No Law (Law #3)

by Camille Taylor

  The look he gave her had her weak at the knees and bile rising in her throat. Alan grabbed her by the arms and kissed her hard. “I love you, Carey. Never forget that.”

  Her mind screamed but she was unable to voice the harsh objection. They heard heavy footsteps moving quickly toward them on the staircase outside their apartment door. They both turned towards the door. Alan took hold of her wrist and pulled her across the room, her feet not wanting to cooperate, so he ended up dragging her to the storage cupboard they had yet to fill. He opened the tall wooden double doors and pushed her in. She stumbled against the back of the cupboard from the force of the shove.

  “Alan,” she cried out, trying to grab his arm. She wanted him beside her but knew that was not his intention.

  “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll stay hidden.” When she didn’t speak, he caught hold of her chin and made her look into his eyes. “Promise me,” he demanded.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she nodded fervently, knowing this would be the last time she ever spoke to him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I love you,” Alan said again as he closed the cupboard doors on her face and moved away. Barely a second later, the door to their apartment exploded in a rain of wood chips and hung precariously on one hinge as Carey watched helplessly through the crack in the cupboard.

  Two men entered and took hold of her husband. Fists and feet connected with his body, and she had to listen to the sounds of pain escaping his mouth, knowing she couldn’t do anything to help him. Revealing herself now would only make matters worse. They would rape and torture her, making sure Alan watched. She would die before him but he would surely follow, so she saved herself, biting down hard on the fist she had stuffed in her mouth to keep from crying out. She tasted the metallic tang in her mouth and knew she had drawn blood.

  She wanted to look away but she’d inadvertently caused her husband’s suffering and it was only right she experienced his pain right along with him. It was a sight she would never forget or forgive. When she thought she could take no more, the second man brought out a gun and she stopped breathing. She screamed inside her head, so loudly her eardrums hurt. The man rose and aimed the weapon. Tears ran down her face in a heavy, quiet stream. Minutes stood still as she did nothing but wait for him to squeeze the trigger.

  Stupid, stupid girl, she cursed herself. Why had she gone to the authorities? She should’ve just waited for Alan. Damn her for wanting to impress him. Damn him for not telling her sooner. Damn the men who were about to end their lives, for as soon as Alan died, a part of her would too.

  I love you, she told Alan silently just as the man fired his gun.

  Carey woke to the sound of car doors slamming. Her heart raced and sweat dampened her body. She tried to shake off the remnants of the dream as she scowled at her alarm clock when it dared to proclaim that the time was five to seven. She’d barely slept, her restless body remaining vigilant so that the slightest sound woke her. Living in an apartment building did little to help and she had made several mental notes to find the owner of the sensitive car alarm and kill him. She’d never before noticed just how many noises about the city sounded so sinister.

  Rolling out of bed, she went to the window, already dressed having slept in her clothes. Adrenaline coursed through her as she spied Thug Number One jogging across the street towards her building.

  She pulled on a pair of white running shoes, then grabbed her purse and the bag she’d prepared. Placing the bag across one shoulder, the straps pulling tight, diagonally between her breasts, she then picked up her cell phone and made her way to the front door, opening it a crack. She was about to step out when the elevator door opened and Thug Number Two exited.

  She closed the door firmly, racing to re-secure the locks. Her breath came out in quick puffs, her heart racing beneath her ribs. Her gaze searched her apartment for a weapon. Finding none she glanced out the window. She was on the seventh floor. It was a long way down, too far for jumping or ledge hugging. She heard the sound of her lock being picked and knew a professional like him would not be kept out for long.

  Undoing the window latch, she lifted the window, which was stiff from lack of use. She climbed out onto the tiny ledge and shimmied across to the fire escape, her heart in her throat as she tried not to think about falling. She didn’t dare look down, knowing full well she’d psych herself out and would most likely fall to her death. She wasn’t one for heights and while it was fine to live on the seventh floor, she certainly never expected to be outside seven floors up.

  Should she knock on some of the windows? Maybe someone would help her. Who was she kidding—this was Washington, for Heaven’s sake.

  She tried to be as quiet as possible as Thug Number One was directly below her watching the exit. She heard the sound of wood splintering and assumed that was Number Two undoing the chain. It would take him a few minutes to notice she wasn’t there.

  Taking the steps one at a time, her eyes cast below her, watching, waiting for the man to spot her. From this distance he could probably pick her off with his pistol and leave her for the pigeons to peck at her body. She had gone halfway before Thug Number One’s cell phone rang. Taylor Swift’s “Mine” rang out loudly. She stopped, stunned and shook her head. People could surprise you.

  “Da,” she heard him say.

  Please don’t look up.

  She assumed that it must be his partner in crime ringing him from her apartment to let him know she wasn’t there. He was more than likely coming back down to help with the search on street level. Standing still on the fire escape, she held her breath and wished to be invisible as Number One moved about beneath her. She could see him clearly from her position, nothing obstructing her view whatsoever. His dark hair was uncombed and stuck up at odd angles, and he wore a leather jacket.

