“Ptichka. The man is doing my time.”
She felt a surge of guilt course through her. It was true, Ivan was giving up untold years of his life for not only Glazov but the Bratva. She was certain Glazov felt as bad as she did about the present situation. She was also certain that Ivan would live the best life a man could while in prison, and his family would be well cared for.
After a long moment of eye contact and silent communion, she nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Then she rolled onto her back, freeing him to shower and get dressed.
~~~
Agent Turner couldn’t help but notice how every head turned when Alexander Glazov entered the courtroom. Even the judge seemed mesmerized by his calm, cool air of authority. Of course, his elegant, pale gray suit didn’t hurt. No doubt about it, Glazov was a looker. Add in his money and power and it was enough to fascinate any woman.
Agent Turner smiled when he thought about bringing down Alexander Glazov, until he glanced down at Rene. He choked down an ugly surge of jealousy when he saw that even his partner was staring.
Eventually, he kicked her in the shin when he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Hey, I can’t help it,” she hissed. “The guy looks like a fucking model. Or a porn star,” she muttered.
“Doesn’t mean you have to ogle him,” he growled.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“You’re not when you’re ogling.”
They stopped their bickering when the judge slammed down her gavel and the courtroom was called to order. When all was said and done, Fyodor Stanislavski Sergeyevich, a.k.a. Ivan The Terrible, was sentenced to twenty years for the murder of James Cooper.
Agent Turner thought it wasn’t nearly enough. Then again, he also thought the judge was addressing her sentencing remarks to the wrong man, but there was nothing to be done about it. Ivan would probably serve ten years or less because of overcrowding, and because Glazov had hired the best lawyer he could find. Turner would have to just suck it up and be satisfied with the sentence and the fact that there would be one less Bratva thug walking around free.
What did it all mean, ultimately? Turner would have to work double time to find something else to pin on Glazov. Glazov chose that moment to look over his shoulder and find Turner in the crowded courtroom. The two men locked eyes, although they might as well have been locking horns. To the casual onlooker, it appeared to be a moment of unremarkable eye contact, but Turner knew better. Glazov’s eyes gleamed with challenge as he nodded his acknowledgement of the FBI’s presence for Ivan’s day in court.
Turner had to hand it to him: Glazov must have been doing something right to inspire such unwavering loyalty in his guards. The Pakhan had proven yet again that he was fucking Teflon; nothing stuck to him.
Taking down Alexander Glazov was proving to be harder than Turner anticipated. But that was okay; Turner liked a challenge.
Chapter Twenty Two
“I’m telling you, this fucker is sick, Rene.” Turner could feel his blood boiling. The audacity of this guy! He slammed the red roses into the garbage bin; the latest offering from Mr. Benzo. He donned gloves and retrieved the envelope that had accompanied the bouquet. Pulling the notecard from the envelope, he began reading aloud, certain that it would confirm his worst fears.
My dearest Rene,
In the beginning, I was very upset about losing my last victim; the first I’ve lost to date. I now look at it as fate. I believe you belong with me and not that so-called partner of yours.
I’m certain you looked for me at the hospital but I was able to nurse myself back to health on my own terms. I look forward to seeing you. You won’t know how, you won’t know when, but as surely as the sun will come up tomorrow, I’m coming for you. We will be together. I can hardly wait.
Lovingly yours,
Ben
Turner tossed the notecard on the counter and yanked the gloves off. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He used the name Ben to establish some sick kind of intimacy with you. With everyone else he’s Benzo. This crazy fuck believes he’s going to capture you and make you his girlfriend. He thinks you two belong together. Some fucked-up form of kismet. People like this don’t think like normal people. You’re a trained profiler, so you know that better than anyone.”
Rene was well aware that what Turner was saying was true. She also knew this latest gesture from Benzo changed the criminal profile more than a little bit. She didn’t join Turner in his self-righteous rant; she was too busy thinking through the implications of Benzo’s newfound sexual interest in her. Roses…and they had been delivered to their residence. Killers didn’t usually change their MO so abruptly…unless they were escalating.
She looked up at Turner from where she sat on the bed wearing one of his old t-shirts. She had been brushing her hair when the flowers were delivered. His pacing back and forth bothered her because she knew what it meant. He was worried.
Of all the things that could have happened, she had never expected this. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe Benzo’s obsession with her actually had anything to do with her; it was all about him. He already showed all the traits of a narcissist. The more she thought about it, she began to realize that Benzo’s obsession extended beyond her to include David. Benzo intended to prove he was better than David; better, smarter, and able to steal his woman.
Yep, that was just a whole lotta crazy. As much as she wanted to find Benzo and tell him to fuck off, she knew how dangerous that kind of crazy could be. And there was the rub: when stalkers escalated, they convinced themselves that the object of their affection reciprocated their feelings.
Confronting a stalker and telling him he disgusted you was a good way to get yourself killed. As sickening as the thought was to her, she knew that in the unlikely event that Benzo somehow managed to kidnap her, she would have to convince him that he had a chance with her. She tried not to think of what she might have to do to survive an encounter with him. She had no intention of allowing it to happen, but if it did, Rene putting a bullet in his brain was going to be Benzo’s new reality.
