“Akim say for sure. He look through glasses. Górod very small. They drive through too much and people look.”
“Then tell them to back off and wait.”
“What if she stay? What if she go to police?”
Then they were screwed, but Melor didn’t think that was the case. “She hasn’t, otherwise Akim and that other buffoon would have been arrested by now.” But there was no doubt their situation had grown more tenuous. There was less and less doubt that he was going to have to leave town for longer than he intended. The question was, when?
Not before Tatiana and her troublemaker daughter had been permanently silenced, he vowed bitterly.
“I’m headed for the brokers’. I’ll also give our not-so-petite blond stukachi a call and find out if she is sitting on information. Just in case, you start cleaning up things there. I’ll call you after I’m through.”
Disconnecting, he leaned forward and asked Boba, “You understand where to go?”
The big man glanced into the rearview mirror and nodded.
“Stop at a florist first.”
As Boba made an efficient but illegal U-turn, Borodin sat gazing out the window at the booming city, but seeing instead a dark-haired she-wolf with bedroom eyes and breasts to make a man salivate. He fingered the bandage over his cheek.
What have you done, my clever little cunt? Where do you hide that you don’t raise curiosity? You can’t be using your ID or credit cards, I’d have been informed.
But she did have his cash. What’s more, it was entirely possible that she’d switched vehicles again. He doubted it, though. One good thing, if Lev and Akim had problems with the phones, so did she.
Thinking of his men, he frowned, belatedly wondering why they hadn’t reported anything regarding their recent acquisition. He would have to ask them about her during the next call. He craved details, especially if she was doing a great deal of begging. Of course, she was no real challenge, showing her fear all too easily. But the other…
Are you worried, Sashitska?
He closed his eyes, willing her to hear him, feel him getting closer. It was a most soothing meditation.
16
Bitters, Texas
12:04 p.m. CST
“Pest.”
Sasha stood in the doorway of the kennel losing the battle to stay deaf and blind. The dog was missing no opportunity to break free of her steel cage, and while Gray had escaped the awful racket by standing out front chatting with an apple-cheeked mustached man who’d walked over from the hardware store, she’d reached her limit for listening to the whimpers and whines.
“Do you see anyone coming at you with sharp needles or anything?”
In response, the dog pawed at the bars and bit at the latch.
“Well, you can’t come out. He said you’d move around too much and rip open those stitches.”
Once again the dog pawed the latch and this time threw her head back and uttered a wail worthy of a coyote.
Sasha stepped closer and peered at the recovering animal from different angles. “Are you hurting? He said he gave you something for that. Isn’t it potent enough?”
Whatever Gray gave her, it sure wasn’t making the pup tired. Not that Sasha blamed her for not lying down. Despite the towel that was now wadded up into a messy clump, the bulk of the dog’s body had to make do with the steel bars. How comfortable could that be? And yet Sasha had put her out in the outdoor pen twice this morning and the animal hadn’t been happy there, either.
Hands on hips, Sasha eyed the dog. “In case you haven’t noticed, your voice carries. You know what they’d call you in the old country? Okay, not my old country, but my mother’s? Sabaka. Know what that is? Well, literally, it’s dog, mutt…but it also happens to be what they call nagging old women. Get the hint?”
As though understanding she was only playing, the dog offered a throaty growl and pawed the air.
“What a charmer you are. Sure, you get your way, but the Grim Reaper out there will get on my case all over again, and this time he might give you that lethal injection, no questions asked. Is that what you want?”
Sasha didn’t need the responsibility of another life, but she had to admit that this sweet-eyed minx was making it somewhat easier to get through each torturous minute of waiting and wondering. That triggered her conscience anew as she remembered how tempted she’d been to cut her losses, leave the dog to her own fate.
“There are no easy answers, pal.” Reaching through the bars, she stroked the dog’s snout. “Oh, dear…your nose is warm again.”