  She carefully removed her iPhone from her pocket and brought up her camera function, positioned it and pressed the button, the sound echoing in the early morning. She almost wet her pants right then and there, having forgotten about the sound, and quickly flicked the button to silence the phone. Thug Number One was so engrossed in his conversation that he hadn’t heard her. She returned her phone to her pocket, silently cursing her stupidity. That could have easily proved fatal. She continued slowly down the fire escape, praying Mikhail’s man would stay distracted long enough for her to get to her car.

  Another car door closing had her head spinning towards the sound, her neck protesting the action, her hand reaching up to massage the strained muscle. Detective Harrington strode across the road purposefully, his speed not what she’d expect from a man his age. He headed for the door of her building, and as he did so, walked past Thug Number Two, the two giving each other a slight nod. She stilled, narrowing her eyes.

  It could have been a simple good morning nod for two strangers walking past one another or it could have been a message to a comrade in arms. She wasn’t one for coincidences. The timing was suspicious. Why else was he here at her apartment building at this hour? He was obviously not here delivering the news that she was no longer a person of interest. That kind of thing could be said over the phone. The fact that he was here at the same time as her friends from the local mafiya had cold sweat running down her spine.

  She wasn’t about to stick around to find out whose side he was on. Even if the detective was here to take her down to the station to ask her a few questions after her lack of communication the day before, she knew she wouldn’t survive the night. Gripping the fire escape hard, her knuckles went white. Great, so not only did she have the local brotherhood chasing her, but Washington’s finest as well. Unfortunately for her, neither was her salvation.

  Reaching the pavement, she hid in the small alley between her building and its neighbor. She shook uncontrollably. Fear had once again reared its ugly head, but she was glad it wasn’t the paralyzing kind. Peering around the corner when another voice spoke, she found Thug Number Two had joined his partner on th
e street and was looking around. She heard Number One say, “She has to be around somewhere. Her car’s still here.”

  Shit. There goes that option.

  They were going to be watching her car unless—

  A man with grey hair walked past the two thugs. If she timed herself just right….

  A gust of wind blew her hair into her face and not for the first time, she cursed her vivid red hair. She may as well be wearing a target on her back. She would have found it easier blending in wearing flaming pink at Capitol Hill.

  The man was just about to pass her when she took a deep breath and fell into step with him. He gave her a cursory glance and she said, “Ex-boyfriend. Can’t let it go.”

  He nodded as if it made sense and didn’t make a deal out of it. She prayed the two men didn’t turn around and spot her. She was almost to her car as she pulled out her keys.

  “Could you do me a big favor and cross here? My car’s right there and—”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Sure. Why not, if it’ll get rid of you.”

  “You’re a good man.”

  He waved her comment off. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  He walked beside her until she got to her car. The man glanced over his shoulder to look at Number One and Two, who for their part were still discussing the fact that she should be somewhere nearby.

  Not soon I hope.

  She pressed the button on her key and the locks disengaged.

  “You’d better hurry, the flashing lights have drawn their attention,” the man said.

  “Thanks. You’d better get out of here,” she told him and jumped into her car, sparing a quick glance in the rearview mirror at the two men running toward her car.

  As she drove away, she heard them shout, “Suka.” Bitch.

  A pop sound pierced her ears and her back window shattered. They’d decided she had pissed them off for the last time. She ducked her head out of view while doing her best to drive out of firing range. She heard another pop, then the sound of metal crumpling. Now she was pissed. There was no need to take it out on her car. It was going to cost a fortune to have a bullet dent ironed out of the back.

  She didn’t see Harrington with them, so she let herself have a small amount of hope that despite him being a pain in the ass, he was at least an honest cop. But then again he wasn’t exactly arresting the two men popping off shots just feet from where he was. Maybe he was just laying low until the idiots stopped shooting, or maybe he was already gone.

  She swerved to avoid hitting a parked car, managing at the last moment to pull away before impact and found herself in traffic, listening to the delightful sound of an irritated driver hitting the horn. After bullets, horns were nothing.

  What the hell am I going to do now?

  The Russians obviously believed she was a threat to them and they wanted to dispose of her. There was no going back to her job or her apartment now. They would be watching for her there. She didn’t have many friends and had been rather anti-social in the years she’d been back from Russia, cutting all ties with those who knew her as Mrs. Alan Thomas.

  She drove around aimlessly, going with the flow of traffic with no destination in mind. She blended in with the early morning commuters, slowing only slightly as congestion began to thicken. Terrified, she studied her rearview mirror for any signs that the two men had caught up with her. The anxiety didn’t lessen when she saw no one following her. Unsure what to do next, her nerves high strung as fear gnawed in her belly, she felt nauseous. She thought briefly of taking the next exit that would take her out of the city but knew it would do no good.

  In Russia, there had been no chance of prosecution, even if she’d known the identities of the men who had murdered Alan. Here, in the States, however, Mikhail was not above the law and somewhere out there was a District Attorney who would love to make an example of him. She had seen Mikhail, had studied his face and could easily, if called upon, describe him to a sketch artist and testify against him in a court of law. He might be acquitted with the right lawyer but that kind of case would come with a decent amount of media coverage and she doubted Mikhail’s bosses, who had made a point to stay under the radar, would appreciate their activities being thrown into the light of day.

