“Let’s find out.” He nudged her forward.
Tarlev looked up as the two of them approached. The bald man stood up and slipped away without giving them a glance.
“Dorka,” Janna said, greeting Tarlev in his native Cleatian. “We appreciate you meeting with us tonight. Will your, um, colleague join us soon?”
Before she and Simon could take seats, Tarlev leaped to his feet faster than such a big man should be able to move.
“Nich, nich.” He shook his head emphatically. “Kravka is not coming. I cannot stay. I have nothing to tell you. I must leave now.”
On the video, the gangster had been expressionless, a mask of watchful protection. Now, creases in his forehead were deep as gullies. Sweat trickled down his ruddy face. Fear radiated from him.
“What’s he saying?” Simon turned to her.
She gave him a succinct summary, then asked the other man in Cleatian, “But why? This afternoon you promised you would answer some questions. We’ll pay you.”
“Nich! I cannot.” He lowered his voice. “Talking to you is not worth my life.”
Before she could press the hulking bodyguard further, he lumbered off through the maze of tables and people.
“Don’t let him get away.” Simon started after him.
She stopped the recorder and raced after Simon.
A waiter bearing a tray of dirty crockery on his shoulder stopped to stare, but the vodka drinkers continued their bibulous meditation. A woman holding a tankard barked a rebuke in Ukrainian at Janna.
Outside, she found Simon looking for their quarry. Barhopping citizens blocked the sidewalk and the view.
Inside the bar, a strong tenor voice began a Cleatian folk song.
Across the street, beside a vendor cart, the two DARK backups threw down their cigarettes and pointed to the left. Simon nodded. All four of them took off running.
Halfway down the block, Janna heard the loud report of a gunshot.
Chapter 6
AT THE TAP, tap, tap from across the room, Simon opened one eye. He stretched. Yawned. He’d gotten half his wish. He was spending the night in the same room with Janna. But with a major change in plans. He was catching Z’s on a waiting-room sofa in the ICU, and she was hunched over her laptop. Fully clothed, dammit.
He rolled to a sitting position and scrubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. A bed of stable hay was more comfortable than this sofa that must’ve once been Ali’s punching bag. “What time is it?”
“4:23.” She didn’t look up as her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Simon had dozed off after the thug named Tarlev was wheeled from surgery into intensive care. The DARK officers had found the man bleeding in an alley down the street from the Danube. Whoever shot him in the neck vanished over a back fence. Either the shooter intended the wound as a warning, or he fired in a hurry when he heard feet beating toward him. Sooner than Simon expected, the NYPD and an ambulance arrived in a chorus of sirens.
The red-haired gangster had spilled a lot of blood, but it looked like he’d make it. Everything happened so fast that Simon wasn’t sure what hospital the ambulance led them to. Bellevue, maybe. The room had plenty of industrial-grade upholstered chairs, two sofas, a bookcase stocked with children’s games, Bibles and People magazines — things to keep worried families busy during anxious hours.
For the moment, only he and Janna were waiting for the wounded man to regain consciousness. Mascolo promised to check in, but so far was a no-show.
He levered to his feet and found a restroom. A few minutes later, washed and refreshed, he returned to find Janna scowling at the blinking cursor.
Even she couldn’t spend this much time on red tape. And how did she manage to look so great after a sleepless night? She’d pushed the phony glasses up on her head, giving her a rumpled look, like she just got out of bed. He’d watched her sleep. He knew. Damn. Working with her without putting his hands on her was giving him the terminal hots.
Stifling his heated reaction, he said, “What we have to report won’t fill three paragraphs. What the hell are you doing?” He flopped down on the chair beside her. Her scent barely penetrated the hospital miasma of antiseptic and medicinal odors, but he scooted closer anyway.
“Wasting my time.” With a disgusted snort, she shut down the laptop and clicked the lid shut. Before she raised her gaze to his, she slid the glasses in place.
Wasting time? He’d never known her to fritter away a nanosecond. “Playing Battleship? Spider Solitaire?” When she gave him a disgusted look, he said, “Care to let me in on it?”
She leaned closer and whispered, “I was hacking into DARK’s personnel records.”
