by Lucy Farago
Rhonda was used to taking charge. She’d done it all her life. “No, but I had to do something.”
“It’s all right. From the looks of it, you didn’t panic. That’s a good thing. Tell me the rest.”
She told him about the cologne but his next question stumped her.
“Can you describe him?”
She hadn’t got a good look at his face, but when she closed her eyes to picture him, to try to remember anything that could help the police, all she could see was Blake’s bloody chest. His beautiful, sculpted chest had been covered in blood, a hole so close to his heart it had almost killed him, could still kill him.
“Rhonda, why don’t we go to the station?”
“What?” Damn, she needed to focus. “No, I want to go to the hospital. Maggie and Christian will want to know how he’s doing. And I don’t want to call them unless I know. Better to wait, right?” The last thing she wanted to do was tell Christian his best man died from a gunshot. “Holy shit. Someone wanted Blake dead.”
“We don’t know that,” Cooper said.
“Really?” Sarcasm wouldn’t help, but seriously, she wasn’t a moron. “Because you think someone chose to randomly knock on his door, with the breakfast he ordered, to shoot him?” Then she remembered. “Russian.”
The lieutenant’s brow furrowed.
“Russian,” she repeated. “The waiter had a Russian accent.”
“Are you sure? How do you know it wasn’t Polish or something similar?”
“My neighbor, when I was a kid, she used to watch me when my father couldn’t. Mrs. Grekov. She taught me Russian, I taught her English. His accent was Russian, fresh off the boat Russian. Come to think of it, this hotel would never hire someone who couldn’t speak better English. Not as a waiter. He stepped on my shoes and could barely apologize.”
“Okay, good. What else?”
“I didn’t see much of his face. I nailed him pretty good with that cologne.” One she never wanted to stain her nose with again. “He had black hair.” She thought back. “He must have been on the tall side. When he fell into the tub his legs stuck out a lot. Oh, he had big feet. I remember that. On the slender side, thinner than Blake or Christian but not scrawny.”
“Anything else? Did you see a scar, tattoo?”
She pictured his hand. “I saw the gun with the silencer.” He had hairy knuckles. “Blue, I remember blue. He had a tattoo but I can’t tell you what it was. It went from mid-hand under his shirt. And a gold ring on his wedding finger, a small red stone dead center.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She’d never forget that hand or what it held.
“Stay here.” Cooper headed for the bathroom. “Give me a second.” He held up a finger to a CSI who’d just arrived.
She glanced around and realized the spacious room was now full of police. Cooper returned.
“You were behind the bathroom door, right?”
She nodded.
“If you saw the back of his gun hand that would make him left-handed.”
She recreated the image in her mind. He was right. “Yeah, left hand.”
“Good. Now, let’s go into the hall and let everyone do their jobs. Is there anything else?”
Not off the top of her head. “No, but I’ll keep trying. Can I go to the hospital now?”
“Sure. Stinson,” he shouted at one of the two officers standing by the elevator. “See to it she gets to the hospital.”
“That’s okay, I can take a cab.”
“No, you won’t. Stinson isn’t good for much else.” The two men exchanged a look that said the rookie hadn’t exactly been earning brownie points with the lieutenant.
“Let me call Maggie, okay?” She owed Maggie that much.
Cooper nodded.
*
In the car, Officer Stinson tried to make small talk. She didn’t want to be rude, but chatting about the weather wasn’t going to keep her mind off Blake. After three or four one-word replies to his questions, he got the hint. Then he surprised her by being more perceptive than she’d expected.
“I’ve seen worse, you know. He had an exit wound. That’s good.”
To any other person that might have been comforting. “There was a lot of blood.”
“True, but you managed to control the bleeding. You kept your head. The paramedics were impressed. Do you have training?”
“Four weeks away from graduating.” That’s all that had stood between her and a diploma.
“Ever want to go back?”
“Too late.” She never wanted to be responsible for another person as long as she lived. After so many years of caring for her father, she needed to be free. Was that so bad? Not to want to be someone’s saving grace?