Gray didn’t need to instruct her to watch for that. What was causing the fever, though? She had been careful to keep her water dish full.
“It’s the accommodations, I know. Okay, come on. If he thinks sleeping on that is fun, let him try bare mattress springs. But behave,” she said, undoing the gate and letting the animal out. “The first time you tinkle where you shouldn’t, you’re going back in the slammer, and from then on you’ll stay no matter how loud you complain.”
As soon as Sasha eased the dog to the tile floor, the pup set a paw on her sneaker. Whatever her intention, the image was precious.
“Uh-uh. No staking claim, forget it. I have to travel fast and light. Flattered by the gesture, though. It’s a little late for introductions, but what do you call yourself? I wonder. How about we try Jessie? There’s a kid back in Vegas I know who’s a scrapper like you. Barely eleven and hell on wheels.”
“What happened to her?”
At the sound of Gray’s voice, the dog plopped down on Sasha’s feet and hid her face between her ankles.
“What is it about you that brings out the best in everyone?” Sasha drawled to the man filling the doorway. She leaned over to pet Jessie. It was easier than looking at him and remembering what had passed between them a few hours ago.
“Cease fire, will you?”
He was right; she was acting like a too tightly wound machine. “Is it too early to claim cabin fever?”
“I understand the pressure, believe me,” Gray replied. “I’m not saying I know yours, but I understand.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing up front? Being social to give me space?”
“It’s been a while since I paid attention to the smoke signals around town. So what happened?”
“To whom?”
“The kid. Jessie.”
He’d heard more than she’d wanted him to. “Don’t get excited, Slaughter. She has nothing to do with why I’m here.”
“Maybe. But you care…it’s in your voice.”
Yes, Jessie was another thing preying on her. Missing a visitation day was bad enough. Leaving without saying goodbye was worse.
“She’s in a state school,” Sasha admitted reluctantly.
“Why?”
“Aren’t you concerned that someone will tiptoe into this place and steal your money while you’re back here pumping me for information?”
“You said it yourself, there isn’t much to worry about.”
“Drugs then.”
“Locked away. Why’d the kid get stuck there?”
In his own way, he was no less relentless than Elias. “Because she OD’d her mother’s boyfriend after he raped her.” She arched her eyebrows as though asking, “Glad you asked?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, he replied, “Doesn’t sound a fair break for a crime that was basically self-defense.”
“According to the assistant D.A., shooting, stabbing or bludgeoning him during the rape would have been more acceptable. What Jessie did could only be seen as premeditated. Premeditated…her mother’s an addict, for pity’s sake. The kid’s endured nothing but abuse and neglect in her too-short life. As far as I’m concerned, she showed remarkable restraint by not doing something more violent. She actually waited until the bastard was passed out before she finished him off.”
The incident remained too fresh in her mind. “Imagine knowing what to do at that age. Naturally, no foster home could be
found for a kid labeled ‘cunning and street savvy,’ so she’s where she is until she turns eighteen. In the meantime, her ability to trust men has probably been shot to hell. Anything else you want to know?”
She knew what she sounded like—the same thing her sergeant had called her when she’d told that fresh-from-the-bar lawyer off—and waited for Gray to do an about-face and walk away, regretting her presence more than ever. But he stayed, seeming content to watch the dog chew on her laces.
“You visit her, don’t you? You try to help her hang on.”
“Don’t try to turn me into a Mother Teresa. That fit is no better than any of the other conclusions you’ve drawn about me.”
“Okay, hard case, if you’re ready to eat, I’ll go on down to the café and pick up something. What do you want?”
She almost declined, not wanting to be obligated more than she already was. Then she remembered that the café was situated next to the convenience store—where there was a pay phone.
“I’ll do it.”
Gray frowned. “That might not be a good idea.”
“Why, because you think I’m going to run? I have the drill down pat. ‘Elias will chase me to my grave if I try.’ Anything else?”