A string of obscenities sprang to his tongue, but he swallowed them. “Going for Gabe’s files? You’re certifiably nuts! Don’t you know—” But of course she did. She’d give him an ulcer.
Her mouth was a taut line. “If I have a record of his assignments and travel, I can see if they match when Roszca was known to be in the U.S. Or if he had legitimate assignments.”
“So why the long face?”
“I couldn’t get past DARK security. Don’t worry. I didn’t leave a calling card.” She unplugged her computer and slipped it into the case.
He slumped back in his chair. Relief swept over him. Hacking into DARK files could mean big trouble, even if she’d done nothing else. “I hope you’re keeping track of all the rules we break.”
The woeful look in her eyes plunged a knife into his chest. “I just want the truth.”
But her hacking hadn’t worked. He straightened. “Wait a minute. The ultimate geek couldn’t penetrate a firewall? With all those geek degrees, you were hobbled?”
“A BS in electrical engineering, a master’s in computer engineering and nada.”
“Hoo boy, Q, if you can’t get in, DARK’s secrets are safe from the bad guys.”
“What a relief.” Sarcasm colored her words, but amusement danced in her eyes for the first time in a long time. “But how will I find that information on Gabe without going through official channels and blowing secrecy?”
“No sweat. I’ll share a Snickers bar with Sherry in Personnel.” Worming a printout from her might take more than candy, but Janna didn’t need that much information. The idea of hitting on Sherry didn’t grab him as much as it should. Damned weird. He must be getting old.
But won’t she wonder why you’re asking about Gabe?”
“I’ll tell her it’s for a memorial. I’ll be cool.”
“I know. They all do whatever Simon says. You charm—”
“Okay, kids, you’re on.” Mascolo rushed into the room and stopped behind Janna. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tarlev’s awake and asking for ‘agent voman.’”
Janna leaped to her feet, neatly ducking away from the New York officer’s light grasp. Her eyes widened and her cheeks paled.
Did she think Mascolo might’ve heard their conversation?
Her lashes fluttered. She bent to pick up her laptop case and seemed to need to collect her composure. “Oh, that’s great. So he can talk okay?” The breathy pitch of her voice betrayed emotion.
Mascolo had the look of a man who’d been shot down. Simon ran his tongue around his teeth to hide a grin. She’d ducked away from somebody besides him.
The other man slugged his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “Uh, yeah, he can talk, but it ain’t English. And he sounds like a rusty chainsaw.”
Simon and Janna followed Mascolo into the ICU hub. A nurse station with banks of electronics dominated the center of the room. Small single-patient alcoves ringed the hub, equipped with monitoring devices connected to the central station. High tech. Janna would probably like a look at that stuff.
Mascolo led them to a room on the other side of the hub.
Blinking and beeping monitors surrounded Tarlev’s bed. IVs dripped medication and blood into his left arm. White bandages swathed his ne
ck and shoulders in unfinished mummy wrappings.
Janna flicked on the tiny recorder and spoke to Tarlev in Cleatian.
His answer was part whisper, part creaky gate. The doctor had told Mascolo his vocal cords suffered no real damage, but were swollen from trauma to the throat.
The tape would be translated afterward. Ramsey had insisted, as a backup. Simon trusted Janna, but he wanted answers. Now. After the wounded man replied, he could wait no longer. “What’s he saying?”
She turned to him. “He says he doesn’t know much. I think he’s still afraid.”
“Dammit. Offer him protection. Anything. Roszca’s pals would’ve killed him whether he talked to us or not. They’ll try again.”
She explained to Tarlev.
Watery blue eyes flickered from her to Simon and back. “Dak,” he agreed, apparently satisfied with the offer. Simon understood that much.
She listened intently to the rest of his raspy speech. Then she put up a hand to stop him and translated. “He says he owes them nothing after what they did. But he wants us to find Kravka because they’ll kill him too.”
“We can try. No guarantees. Mascolo?”
The New York man shrugged. “I can check a few places. Talk to the NYPD or the Feebs.”
Simon turned back to Janna. “Our guy looks like he’s fading. Find out what you can before he passes out.” He handed her the surveillance photos.
