Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  “He said you’d left the café at least ten minutes before he did,” Gray called. “And the way I see it, that was a good twenty minutes ago.”

  She grimaced. Leave it to Elias to stir up trouble. Easing her armload onto the counter, she called back, “Did he stop by to report on that insurance guy?”

  “Don’t play dumb and don’t fish, neither works for you.”

  Hearing that he was coming down the hall, Sasha turned toward the entryway. “Then be honest yourself. You’re not upset because of the dog.”

  “Okay.” He stepped into the room wiping his hands in a paper towel. “He said you came on to him just to taunt Gerri Rose.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You believed him? For your information, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

  “Right. And you couldn’t get back here fast enough.”

  “You should have told me that Gerri Rose worked at the café.”

  “I thought J.M.—” As he joined her at the counter, Gray stared at the mess. “What the hell happened?”

  “I had a bit of a confrontation myself.”

  “You can say that again.”

  He opened the lid on the first foam container, and even Sasha had to admit it was a pitiful sight. There was almost no way to distinguish what the meal was supposed to be except that white gravy and mashed potatoes were featured.

  “What did you do, sit on it?”

  She wished she had, then maybe her tailbone wouldn’t be smarting so. “Do you have a microwave? Give me a second to wash up and I’ll separate things and put yours in there to warm.”

  “You can’t repair that mess, it’s practically pureed. Besides, I hate microwaved beef.”

  So did she. “Then take my order.” She pushed the other container toward him. “It’s only a chef salad, but—” She grimaced as she opened it and grimaced again. The odd-colored house dressing was the same color as the water had been in the pail.

  “That’s perfect.” Gray took his meal to the large plastic-lined trash bin and dumped it in. “So? Are you going to explain this?”

  “I spotted the truck.”

  For the first time he looked at her and noticed the shape she was in. “Why didn’t you say you’re hurt?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re bleeding through your shirt…and where else?”

  Just as he did, she gave herself a quick once-over. Sure enough, her tea-saturated shirt now showed blood smears on both sides.

  “Let’s take a look.” Gray nodded across the hall. “Damn it, you’re limping, too. Why the hell didn’t you say something? Do you need me to carry you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m sore not maimed.”

  He followed her to the room across the hall, which was much like the one they’d used last night. “I’ll help you up on the table.”

  Sasha swatted away his hands as he reached for her. “I’m not getting up on any doggy table.”

  “Last time I cleaned that wound, the whites of your eyes looked tanned compared to your face. But you want to fall flat on your face? Fine. Ease off the shirt and drop the pants.”

  That’s the last thing she needed to do. She felt vulnerable enough around the man. “Go play dictator with someone else. All I need to do is wash off my elbow and get a new bandage for my side.”

  “How do you know a bandage will be sufficient this time?” With that, he swept her off her feet and up onto the table. “Now, are you going to take off the shirt or am I?”

  It took Sasha a moment to answer because her bottom was smarting from the contact with the table. “Next time ask me where else it hurts, would you?” she said, shifting to rub the offended spot.

  Seeing by his expression that he was serious about the shirt, she started unbuttoning it. With a satisfied nod, Gray moved on to collect what he needed. Sasha was relieved, since the mere thought of his hands on her was having an effect on her body. Thankfully, when he returned, he stayed at the back of the table, focusing on her elbow first.

  “So what condition is the truck in?” he asked grimly.

  “It was a car, a patrol car to be exact.”

  He paused in his ministrations. “You collided with Frank? When? He didn’t say anything about that.”

  “With Kenny Plummer.” As he resumed working on her, she explained what had happened. “I guess there’s not much hope that Elias won’t hear about this,” she added at the end.

  Pressing a regular bandage to her elbow, Gray moved to the front of the table. When he saw that she hadn’t unfastened her jeans, he did so, while staring straight into her eyes. “Count on it.”

  She didn’t know what was worse, his face close enough for a kiss or his fingers doing what a lover would do. “Could you try and look at it from my perspective? You would have wanted to be sure about the truck the same way I did. Don’t look at me like that, it was the truck. I remembered how it sounded, and I thought if I could get the plate number—”

  “You think Frank’s going to believe you?”