“His delusions only prove he’s escalating, and we knew to expect that,” she said. “I don’t want this to make you any more overprotective than you already are. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself and I’m one hell of a shot.” She lifted a finger in the air and blew on it playfully. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the mood for her brand of levity.
He stopped pacing and cut his eyes at her. “He knows where we’re staying, Rene. With the security we have here, he never should have been able to get that flower delivery past the front desk. That’s why I picked this location in the first place. We’ll stay here for the duration of this case, then we’ll head back to the Indian Hills estate.”
“I can’t wait. This place has a great view, but it’s not home. But it isn’t all that uncommon for floral deliveries to be left at the front desk. How could he possibly know that we’ve taken up residence here full time for the duration of the case?”
“What if whoever was on duty told him by mistake?”
“We’ll find out who was on duty and we’ll ask. Then we’ll tell them to try to get information out of him discreetly if he comes back.”
“That might be a good idea. I’ll let Bertha know as well. When she sees roses in the trash tomorrow, she’ll probably think we’re having a fight,” he muttered as he scrubbed his hands over his face; something else he did when he was stressed.
Bertha was Turner’s long-time housekeeper. She was practically a member of the family. He didn’t want her worrying about him and Rene any more than she already did, but he did want her to be aware of the need for vigilance. He’d track her down tomorrow and let her know what was going on.
Turner shook his head in disgust. That was one more person who would be looking over their shoulder because of a madman. It was more important than ever that they got Benzo off the street, for everybody’s peace of mind.
Chapter Twenty Th
ree
“I want him followed and I don’t trust anyone else to do it, Novak.”
“Glazov? What the hell?!” Novak shook his head and raised his hands questioningly. “Why do you suddenly feel the need to have Agent Turner followed?”
“Something has him distracted. He was obsessed with taking me down and now he has just disappeared. It’s not like him.”
“Aw,” Novak said with a smirk, “you miss him.”
Glazov leveled him with a look. “Not funny, asshole. A man doesn’t go from being obsessed to not caring unless a different obsession comes along. I feel much better when I know where someone is coming from; having a different reaction than what I’m expecting worries me. Turner is predictable…except when he’s not. I don’t like it.”
“Damn sure didn’t happen with you and Kathleen. You were obsessed from the moment you laid eyes on her and you’re even worse now.”
“And my obsession will never change,” Glazov declared as he gave his cousin a dirty look. “It’s different when your obsession is a woman. I hope that, someday, you understand what I’m talking about. I can imagine nothing more amusing than that. But I digress; I don’t know what’s going on with Turner and that’s where you come in. Nobody can track like you do. You’re a natural born hunter.”
It was true. Novak had a way of blending in and then disappearing in a fog like a ghost. If anybody could find out what was going on, it was Novak.
Glazov continued, “I’ve been wondering if this Benzo character who is on the front page of the newspaper every morning is posing a threat to Turner and his partner.”
Novak frowned. “What makes you think that? Seems a little farfetched to me. No offense, but that’s the way it is.”
“None taken. Call it a gut feeling, but I’m going with it. They’re the best profilers the FBI’s got, so why wouldn’t they put Turner and Murphy on that case? Think of it as an unexpected opportunity, Novak. If I can rid those agents of a problem like this Mr. Benzo character, they’ll owe me.”
“Interesting.” Novak nodded. “Maybe he’s bogged down with the Mr. Benzo case. Or maybe Ivan taking the fall for your crime has taken the agents off your scent. They gave up.”
Another dirty look, then Glazov forged ahead. “Turner doesn’t give up, ever. He’s like a dog with a fucking bone; you know that. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Novak smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me. Anything to make your life easier, oh, great and mighty Pakhan.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you back. Seriously, you know I’ve got your back, Glazov. Always have and always will.”
The men were cousins by blood but they were more like brothers. They had formed a bond through the years that couldn’t be broken. Novak knew from years of experience that when Glazov got a gut feeling, it was usually on point. Maybe the proverbial Bratva gods were looking out for the man after all. Novak rose out of his seat.
“Where are you going?” Glazov asked, looking up from the paperwork on his desk.
“I’m going to find you a loophole. There’s no time like the present.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Bertha shifted her oversized purse on her shoulder and rushed out of Agent Turner’s penthouse. The man was so OCD that she often wondered why he even bothered to have her come in and clean. She’d been working for him since his father died. In a sense, he had inherited Bertha along with all the other things his parents had lovingly left to him. Turner hadn’t been able to stand the thought of her losing her job, so he’d hired her and even given her a raise.
She was used to him working difficult cases, and she liked it when he stayed at the penthouse. It was easy to clean and had a wonderful view. But the information he passed along to her earlier in the day had been worrisome. She wouldn’t have some pervy guy interfering in her daily routine. She had told Turner that she’d come and go as usual without breaking her housekeeping schedule. Turner hadn’t been thrilled, but he’d get over it.