  The way she saw it—and she’d studied it from many different angles—she was a dead woman. Sooner or later Mikhail’s men would catch up to her and when they did there would be no bargaining, no pleading, no chance whatsoever for her. She was a witness and witnesses usually didn’t last long around men like Mikhail. No matter where she ran, he would find her. She shivered at the unpleasant image that popped into her head. No, she couldn’t run. There was no point. Her only choice was to stay and fight.

  How she planned to do that, she didn’t know.

  With tears burning her eyes, she brought up her cell and flicked through her contacts list. Since the dark days in the aftermath of Alan’s horrible death, she had closed herself off from the rest of the world, severing all the friendships she had forged over the years. She had wanted to be alone with her grief and the guilt she felt for playing such a pivotal part. To this day, only a select few knew the truth about her involvement in Alan’s death and she never again wanted to be in the position to inadvertently cause another person’s demise. Which was why she had steered clear of all types of relationships, unable to forget the past and forgive herself. The only thing that had kept her sane was her work, her own safe haven, or at least it had been until a few nights ago.

  Her parents lived in Minnesota, and while they would do anything for her, they couldn’t help. Her problem was well beyond the scope that her mechanic father and homemaker mother could assist with. Most of the numbers saved in her phone were work related, most contacts within museums across the world, the majority in Russia. That was her one-up; she had the in with Russia, having friends in the top museums and even in the Ministry of Culture, the big wigs when it came to letting Russia’s historical treasures out of the country.

  She stopped when she reached Elena’s number. As much as she didn’t want to trouble her, she saw no other solution. She needed help and had nowhere else to turn. She took a moment to appreciate the sad state her life had become before glancing at the digital clock on her dashboard, hoping it wasn’t too early to call, and was shocked to discover it past eleven. She hadn’t even noticed the hours ticking away as she’d driven aimlessly around the city.

  Navigating through traffic, she hit the call button and listened to it ring. The answering machine announced that Lucas and Elena were currently unavailable, and she closed her eyes for a split second, panic welling up inside her as she felt the urge to give up and cry.

  Resigned, she spoke into the phone, silently praying Elena would get back to her soon. Then she hung up and continued driving to God knows where. She had already burned a quarter of a tank that morning. Another hour or so and she’d need to pull into a service station, the thought leaving her feeling cold and vulnerable. After a few moments of internal debate, she made a U-turn, cutting across the lanes of traffic and headed towards Annandale.

  She picked up her phone again and accessed her address section. She knew she had Elena’s address somewhere, and she only prayed she’d saved it in her phone. She hadn’t been a great friend to Elena, not seeing her since she’d left Moscow, but she had sent a sympathy card to her when Elena’s first husband had been killed.

  Later, she’d sent a congratulations card along with a big teddy bear to the house when Elena’s daughter had been born. She let out a deep breath when she found what she was looking for, then punched the info into her GPS and tried to calm herself.

  Chapter 16

  Dmitry followed Elena inside, burdened down with groceries while she juggled Yvonne on her hip, her purse and the baby bag on her shoulder, her house keys in her hand.

  “When I said I’d love to help out, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said as he put the bags down on the kitchen counter and too
k his little niece into his arms. At six months, Yvonne was just starting to show her personality, including her Russian roots.

  “Stop grouching,” Elena told him as she began putting her purchases into the pantry. He smiled as Yvonne blew a raspberry. She was just the sweetest thing and told Elena so.

  Her gaze dropped to Yvonne, as if expecting to see him speaking of another child in his arms. “Oh, sure, except for crying out five times a night and pooping constantly. But sure, she’s sweet, unless of course you feed her pumpkin, because she’s not one for her vegetables. Just like her daddy.”

  He heard the love in her voice and ached inside. Being around the Gates family always did that to him. They were just so happy and in love. Would he ever experience the same feelings?

  “Yeah, well, Lucas doesn’t need silly girly vegetables to make him big and strong, that’s what a gym’s for,” he said. His brother-in-law was not lacking in the strength department.

  “Don’t listen to Uncle Dmitry, Yvonne. Vegetables are good for you and so yummy.”

  Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Tell the kid some more lies, Elena. Why don’t you tell her all about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny while you’re at it?”

  “Shush,” Elena scolded him as she covered the baby’s ears. “She’s at a very susceptible age.”

  “She’d better learn the realities of life fast, like how she won’t be dating until she’s at least thirty, if Lucas and I have our way, and don’t forget Daddy’s packing. Good luck to any boy who wishes to court Yvonne Gates,” he added, laughing.

  “Ha-ha,” Elena said. “You’re supposed to be on my side, not Lucas’s.”

  He scowled. “Fat chance of that. No man is ever touching my niece.”

  Elena smiled at the protectiveness in his voice and looked over his broad shoulder to see the answering machine blinking rapidly. She bounced over to the machine like a teenage girl waiting for her first crush to call, ruffling his hair with her fingers as she’d done many times when they were children on her way past.