  Good point, she thought as he tossed the soiled gauze pads away. Subdued, she replied, “Whether he does or doesn’t is irrelevant. I needed to know for me.”

  A heavy silence settled in the room. Sasha didn’t mind at first. It took all her concentration not to humiliate herself as he attended to her side. She suspected he wasn’t being quite as gentle about it as he’d been last night, but when he dropped the box of gauze pads twice, she knew something else was going on.

  “Go ahead and vent,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll be for my own good.”

  “You deserve to hurt. Maybe if you hurt enough, you’ll start being more careful.”

  “At least I know the truck exists and that it’s here.”

  “It’s not here, it got away.”

  “The driver was male.”

  “Odds were fifty-fifty that it would be.”

  She closed her eyes against the sarcasm as much to relish the cool ointment against her skin.

  “And the library? What was that about?”

  Sasha had hoped he would forget about that. Now she understood by his tone that it was what bothered him most. She suspected Elias was questioning the librarian at this moment, and then he would rub that in Gray’s face as well.

  “A computer.”

  At first he simply stood there, then he demanded, “Look at me.”

  She kept her eyes downcast. “I function better without laser burns in the back of my skull.”

  “Look at me.” When she did, he continued, “Were you going to mention that at any point?”

  “Not if I could help it, no.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You don’t understand…”

  With a surprising show of temper, he spun around and threw the roll of adhesive tape. It went flying out into the hall, bouncing against the wall before disappearing from view. “There’s a computer!” he roared, pointing toward the reception area. “There’s another in my office at the house.”

  “I’d have to know your password. Also, I’d leave a history of what I’d done, where I’d been.”

  “How would I know that? I’m not a computer geek.”

  “Others might.”

  He leaned so close their noses almost touched. “That’s all that you would have had to say to me. Me…the guy who saved your ass and took you into my home.”

  She didn’t reply because there was nothing to say. He was right. But being careful was more important.

  When he realized that not only wasn’t she going to apologize, but she wasn’t going to respond at all, Gray pulled a jacket off the hanger on the back of the door and tossed it at her. “You’re done,” he muttered. “And so am I.”

  20

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  10:55 a.m. PST

  The glass doors to the offices of Joseph, Bains and Sorenson had been open for almost two hours when Melor Borodin entered the twenty-story complex’s expansive atrium. The greenhouse-like lobb
y was humming with people, but as he wove his way between them and passed the flower-adorned fountain in the center, he only had eyes for what was occurring inside the brokerage firm.

  He slowed his pace as he spotted two men in the office of his broker. Detectives, he concluded from their cheap, over-dry-cleaned suits, maybe FBI already? He had no doubt they would eventually be called in, but he’d been hoping not yet, not before he was through. Having no desire for even the most innocent contact, he cut a sharp left and bequeathed an admiring smile for the brunette at the reception desk.

  “Renee, how stunning you look this morning,” he said to the young woman with the cover-girl smile and vacant eyes. “Pojalsta, you know my English. Describe this superb color for me.”

  She tucked her neck into her shoulders in a little girl–like shrug. “Violet, I guess. How are you, Mr. Borodin?”

  She pronounced his name “Borden,” but he pretended not to notice. He could overlook a great deal, since she was like a number of other receptionists he’d come across—a complete blabbermouth who could be trusted to also spread whatever misinformation he wanted circulated.

  “You’re probably here looking for Tatiana, aren’t you? Oh, dear.” Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her perfectly painted mouth as she slid a glance toward the office where the three men stood in close conference. “I shouldn’t be saying anything, but this is so spooky. And you’re one of Mr. S.’s most valued customers, so you have to know sometime. She’s gone,” Renee whispered.

  Borodin wondered if the pretty dimwit knew how holding her left hand against her face as though hiding herself from lip-readers fooled anyone. He affected confusion and dismay.

  “Excuse me, I am not understanding…who?” He looked across the room again at the men, then the empty desk outside the office. “Tatiana? This is impossible.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “She has quit her job? But she is the only one to translate and explain to me.”

