off the charts between us.

  My Nikita is unaware that, in the same way that he is determined to watch over me, I will watch over him. If I find that the governor has pulled us into something that could harm my love or damage his career, the governor will not know a moment’s peace in this life. My aim is precise and my mental focus is relentless.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cop Killer

  I stand outside the precinct headquarters, blending in with the hum of activity on the streets. The light mist of rain makes it easy to conceal myself beneath my umbrella. Not that they would recognize me now. It was easy enough to change my hairstyle and hair color, and learn how to use makeup artfully to transform my features into someone new. They never paid attention to me anyway. They’ll regret that soon enough.

  For now, I’m watching the precinct entrance as I wait for two cops to come out for their morning coffee run. It’s almost too easy, really. They follow such a steady routine that it’s child’s play to insert myself into their daily schedule.

  I fall into step behind them, my umbrella pulled low and tilted forward to conceal my features from view. I’m close enough that I easily catch snippets of their conversation as they stroll through the rain to the Starbucks on the corner.

  “I’m telling you, this shit is making me paranoid.”

  “It’s making us all paranoid, Ramsey.”

  “Yeah, but when you start taking that paranoia home with you, it can’t be good.”

  “What are you sayin’?”

  “I’m saying I think I’m going crazy. I’m saying I feel like someone’s watching me. Seriously, I think someone has been inside my house. No one lives there but me and, I swear, things that I know I haven’t touched have been moved around.”

  “You’re letting the fact that you’re a blonde female make you overly suspicious. We have no idea if this guy’s singling out single, white blondes. He said it himself, he’s a cop killer, so every single one of us is in his line of fire. He’s probably not bright enough to think through a strategy like that anyway. With all this stress, maybe you’re sleepwalking, who knows? Seriously, Linda. Stop giving him so much credit.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s good to have friends who have your back. That’s what makes this so hard. Karen was one of my best friends, you know? But thanks, I appreciate the reality check. I don’t know if it’s gonna help me sleep at night, but I know I’ve gotta keep my head in the game if we’re going to catch this guy. He’s an animal so we’re going to track him down like an animal.”

  “You got that right. Hey, why don’t you take one of the K9s home with you? Then you’ll feel safe enough,” he chuckles, as if it’s the answer to all her problems.

  They continue to laugh about police dogs and mysteriously moving toiletries as they stroll down the sidewalk. I follow close behind, seething at their self-righteous comments. Ramsey has a lot of fucking nerve talking about having friends. She has no idea what the word even means. She proved that to me a long time ago.

  When they head inside to order their fancy coffee, I chuckle right along with them, because those two morons just laid out the perfect plan for my next kill. I’ll show her exactly how it feels to be treated like an animal. Yes, I think a little demonstration is in order.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nikita

  “So Dad’s interested in establishing some new business ventures. The legal kind.”

  Unlike the completely illegal maneuver my fiancé is undertaking as she picks the lock on the dead cop’s apartment door. Nobody can pick a lock like my baby. I remember her dad giving her the kit she’s using right before he died. Hell of a gift to give to a kid, yeah, but we put it to good use during our childhood by picking every locked door we could find in the mansion. Occasionally that didn’t go over too well, of course. Some doors are locked for a reason.

  She glances up at me, her eyes twinkling. No doubt she’s amused because we both know my father has never done anything legal in his life. Hell, he even secured a wife under duress, although everyone agrees that it worked out well for all concerned.

  My mother and father are devoted to each other beyond all reason, and my father basks in the intellectual superiority of their offspring. (His words, not mine.) He is still a vigorously healthy, relatively young man, but I think he’s increasingly aware of the passage of time. Let’s face it, even the Pakhan can’t elude death forever – no matter how god-like he is considered to be within our cell. Not that my father would ever go completely legit. Then again, my father can do anything he puts his mind to.

  “Nobody else knows but me,” I tell her as she gently manipulates the lock, “so don’t breathe a word of it.”

  “All your secrets are safe with me, you know that.”

  “All of them?” I tease. It’s true, Natasha has been my priest of sorts, my port in the storm. We’ve always shared our deepest, darkest secrets with each other.

  Watching her tiny hands manipulate the lock has me remembering how those same hands were working my cock only hours ago. This is no time to be sporting wood, but I can’t take my eyes off her fingertips as they roll over the end of the small pick she has inserted into the lock mechanism, searching for the perfect angle. I remember exactly how those fingertips felt as they rubbed slick streams of pre-cum down the length of my shaft--

  “Every last secret of yours is sacred to me, Nikita,” she murmurs, interrupting a perfectly good wet daydream in progress. It’s for the best, though.
This is hardly the time or place for a hard fuck, but I’ll be sure to treat her to one later tonight.

  “They always have been,” she continues absently as she closes her eyes and frowns as she bites her lip, listening for the telltale click that signals success. “Ahh, bingo,” she says with a gratified sigh that does nothing to help me tame the beast in my pants.

  She turns the door knob with a gloved hand, which reminds me to put mine on. I have no intention of making a rookie mistake by leaving physical evidence behind. My father would have a shit fit if he knew I was breaking into a house anyway. As the Sovietnik, I’m expected to walk the straight and narrow, which is only making this more of an adventure for me.

  She cuts through my thoughts when she hands me a pair of medical booties to cover my shoes.

  “You’ve really got this shit down to a science, don’t you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Looks like I’ve been missing out on all the fun.”

  “Well, you’re knee deep in it now, Nikita. I guess this is one time I’m in control. Try to keep up, okay?” she taunts me.

  “Yeah, well, this is one time I’ve got no problem with that. As you can see,” I say as I pointedly glance down at my crotch, “no problem at all.”

  “Holy shit, Nik,” she purrs as her eyes take in the full extent of my not-so-little problem. “You’re, um, I mean…damn. Okay, never mind,” she says as she shakes her head abruptly.

  “Listen up. I want you to start in one corner of the room with me and then work your way around, follow my lead. You’re looking for personal items that might be relevant. I don’t want to know superficial shit. I want to know her deepest, darkest, dirtiest, secrets. This woman pissed somebody off. Granted, it may have something to do with her being a cop, but it might go a whole hell of a lot deeper than that.”