If Blake died, she’d have to tell Maggie she was there and hadn’t been able to save him. Aw hell, this was going to make the papers. Shit. What a great way to remember your wedding. But Maggie’s name wouldn’t be the only one the media would have a field day with. It would be the Jason debacle all over again. Twice in less than three months, Rhonda’s name would be dragged through not just mud, but worse—the dirtiest, filthiest kind of degradation. The fact that she’d been a victim hadn’t stopped the media from questioning what she’d been doing alone on the streets, especially knowing a serial killer was targeting strippers associated with Heart’s Desire. She couldn’t live through that horrible speculation again. She’d done a lot of things to make sure her dad was taken care of. Prostitution hadn’t been one of them.
Chapter Four
“You’re one lucky asshole, you know that?”
Blake didn’t feel lucky. He felt like someone who’d been shot, but he kept his mouth closed. Christian had delayed his honeymoon to be by his hospital bed. “Thanks, mate. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate your reminding me of it, but don’t you have a beautiful new bride waiting for you?”
Christian’s foolish grin would have turned his stomach, if he wasn’t already nauseous from too many pain meds.
“She’s busy with Rhonda. And if you thought getting shot was bad, wait until Maggie gets through with you. You slept with a friend of hers,” Christian pointed out.
Blake feigned shock. “I did? No, I didn’t.”
“Really, then why was she in your room this morning if the two of you hadn’t had sex?”
“I never said we didn’t have sex. It was the sleeping part I was denying.” He smiled, cringing as he tried to adjust his position.
“Go ahead, be funny. The pain she’ll inflict will make you wish someone would shoot you again.”
“You know me better than that. I wouldn’t offend her. Or Rhonda. And unless Rhonda wants to discuss what happened, your wife will get nothing out of me. Are we clear on that?” It was nobody’s business what they had or hadn’t done.
Christian put a hand on his shoulder. “Rhonda’s great, and a grown woman. What ever happened between you is between you. But have fun convincing Maggie of that.”
“Thanks for nothing.” But why was there a knowing look on Christian’s face? “Have you any theories on who shot me yet? Did the feds come up with anything?”
“They’re on their way. Who the hell did you piss off?”
Blake shrugged, regretting it immediately. Groaning, he touched the bandage over his wound. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”
“At least you’re alive,” his friend said somberly.
“Oh no, don’t you get sappy on me.”
“Sappy? Sappy! Fuck you, you surly highlander. Someone shot you. You almost died the day after I got married. Excuse me for giving a shit.” His voice was loud enough to carry into the hall.
“I didn’t die,” Blake shouted back, wincing in pain, but knowing Christian’s outburst was coming from a good place. The two men had been on some tough cases, having saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion.
“No,” Christian said, “but it’s not over. Someone has your number and we need to figure out who.”
>
“We? There is no we. You have a bride to make regret marrying you. Look, I appreciate you coming and I know Maggie was concerned for Rhonda, but as you can see, we’re both alive. So go start your honeymoon.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Before you say anything, Maggie and I have already decided to postpone our trip. Paris isn’t going anywhere.”
“You’re making me feel worse than I already do.”
“Tough.” Christian smiled. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same and I’ll go.”
“I’d not only go, I’d be initiating my bride into the mile-high club.”
“Liar.”
Blake held his comeback as the door to his room opened. Lieutenant Cooper walked in, followed by two very familiar faces. One made his gut hurt. Lieutenant Joe Harris, a special task officer for Interpol, knew everything there was to know about the Russian mob and had been a thorn in his side ever since he’d found that model. Blake had seen him less than forty-eight hours ago in London, right before catching the plane to Vegas. The other, Agent Stephen Riley, was one very big ass kisser. Ambitious didn’t begin to describe Riley.
“Gentlemen.” Blake nodded.
“So,” Christian asked, “have anything to report?”
