“No idea. It was here when I got here.”
“Here’s hoping it isn’t a bomb. Deliveries are supposed to be monitored.”
Turner pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and scooted the box toward him, his face grim. “It’s not a joke, people. There’s supposed to be a protocol when it comes to deliveries.”
“That’s true love for ya, Murphy. Your partner’s willing to take a bomb for you,” Richardson scoffed before popping another bite of donut into his mouth.
Turner kept his eyes fixed on the box as he considered how to proceed. “Fuck you, Richardson.”
“See? You both have mouths like sailors.”
Turner ignored the banter and focused instead on the contents of the mystery box. He gingerly opened it and removed what appeared to be a music box. When he lifted the lid a ballerina danced to a tune.
“Okay, that’s weird.” Rene pulled gloves from her pocket as she eased over to get a closer look. She tugged on a piece of paper that was peeking out from between the velvet lining and the wood.
Richardson stuffed another half of a donut in his mouth. He stood behind Rene, peering over her shoulder. “Looks like somebody’s got a secret admirer,” he managed to say after swallowing another morsel.
Turner could feel his hackles rise. He turned, giving Richardson a dirty look. Richardson raised his hands in surrender, oblivious to the donut glaze coating his fingertips. “Hey, just sayin’,” he said in his defense. “I’d be keeping a close eye on her if I were you.”
“Excuse me, I’m standing right here,” Rene huffed, waving dramatically at Richardson. “I’m a big girl. I can watch out for myself.”
Richardson tucked his chin as he wiped his mouth and hands with a paper napkin bearing the donut shop logo. He raised his eyes to Rene’s and said solemnly, “We’ll be watching out for you, too.”
“Yes. We will,” Turner agreed, which was something he rarely did when Richardson was involved. “This isn’t anything to take lightly, Rene. When an unsub makes contact of any kind, things can go south real fast. If this is from who I think it is—”
“Yeah, but let’s look at what we know so far. The profile really says it all, I think. Single, white male. Narcissist. He’s an underachiever and, if you ask me, a coward, so he targets women he thinks he can overpower and control. Dancers, so far. Why would he take an interest in me? It would go against his profile. This guy never deviates from his MO.”
“You’re forgetting one important fact. The guy is crazy. You can’t figure out crazy, Rene, and you sure as hell can’t predict it,” Turner said.
“You’ve got a problem with my profile?” Rene asked, her voice clipped as she stared him down.
“It’s a good profile, but you know as well as I do that it’s dangerous to get too attached to it. I’m keeping an open mind. We’ve got to catch this guy before he kills again. We may never know for sure why he started killing in the first place—maybe some perceived failure that prompted him to overcompensate by taking extreme steps to control others and thereby achieve his own idea of perfection, over and over. But we can stop him before he strikes again.”
Rene nodded as she unfolded the piece of paper and read the cryptic message aloud:
Your little chat with the waitress did nothing to protect her. She’s with me now. When I’m finished playing with my little ballerina, I’ll let you know where I’ve laid her to rest. You really should be more aware of your surroundings. You just never know when a killer could be in your midst.
Sincerely, Mr. Benzo
Rene swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder apprehensively. Her gaze darted around the room, as if her new pen pal might be lurking there.
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re not doing it right!” he screamed.
Tee’s legs felt like rubber, barely holding her up as she danced clumsily around the pole. The chain connecting her cuffed wrists clanged jarringly against the glossy metal. Each bellowed directive felt like a nail being driven into her skull.
Why the hell had she gotten into his car? This wasn’t the same innocent looking college boy who had so chivalrously offered to help her get out of the rain. The man ranting at her was a psychopathic caricature of the good Samaritan that had come to her aid. He was seething with rage, his face contorted with frustration like that of a hungry predator that had been denied his next meal.
She had lost track of time but was pretty sure she was a couple of days into her ordeal. If she didn’t escape soon, he would kill her just like he had the women before her. She had watched the news. She knew what awaited her if she didn’t prevail. He’d had her dancing for hours, insisting that she dry hump the pole in every position imaginable—all while he issued stage directions in an increasingly unhinged voice.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she gasped. “It’s the pills you’ve been giving me. They’re making it so hard for me to do what you want, so hard to please you.” She dropped to her knees, spreading her legs wide as she rolled her hips against the pole like she’d seen Harper do so many times. The men in the audience always seemed to love it, so maybe it would distract her captor. “What are you giving me, anyway?” she asked as she looked up at him through a thick fringe of eyelashes. She was desperate for any kind of leverage and wasn’t above capitalizing on her feminine charms if it would get her out alive.
“Benzos, you dumb bitch—hence the name ‘Mr. Benzo’. Duh.”
“So you’re giving me Xanax or something. No wonder I’m so tired. You don’t need to drug me. I don’t have the energy to stand up, much less dance.”
Benzo charged at her and jabbed his trembling finger in her face. His face was beet red and the vein at his temple pulsed against his skin as he fought for control. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m. In. Control.”
She stopped moving, holding on to the pole as she looked up at him. “All I’m saying is I could dance better for you if I wasn’t drugged. I want to please you so bad.”