“What about your concern over being spotted?”
The question hit her like a belly shot. He’d made no further comment about her preoccupation with traffic out front, not even when she moved her van directly behind the clinic and out of sight of the street. She knew he remained curious, but assumed his annoyance with her overrode that.
“Concern needn’t be anything more overt than a muscle flex,” she said, focusing on the dog. “It doesn’t necessitate giving up breathing.”
When he didn’t respond to that, she knew he didn’t believe her studied calmness, and quickly asked him what he wanted to eat. “My treat. It’s the least I can do to repay you for all of this…southern hospitality.”
Finally relenting, he said, “Have it your way. You may end up thinking differently, though, once you realize word about you has started getting around town.”
So that’s what he meant before. He’d been feeling out people he trusted, or used to be friends with to see what Frank was saying about her…and possibly J.M., too, considering how they’d parted company. But none of that offset her need to use that pay phone.
“I’ll cope,” she told him, and nodded at Jessie. “Would you mind much just letting her be on the floor here? She really hates that cage.”
After a moment he nodded, and conscious of his speculative gaze, she got out of there, pocketing his money because he insisted on paying his own way. As for her, she wasn’t even hungry; the pulling at her stomach was all nerves.
Cautious, she decided to take a detour, rounding the back of the police station, café and fire department, too. Although it was the lunch hour, traffic in town was light. Even at the convenience store, there was only an eighteen-wheeler parked along the road with its diesel engine idling, and one car at the gas pumps. Despite that, she was grateful the phones were located at the back of the premises by the air pump and car wash, virtually out of view.
Sasha punched in the code on the prepaid calling card she’d bought just yesterday morning on an impulse, and then the phone number. After several rings, she heard the recording she already knew from memory. Trying to stay optimistic, she tried again.
Where are you?
For her sanity’s sake, she had to believe this streak of silence was due to the continued disrupted service. She didn’t want to consider anything worse, but her imagination worked overtime.
When she finally gave up, accepting that it was time to get to the café, she saw a man—she guessed him to be the driver of the rig—do a double take before climbing back into his truck and pause to stare at her. He was a pleasant-looking guy who rather looked like her father in his earliest marine photos, clean-cut and sporting a maroon and white Texas A&M cap. Mr. All-American. Probably in a hurry to be back on the road, if those two bottles of water, bag of chips and wrapped sub sandwich were anything to go by. For an instant she saw herself responding to his smile, going over and asking if he was heading east. But the pragmatic in her recalled that she carried little money, no change of clothes…and no gun.
Seeing she wasn’t going to acknowledge him, the man climbed up into his cab and Sasha continued to the café, wondering if she’d just missed an important opportunity, her last chance for escape.
As with the rest of the town, the eatery was nowhere near busy. Unfortunately, one of the customers there was Chief Frank Elias.
17
The no-name café was a dusty, dismal establishment, although the poor lighting and dark-paneled walls were welcome after the blinding sunshine. The decor consisted of battered street signs lining the walls, along with framed photos of kids. Rows and rows of them, Sasha noted wryly. Kids with cows, kids with chickens and kids with pigs, goats, sheep—just about every farm animal. Considering the faded condition of some of the pictures, they had to date back decades: 4–H events, Sasha decided. Or Noah’s ancestral line.
Seating consisted of a dozen mismatched and scarred tables, along with an equal number of booths, suggesting that once the town had been a more prosperous place. More than likely the proprietor had anticipated a greater windfall from the interstate. Sasha just hoped that the lack of business wasn’t indicative of the cuisine served here.
Only two of the tables were occupied, and the diners were old-timers, grizzled, sun-aged men wearing overalls and straw hats decomposing on equally weathered heads. One or two wore baseball caps, and Sasha suspected none of the headgear came off until the men stepped into the shower. They appeared in no rush to go anywhere, but had undoubtedly known each other so long, there wasn’t much left to talk about, either. Sasha heard more silverware and pots clanking in the kitchen than dialogue.