“Maybe,” Harris answered, “but none of it good.”
Blake knew what he was going to say before he said it. It could be the only reason Harris flew in from London. “Let me guess. JJ Sorrentino took a hit on me?”
“Sorrentino?” Christian’s reaction was justifiable. “What the fuck? What’s an American crime lord got to do with this?”
Blake hadn’t had time to fill his friend in before the wedding, mostly because he hadn’t wanted to stress out the groom. “Remember the missing model, Madison Scott? Her insurance company wanted her found to avoid paying her agency the three million her legs were worth. She was smuggling diamonds. Someone took her out and kept the stones.”
“Damn, I was hoping that wasn’t true. Her face was on every magazine. That’s a dangerous way to earn extra cash she didn’t need.”
“Near as we can tell, she wasn’t doing it for the money as much as for her childhood sweetheart—the now deceased Ilya Filipov. He wasn’t pleased when his girlfriend showed up dead,” Harris said.
Neither had Blake been.
“Holy shit. She was dating Krupin’s nephew?” Christian asked. “She was involved with the Russian mob?”
“We don’t know how involved she was with the business end,” said Harris, “but from my understanding, they were a few days from the altar.” Harris scratched his head. “A shame she didn’t have more brains. She was a beautiful woman. But back to your guess. We don’t think it was Sorrentino who took out the contract.”
“You think it was Krupin? I didn’t kill his nephew. JJ Sorrentino did. We discussed this in London.”
“But he’d be stupid to take the credit for it. It would make sense to point the finger at you.”
“Me? Why the hell would I take the kid out?”
“Why would Sorrentino?”
“Filipov wanted him dead ’cause he killed his girlfriend.”
“Oh, I know. He went after Sorrentino when his love life was cut short.”
“That’s a little cold, Harris.” And the joke wasn’t funny.
Harris shrugged. “Whatever. Long story short—”
Blake groaned. “Stop with the jokes.”
“What? No, I didn’t mean it that time. Sheesh, tell one bad pun … Anyway, we figure Krupin believes you killed his nephew and stole his diamonds.”
“It doesn’t make sense. The stones went missing before his nephew was killed. Why would he believe I took them?”
“Wait,” Christian said, “back up. How exactly is Sorrentino involved?”
“Scotland Yard thinks the diamonds are from the 2009 London heist. Remember the stones found on Juan Desilva?” Blake figured Christian would remember, as his new bride had accidentally been instrumental in recovering them from the human trafficker.
“They traced those to London?”
“Not all of them,” Harris answered, “but enough. Desilva was working for Sorrentino. That links the stones from the heist to your friend and mine.”
“And Sorrentino is suspected to be working for the Russians—Krupin. So everyone’s thinking the girl was smuggling more of the stones? Can they prove it? A hundred and seventeen million is a lot of money for Krupin to sit on for all these years. And don’t they have someone in jail for that heist?” Christian sat on the edge of Blake’s bed.
Harris nodded. “One Ivor Debrosky.”
“Russian? Anyone able to connect him to Krupin?” Blake asked. Scotland Yard had linked the stones to Sorrentino but not directly to the Russian mob leader, only his kid nephew.
“Georgian. And no. Debrosky was stupid enough to leave his DNA on chewing gum they found inside one of the bags used for the diamonds before he dropped it in a dumpster at the scene. Genius refused to rat out his pals and the diamonds were never recovered, except for the ones they’d found with Desilva. Oh, and one other—Madison’s engagement ring.”
“Filipov hadn’t figured his girl would end up dead.” And certainly not in the way Blake had found her.
“Cocky though. What if she’d been caught?” Christian said.
“The ring wasn’t on her. She’d given it to a friend for safekeeping. Her friend, not realizing what she had, gave the ring to the police after her disappearance. They traced it to a jeweler and then to Filipov,” Harris clarified. “Connecting the stones to Krupin.”