“Oh.” That seemed to calm him down. His finger was still in her face but it wasn’t shaking like before. His chin bunched up in a pout as he huffed, “Fine! You’ve got two days. Two. Days. I’ll sober you up and you better be able to dance. There’s more than a callback at stake here. I’ve already picked out your watery grave. In fact, I’ve already let the FBI know to be watching out for you to show up sometime soon.” The smug smile on his face reflected his pleasure at seeing his plans working out so well.
She slowly opened her legs impossibly wider and pressed her body against the cold metal, sinuously rolling her hips to draw his attention back to the apex of her slender thighs. His neck flushed a deep red and his chest quivered with his harsh breathing. Abruptly, he cleared his throat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Tee relaxed back onto her heels and leaned forward to rest her cheek against the pole. She lowered her arms and grimaced at the sound of the chain colliding with the floor. Of course, the reason she wanted him to stop drugging her had nothing to do with her ability to dance or any desire to please him. She just needed a clear head so she could escape.
Surely, by now Harper had realized that Tee was in danger. Tee prayed that her friend would go to the police and they would start looking for her. Her wet cheek slipped off the cold, unforgiving metal as she collapsed into a heap on the floor and let the tears come. Someone had to find her…before it was too late. Maybe it already was.
Chapter Fourteen
Ivan’s two daughters chased each other through the house. As they scampered up the stairs, their shrieks became muffled as they feuded over some perceived slight, as usual.
Ivan lifted his jacket from the coat tree by the front door and glanced in the hall mirror. He cleared his throat when he took in the sight of his forlorn wife crying inconsolably. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot and her hair had come woefully loose from her gravity-defying bouffant updo.
“It won’t be so bad, love,” he said quietly.<
br />
“How can you say that, Fyodor?” Lucya sobbed, a handkerchief clenched in her hand as she dabbed at the tears that wouldn’t stop. “Why does it have to be you? Why?! There are others, men who don’t have families, who could do this instead.”
He turned to face her as he carefully slid his arms into the jacket’s sleeves and pulled it over his shoulders. “He personally requested that I dispose of the body. I sank it in the river but it didn’t stay down. I failed, Lucya. I failed my Pakhan. I can’t in good conscience allow him to go down for this. Not if I can do something about it. I have no doubt Glazov will take care of you financially—very well, I might add.”
“But what about you? Who will take care of you?” she sniffled.
“I will be alone in my own cell, surrounded by other Bratva men in the prison. They will protect me and I will protect them. The Pakhan will get me a good lawyer. Even if he can’t keep me from doing time, he can keep me from doing life or getting the chair.” Ivan had faith in his Pakhan and in the legal resources that Glazov would bring to bear on his behalf. However, Ivan also knew that capital punishment had been alive and well in Kentucky since 1976.
“The girls are so young, though.” His wife launched into another crying jag at the thought of her daughters growing up without their father. “And what about me? Who will take care of me?”
“I have already said, the Pakhan will see that you want for nothing.”
“I don’t mean the money. I mean…other things. By the time you get out, I could be an old woman. But now? I have needs, you know. Needs that only you can meet.”
Ivan’s dick snapped to attention at the ache in her voice. He had been inside her only an hour ago, and already he craved the feeling of being cradled tightly between her thick thighs as he emptied himself in her. He fisted his hands at his sides at the memory of how her breasts had filled his hands and then his mouth. But he soldiered on. “I was there with the Pakhan when it happened. If he hadn’t had his own personal vendetta against Cooper, I’m certain he would have had me do it, so it isn’t like I’m guiltless. It could just as easily have been me pulling the trigger. It might as well be me now. And besides, the Pakhan knows he could never find anyone more loyal than me.”
“Do you really think the Pakhan’s lawyer can keep you out of jail?” She looked at him with bloodshot eyes full of hope.
“I’m sure he’ll get me the best lawyer. I can’t make any promises about what will happen to me, but this will ensure that you and our daughters are financially secure. And when they come of age and it is time to find them husbands, they will have their pick of men. In doing this, I assure our family a place of honor in the Born Bratva brigade.”
“What is honor without our family being together?”
He straightened his back. His words were clipped. “My mind is made up.”
She knew him well enough to know that there would be no dissuading him from the path laid out before him. Like any other gangster’s wife, she had gone into her marriage with her eyes wide open. She was one of the few Bratva wives who didn’t want to know anything about criminal activities that might not stand up to scrutiny in polite society. Her children lived a life of luxury. They wore the best clothes and went to the best schools.
Yes, she would be rich and her husband would hold a high place of honor in their Bratva cell, but none of that mattered if it meant he’d be gone. She watched helplessly as he turned and walked to the door.
“But how can the Pakhan ask this of you?!” she cried.
He lifted his fedora from the hook by the door and placed it on his head before pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “He didn’t. I volunteered.”
With his wife’s agonized wail ringing in his ears, Ivan walked away from life as he knew it, with a heavy heart but certain that he was leaving his family in good hands.
As he pulled away from the curb, Ivan made a mental note to inquire of Glazov about conjugal visits.
~~~
At the knock on the door, Glazov and Novak looked up. Ivan stood in the doorway with his hat in his hand.