No one paid her any attention at first. That gave her a chance to prepare herself for Elias, who sat at the counter on the round-seated stool nearest the register. Neither he nor the waitress in the baby-blue uniform unbuttoned to her bra-enhanced cleavage noticed her, until the short-order cook in the kitchen snapped through the breezeway, “Customer.”
The blonde with enough curls to coif a period movie tore her flirtatious gaze from the chief and, in less time than it took to flip a burger, gave her a dismissive once-over. “Put it down wherever you want,” she said, returning her attention to Elias. “Ain’t no maître d’ here.”
The snipe made it easier for Sasha to approach the checkout counter. “Thanks for the warm invitation, but I’m ordering take-out.”
Clear green eyes, truly lovely but for the excessive makeup, flashed dislike before the girl sullenly shifted over and dropped her order pad onto the counter. “Go on.”
“A special, and—” Sasha eyed the faded and mostly scribbled chalkboard menu over the girl’s head “—a chef salad. Please.” Who could ruin a salad? she reasoned.
As she scribbled down the order, the waitress sucked in her cheeks, probably having read in some fashion magazine that it accented her cheekbones. She needn’t have bothered with the artifice; she had adorable features, sweetly formed lips despite the frosted-pink lipstick, and the kind of nose everyone considering rhinoplasty hoped to end up with. Add the smattering of freckles the makeup couldn’t hide, and you ended up with a vibrant youthfulness that Sasha suspected the girl hated.
“The chicken-fried steak comes with mashed potatoes and boiled okra with stewed tomatoes,” the waitress recited tersely. “No substitutions.”
“Then I take it that’s what Dr. Slaughter wants.”
The blonde glanced up from her order sheet, and in that second looked no more than seventeen, although she was probably closer to twenty-one or two.
“You’re ordering for Doc?”
“That’s the one I was telling you about,” Frank drawled. “Spent last night with him, too.”
Sasha did her best to ignore Elias’s unwelcome input, but co
uldn’t avoid hearing the murmuring that told her the others in the place had heard and were game for a bit of juicy gossip. “Dr. Slaughter would also like whatever pie is available today,” she told the young woman.
The waitress simply gaped. “What are you talking about, Frank? She don’t look like no arsonist.”
“Thank you,” Sasha replied. “I don’t know what one looks like either, but I assure you, I’m not.”
“Are you shacking up with Doc, though?”
Sasha nodded to the order pad. “He mentioned the pie twice, so I suspect it’s his favorite part of the meal.”
The blonde smiled mischievously as she wrote. “That’s him all right. No denying his sweet tooth, regardless of his mood.”
“Especially for brown sugar,” Elias mused.
Sending him a sidelong look, the waitress said to Sasha, “He hates boiled okra. I’ll slip him in an ear of corn. He’ll like the chocolate cream pie, though. And to drink?”
Sasha hadn’t thought to ask. “What do you have that goes well with scotch?”
The blonde’s laughter turned her cover-model pretty face into something far more interesting. “I like you.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Gerri Rose.”
Why hadn’t she guessed? Sasha recovered, but not fast enough. By the time she shook hands, she could see the doubt return to shadow J.M.’s niece’s green eyes. “Anna Diaz.”
“Doc usually gets iced tea, unsweetened.”
“Make it two then.”
“You two know each other long?”
Sasha merely shook her head and kept her gaze lowered as she dug in her pocket to get out the money, hoping that would be enough of a hint that she wasn’t willing to elaborate.
“Ms. Diaz was just passing through,” Elias informed Gerri Rose. “Until she met old Gray.”
Sasha ignored him, and after a brief giggle, Gerri Rose delivered the order to the cook, who was already working on it.
Elias swiveled to face Sasha. “Glad to see you took me seriously.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get through this with the minimum of conversation with you.”
Final Stand Page 11