Bertha rushed toward the bus stop, never noticing the man following her. She plopped her plump bottom down on the bench and mopped at her sweaty forehead as she tried to catch her breath. A few strands of black hair had escaped from her low, severe bun, so she tucked them behind her ears. It started raining. She was grateful for the bus stop’s simple shelter. She pulled her Walkman out of her tote bag and placed the earphones on her head. Nothing relaxed Bertha like a little cool jazz at the end of a long day.
This is just too fucking easy, Benzo thought. It had been easy enough to find out where the two FBI agents lived. He had watched them come and go from work and learned their routine. Eventually, they had led him straight to their love nest in the sky: Turner’s penthouse.
Benzo fingered the syringe in his pocket. He pulled up to the bus stop and got out, being sure to close his car door quietly. He looked around; no traffic and no pedestrians. It was now or never. He put on his most endearing smile, just in case the woman opened her eyes. And as if she sensed someone standing there, she did.
“You haven’t by chance seen a young girl out here, have you?”
Bertha frowned and tugged the headphones down around her neck. “Um, no,” she said.
“I was late picking up my daughter from school and I was hoping she might have caught the bus instead. I’m really worried now.”
Bertha looked at the stranger with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, but I’m the only person that’s been here; well, for the last ten minutes anyway.”
“I’m so sorry, too.” His voice took on a sinister quality. As she made a show of putting the headphones back on, she hoped he would just go away. She couldn’t help but think that his presence at the bus stop had nothing to do with a missing child. The last thing Bertha felt before she blacked out was the sting of the needle as he jabbed it into her neck.
“Fuck! Getting you in the car may prove to be a challenge.” Benzo shoved Bertha off the bench and dragged her by her feet across the pavement to the back door of his car. It took all his strength to heave her in. Amazing what a man could do when he was motivated to make a point; and make a point, he would.
This abduction wasn’t about the thrill of the hunt, and it sure as hell had nothing to do with dancing or any other activities he might otherwise have considered. This was about dealing an emotional deathblow to the two FBI agents. He wanted them to understand how close he could get to what they held sacred: their personal life.
Chapter Twenty Five
“Richardson, if you keep living off donuts, tacos, and hamburgers, you’re not going to be around much longer.” Even though Rene was kidding with him, she had to admit she liked the agent and wanted to see him stick around for years to come.
Anytime you worked with people who held your life in their hands, you couldn’t help but become attached to them. She knew of marriages that had split up because of a spouse’s close bond with his or her FBI partner. She was thankful she and Turner had the best of both worlds. Their professional life solidified their personal life.
“Oh, so you don’t think it will be a bullet in the heart that gets me, huh?” he smiled, looking up at Rene.
“Nope. You’re smart enough to wear your vest, just not smart enough to know when to put down the donut.”
“I’m pretty smart. If you ever get fed up with that partner of yours, just let me know. I’d love to be your partner. I think you’d make me look good.”
“Hey, hey, hey, never gonna happen. This one’s mine. You know when you finish each other’s sentences, it’s meant to be.” Turner set the drink carrier down on Richardson’s desk and handed out the three specialty coffees.
“A man after my own heart,” Richardson said. “It must be mandatory for cop coffee to taste like sludge. This fancy stuff you buy is so much better.”
“You guys have got another body,” a voice called out over the morning chit-chat. “Down on the river; thrown out like trash.”
“We’re o
n it,” Turner said, jumping up from where he’d just sat down at his desk. “Come on and go with us, Richardson.”
“I got nothing else going on. Plus looking at your partner is better than looking at a bunch of male feebs. Count me in.”
“You’re pushing it,” Turner laughed, knowing the guy was just trying to get a rise out of him.
~~~
The area had been cordoned off and the body had been left by a lone dumpster near a picnic shelter.
Rene pulled on gloves as they walked toward the area where the body was. “Sonofabitch!” she exclaimed when she saw Bertha’s body. Before she could intervene and give her partner a heads-up, he was staring down at Bertha’s open, glazed eyes. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear.
“I’ll kill him,” Turner growled under his breath.
Rene grabbed his arm, yanking him out of earshot and turning him away from the medical examiner’s crew working the scene. “Don’t say shit like that. We’ll get him, but we’ll do it our way. I’m with you on this; it has to be our guy sending a message.”
Nobody else could see the tears in his eyes but her. “Rene, she’s been around since I was a kid. She was like part of our family. Why would this bastard do this? He hates us so much that he’d kill a family member of mine?”
“I don’t think this is about hate, David. I think it’s about power. He wants to let us know he can get to us. He can do something no one before him has been able to do.”
“Well, the son of a bitch succeeded.”
Rene wanted so badly to wipe the hurt away. If she could have, she would have taken it on herself. She was having a hard time understanding why Benzo would take this particular approach. Anyone in law enforcement knew to watch out for people they’d put away when they got released from jail, but this had a totally different feel to it. It was so personal. So very brutal.
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 8