“Ivan, come in. What can I do for you?” Glazov asked, his eyes narrowing speculatively at the man’s grim demeanor. Ivan stepped inside and closed the door before approaching Glazov’s desk. “So, Ivan, what’s on your mind?”
Ivan’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep rush of air before he launched into the speech he’d rehearsed on the drive over. “My Pakhan. It is my deepest honor to serve you. I have come here today to ask something of you, if I may.” At Glazov’s nod, he continued, “Cooper’s death draws unwanted attention to you. I want to confess to the killing.” He spoke hurriedly before either man could interrupt him. “The news coverage has been relentless ever since the body washed up.” He paused and cleared his throat before continuing hoarsely, “To my eternal shame, it is my fault that the body is now in the custody of law enforcement and not in the depths of the river. They will never stop hunting you until you are in prison—and then others will hunt you. I cannot in good conscience allow my Pakhan to be hunted like an animal. Not if there is something I can do to stop it.”
Glazov and Novak exchanged a look. “You would do this for me.”
It was a statement, not a question, and elicited an emphatic nod from the burly guard. “There is nothing I would not do for you, my Pakhan. Bratva is my life. Serving you gives my life purpose.”
An unexpectedly heavy pall settled over the room as its occupants took in the enormity of the decision that had just been made. Glazov eyed him with a steady, fierce gaze. Letting someone else take the fall went against everything Glazov believed in; however, the brigade must come first. He wasn’t shocked that Ivan was offering to make such a profoundly difficult sacrifice. It was the ultimate demonstration of loyalty to the Born Bratva brigade, and he would expect no less of Ivan.
“You will be well compensated. Your family will want for nothing.”
“I thank you, my Pakhan. It will give my spirit ease to know my family is in good hands. But this isn’t about money.”
“I know.”
This time it was Novak who spoke. “I think it’s a good idea, Glazov. There’s no way the brigade could run without you. We’ll ensure he has the best of living conditions, protection, and plenty of money, as you said.” He turned his eyes toward Ivan. “And we’ll get you out as soon as we can. But it will likely be years, my friend.”
Ivan nodded resolutely. Glazov felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t often that hindsight was of particular concern to him, but it weighed heavily on him today. His decision was proving to be more costly than Glazov anticipated. He would have to live with that, but he would ease Ivan’s family’s suffering in every way possible until he was returned to them safe and sound.
Glazov looked down at his steepled fingers and pondered how it was possible to live out every day of his life with so much blood on his hands and feel no remorse. But this was different; in a single moment, he’d dealt a blow against a valued member of his Born Bratva family. It stung. But there was nothing to be done about it now. He stood and extended his hand to Ivan over the desk. Ivan stepped forward and gripped it firmly, his eyes widening when Glazov’s free hand came to rest over their clasped hands. He met Ivan’s solemn gaze and bestowed upon him a rare gift: an apology. “My good and loyal friend. I am sorry.”
Silence descended on the room, with each man lost in his own thoughts. The way ahead was clear. Ivan would take the fall.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’ve been quiet today, David.” Rene studied him as he navigated the streets of Louisville on their way home. She was waiting for him to rebuke her for calling him by his first name while they were on the job, even though they were alone. Sometimes she did it deliberately, having found that she enjoyed his rebukes more than she probably should. But there were no rebukes today. When he didn’t respond at all, it concerned her.
He glanced over at her with sad eyes and Rene frowned. Usually, his brown eyes were cle
ar and purposeful; not like this. Turner’s voice was almost unnaturally quiet when he addressed her. “He contacted you. A serial killer has singled you out. Why you?”
“I think he was in the bar when we talked to Tee. He saw us. He wants to play. You know what narcissists these guys are. They love proving they’re smarter than we are.”
“You need to be careful. I know, I know, you’re always careful,” he drawled as he turned a corner. “Be more careful than ever. I wouldn’t put it past this guy to try and make you his next victim.”
“We’ve gone over this, David. That doesn’t fit the profile. And after all, I’ve got you to protect me.” She batted her eyelashes playfully before stilling at his impassive stare. Again, she frowned, before saying softly, “Hey. I know what I’m doing, how to take care of myself.”
“I know you do.”
“So what is it?”
“I’m serious, Rene. If he’s bold enough to reach out to you, then he’s probably not a big fan of personal space. So watch yours. You understand?”
“I’ll be fine. You and I are together all the time, anyway. As you may know, I’m not in what anyone would consider a typical relationship with my partner. We work together, very closely, and then we go home together and get even closer. Things have been known to get pretty unprofessional when we’re alone…”
“Oh, really.”
“Mm-hmm. Really.” She smiled softly, then her face fell and all playfulness left her expression. “David. The guy’s never going to be able to catch me alone. I’ll be fine. But if it will make you feel better, I promise I’ll be more on guard.”
He pulled up to a red light, leaned his head back against the headrest, and just looked over at her for a long moment. He swallowed hard, then nodded decisively. It was true; they were together all the time. After all, he only worked because he wanted to. He’d been born into money and when his parents died he was set for life. Of course, the financial security could never make up for life without them. He would have traded every cent he had for more time with his parents.
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 5