  Renee responded with another of her irritating pantomimes. “You don’t get it, and I’ve been put under stricter orders than usual not to discuss the matter.” Nevertheless, she leaned farther across her desk, the neckline of her surplice bodice gaping invitingly. “It’s totally bizarre if you ask me. She and her daughter are missing. You haven’t seen the reports on TV? Oh, the authorities are trying to keep it hush-hush, but pictures are on the news night and day.”

  “I have been, how do you say…out to business.” Placing the long, white florist’s box on the edge of her desk, Borodin pretended not to notice her covetous glance and added with proper concern, “You speak podushum, da?” At her clueless look he pretended to struggle. “Is heart-to-heart, you understand?”

  “Well, the thing is, there’s not that much to tell yet. We’re all as confused as we are shocked. We knew something was wrong Tuesday when Tatiana didn’t come in or call, she had such an impeccable reputation—oh, gosh. Did you hear that? I’m talking about her in the past tense. But she did. She’s never taken a sick day, let alone been tardy. So there we were, expecting her to walk in at any moment to explain how she’d been caught in some big traffic accident. When it got later and later, Personnel tried calling her house, then her daughter’s place…but all they got at either residence was the machines. Finally Mr. Sorenson phoned the police, and that’s when we learned Sasha didn’t report for work Monday night.” Renee dropped her voice an octave. “You did know Tatiana’s daughter is a police officer?”

  Across the room, Arne Sorenson and the two men stepped out of his office. Borodin turned his back to them. To make himself look less noteworthy, he slid his hands into his pockets and rounded his shoulders, giving himself a less commanding presence. “Tatiana has beautiful photograph on her desk,” he said quietly. “I am always admiring. She has tremendous pride in only child.”

  “True, but it’s increasingly likely that pride was unwarranted.”

  “This I cannot accept.”

  “You’re not the only one.” As the girl scooted her chair closer to the desk, an overgenerous waft of Obsession followed. “Like it or not, I understand they’ve found oodles of cash at Tatiana’s house, and drugs at Sasha’s apartment.”

  Not exactly “oodles,” Borodin thought; however, he again appreciated and was entertained by how willing people were to expand and embellish for the sake of drama and self-importance. Taking a step back from the cloying fragrance, his expression reflected consistent dismay. “Tatiana is fine woman, a most excellent mother. Tell me who speaks these lies of her? I will fight on her behalf.”

  As he made a move as though to leave her, Renee reached out to stay him. “Wait! You can’t go over there now. They’ll know I told you.” As the phone buzzed, she signaled him to stand by for a moment.

  After relaying the call, she leaned forward again. “None of us can believe it, Mr. Borodin, but do you see those men with Mr. Sorenson? This is their third time here. As far as I’m concerned, that’s proof positive something’s fishy. Look at Mr. S., too. He’s hardly protesting as he did the first day.”

  And Borodin couldn’t be more delighted that his initial read of the senior partner had been on target. Arne Sorenson was a man who was always swayed by the bottom line regardless of whether it was investments or personnel. If a dedicated and reliable employee like Tatiana had to be sacrificed for the good of his 401K and bonus, so be it. But Borodin didn’t forget that this was the same broker who had lavished great praise on her less than two years ago once he realized that having an assistant with a similar heritage as his affluent client would help secure the account. Could be he even gave his unsolicited blessing should Tatiana be interested in an affair.

  “Do you mind me asking something?” For the first time, Renee appeared sincerely uncertain. “I don’t mean to be rude, but have you been injured?”

  Although his back was almost to her, Borodin lifted his fingers to the bandage. By the time he met her inquisitive gaze, he could deliver a convincing, sheepish shrug. “I am embarrassed to confess. A business acquaintance tried to teach me of fishing underwater.” He pantomimed.

  “Spearfishing. Omigosh!”

  He nodded. “Is not for me, I think.”

  “You poor man. Did you need stitches? Oh, don’t worry, doctors can do wonders with scars these days.”

  “Nurse at hospital says no operation. She says girls think it is sexy. What you suggest, Renee?”