“We got a lot of six degrees of separation here. Those diamonds are from one of the biggest heists in the world, most cut, some lasered, making them hard to disguise. They’d have to sit on them until they thought the heat was off.” Blake turned his attention to Harris. “So why does Krupin think I stole the diamonds?”
“You found the girl. Or what was left of her. You could have taken the diamonds then. That much is plausible. He and Sorrentino go way back, since before you two,” he pointed to Blake and Christian, “put Sorrentino away ten years ago. Krupin wouldn’t think the guy had the balls to double-cross him. What do you think would happen if Krupin ever found out one of his lackeys offed one of the family? It wouldn’t be diamonds they’d be shoving up Sorrentino’s ass. It’s your word against his old associate’s. The guy is pretty distraught about his only nephew going to that big diamond mine in the sky. It wouldn’t have taken much to set him off. Add the fact that his diamonds are missing, and you were on the scene when Filipov turned up dead …”
“I don’t understand,” Christian said. “Why were you there?”
He jerked a thumb at Harris. “I was doing him a favor by following the kid.”
“Interpol was hoping Filipov would lead them to Sorrentino and GCHQ wanted him out of the country for good. We got a tip and Blake was closest. In hindsight, the tip must have been bogus, a way to get you and Filipov in the same room.”
“So Sorrentino figured Filipov was gunning for him,” Christian said. “He kills the kid in front of Blake, then turns around and says Blake did it, the guy who locked him away ten years ago.”
“Right,” Harris agreed.
“Getting out of that warehouse wasn’t as hard as I’d expected,” Blake now recalled. “Bastard let me go. He did set me up.”
“GCHQ aren’t happy about being played either. They’re keeping a close watch out for those diamonds. They think they’re still in Britain.”
“How’re we going to convince Krupin he’s looking at the wrong person?” Blake asked.
“Find the diamonds,” Christian offered.
“Then what?” Blake said. “Give them back?”
“You know, if I wanted a smart ass,” retorted Christian, “I’d have a Scotsman for a best friend. We have to nail Sorrentino with the diamonds.”
“There’s a reason those diamonds have been missing for years.” Finding them would be near impossible.
“I
didn’t say it would be easy. For now, let’s focus on keeping you from getting shot again.”
“We have our men for things like that.” Riley finally opened his mouth. “We don’t need your help in that area.”
But from the almost imperceptible nod Harris gave Christian, Blake knew ICU would be called upon.
Cooper jumped in. “Obviously, you’ve got to lie low. Besides, you’re no good to anyone injured.”
“Not a problem,” Christian answered for Blake. “We take care of our own.”
“Well, you see, he may not be your own.” Harris rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re a witness to Sorrentino offing Filipov. That could put Sorrentino back behind bars. We discussed this in London. It makes you a witness. Our witness.”
“No offense, Harris, but we can do a better job at hiding Blake. First things first,” Christian said briskly. “Blake has to die.”
*
Rhonda was used to Maggie’s protective nature. Even though she wasn’t one of the women in Maggie’s programs, she was still considered one of the girls.
“I’m fine. It’s Blake who got shot.”
“Oh my God.” Maggie put a hand over her mouth. “I still can’t believe it. Thank goodness he’ll be all right. Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can get you?”
Rhonda smiled. If one of her flock needed a mother, Maggie was there. She was the kid who mended broken bird wings and dragged home lost kittens. The only difference now was the broken wings and lost homes belonged to runaway kids and forgotten women.
“All good, Maggie. Christian convincing the police to keep my name out of the papers was more important to me than anything else.” She hugged her friend, needing the contact more than she’d care to admit. “The clothes you brought were great.” She put the scrubs in the dirty laundry hamper in the hallway outside Blake’s room. The bridesmaid dress had been ruined, stained with Blake’s blood. She wouldn’t mourn the dress but hated how it’d come to be that way.
Thanks to Maggie, Rhonda was dressed in black jeans and matching tee that read, “I’m right, get over it,” and her favorite comfy combat boots. She’d even brought makeup.