  The young Audrey Hepburn look-alike nodded, her eyebrows vanishing under her thick dark bangs. “You’d look dignified and handsome no matter what.”

  Long bored with the prattle and more so with her flirting, Borodin was relieved to see the two cops leaving. He kept his back to them as they passed, but as soon as Arne Sorenson spotted him and motioned him over, Borodin grabbed at the opportunity to escape.

  “Excuse me, sweet Renee. I will pay my respects to Arne now. Spasibo. Thank you for your kindness.” He picked up the box and took a step toward Sorenson’s office, then hesitated. Backtracking, he extended the box to her. “Tell me please if I offend, but would you accept these in gratitude for…?”

  An octopus had never latched on to a meal faster. “Don’t be silly. I’m thrilled. Thank you so much.”

  “It was small gesture to Tatiana for good care she takes of my business while I am out of town.”

  “Oh, I know. We girls were always remarking on the presents you sent her. She thought you were the most considerate of all Mr. Sorenson’s clients.”

  “So, now you accept, for you are kind to me to explain.”

  Her lips shimmered and her eyes invited. “Anytime. If there’s anything else I can do…I mean on behalf of Joseph, Bains and Sorenson, please don’t hesitate.”

  Borodin responded with a formal bow. It was, he discovered, what Americans expected of Russians, as though they believed the whole country was descended from the Romanovs. Equally entertaining as he crossed to Arne Sorenson’s office was noticing that the senior partner responsible for the
financial health of the firm was drawing a handkerchief from his inside pocket and dabbing at his brow. No need to guess what he was going through, the gastric anxiety building as he speculated how Melor was to be handled, and what should be acknowledged. If all had gone according to plan, Sorenson did not know of Borodin’s relationship with Tatiana. Their fifteen-year age difference would be incomprehensible to a man whose own predilections targeted girls young enough to be his granddaughter.

  “Arne.” Borodin made sure his expression transmitted bewilderment and grief as he extended his hand to the dignified broker. “I cannot believe what I hear.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s a terrible thing. I saw you were out of town thanks to a note on Tatiana’s calendar, and I must say I was relieved, because of all the people I was dreading having to inform, it’s you. But come in, please. Sit down. Can I get you something? Coffee, water…despite the hour, dare I say a drink? I could almost use one myself.”

  And would indulge very shortly, Borodin mused with wicked confidence. But to the older man he said, “Do not trouble yourself. This is no time to intrude, and I will only stay a moment.”

  Consummately precise and elegant, the businessman gripped his hand again. “That’s exactly why I dreaded this moment. You understand better than most. Just give me a moment to collect myself.” He smoothed a hand over his tie and drew a slow, deep breath. Tall, sinewy and with the charisma of a film star, he drew himself erect as though awaiting a royal mantle to be draped over his shoulders. “She was the best, you know. In all my years in the business, I’ve never worked with anyone so dedicated or with more natural talent as Tatiana.”

  “Was.” Borodin drew back in dismay. “Arne, you, too? You speak of her as of a soul lost?”

  Silver eyebrows trimmed and brushed drew together as Arne steepled his hands in a gesture that could be both plea and prayer. “I must be pragmatic—she is to us regardless of what evolves. The police just left. They told me there’s little hope of her returning, at least willingly. The evidence against her is too strong.”

  “Bah! Is big mistake. Surely there is hope?”

  “I wish. But it appears she and her daughter—a cop for crying out loud—were running a side business. Drugs! Can you believe it? Tatiana wouldn’t even order a glass of wine when I sent her out for lunch on me for National Secretary’s Day. Why? Why narcotics when she made fantastic money here? It’s incomprehensible. I remember her reaction to her first bonus. She wept with gratitude. It must have been her daughter who influenced her, nothing else makes sense. Unfortunately, the authorities are asking for permission to interview the other employees and clients Tatiana had contact with, just in case. My hunch is they’re really at a loss as to where to take this investigation and trying to latch on to any clue, any names she might have dropped in conversation. It’s too much, an outrage, and I told them so. We can’t be subjecting people like yourself to these intrusions on time and privacy.”