She showed the photos to the gangster, whose eyes lowered to half mast. Her hand trembled when she came to her husband’s picture. Simon understood little, but caught the only other Cleatian word he knew — nich, no. Tarlev didn’t know Gabe. He had few words to say about any of them. After more questions and halting answers in Cleatian, they left the man drifting into sleep and returned to the waiting room.
“What’d you get?” He hated to sound impatient, but he was beat and they needed a break in this mess.
She chewed her lip and frowned. Her eyes were bleak as a winter sky when she raised them. “He didn’t know names for any of the men in the pictures — except for Roszca and Wharton, of course.”
Obviously she’d hoped for something more about Gabe — anything. No comforting her about that, whether or not Mascolo was looking on curiously. “Anything else?”
“The name of Roszca’s hideout, but not where it is.”
“Yeah?”
“A place called Isla Alta.”
***
Janna slotted her Prius in its space and cut the engine. She sagged with tiredness, her head buzzed with questions and her insides quivered with anxiety.
She’d accustomed herself to people’s casual touches to the point where she could breathe normally and her chest didn’t tighten. But being with Simon and discovering Gabe on that tape revived all the turmoil she’d fought to calm during the past several months. When the New York operative put his hands on her, she went into fight-or-flight mode, as though a bear attacked her. She had to defeat her fear of being trapped so she could feel normal again.
Thank goodness it was Sunday. She could stitch herself together before reporting to the AD. She lifted her weekend suitcase and briefcase from the hatchback, locked up and traipsed from the garage building, across the commons to her townhouse condominium.
She’d driven to the airport, but usually the car sat right where it was, and she took the subway to work downtown from the Takoma Metro stop only a block away from the condo complex.
Gabe had insisted they drive to and from Virginia every day. Subways were for the peons and the tourists, he said. She commuted by subway before her marriage and liked being part of the city’s dynamic life, not isolated in a luxury sedan and a sterile, gated community.
As soon as she sold the pseudo mansion house Gabe had chosen, she moved into this older section of the city. The condo complex was new, but designed to blend in. And all around her spread the comfort of a real neighborhood with tree-lined streets and old brick houses, each one different. She loved Takoma Park, with its parks, eclectic shops, restaurants and farmer’s market.
“Hi, Janna! Glad you finally did something other than work. Have a nice weekend?” Deena Blair jogged up to join her. The energetic woman lived a few doors down and worked at the National Institutes of Health.
Janna didn’t want to disappoint her friend. “I did. Good to get away. How were things here?”
Six feet tall, with warm brown eyes and just as warm a personality, Deena slowed her pace to match Janna’s. Her shorts and shirt in day-glo orange flashed as bright as a traffic light. “Same old, same old. Your kitty meowed pitifully, but I fed him the amount you said. No more.”
“Rocky would eat all day. Thanks for taking care of him.”
“No prob.” A smile woke dimples in her cheeks. “Gotta get going before I cool off too much. Join me?”
Janna gestured to her bags. “Maybe tomorrow.” The two women often jogged together. Janna had taken up running to train for her DARK advancement. On days she couldn’t run, she swam at the nearby fitness club.
Jogging in place, Deena said, “Oh, new owner just moved into the townhouse across from you. Hunky single guy. You should take him some welcome-to-the-condo cookies.”
Deena was constantly trying to fix her up with men. She grinned and shook her head. “Maybe you should.”
The other woman rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend, you’re hopeless.” She waved and jogged off down the sidewalk toward the Maryland line and Sligo Creek Park.
Not hopeless, just in control. And she would stay that way. As soon as she could straighten out the mess Gabe left behind. As soon as she could level off whatever relationship she now had with Simon.
The slam of a neighbor’s door jerked her back to reality. Gabe was dead. She was free and independent. And safe. And she’d stay that way.
She tugged her rolling suitcase up the brick walkway and opened her door. Tapping in the security code, she called, “Mama’s home.”
“Mrrr,” came a plaintive voice from the living room.
Janna knelt to caress the brown tabby that ambled over to rub himself against her. “There you are, Rocky Raccoon. I’ll feed you, and then you can help me unpack.”
Crooked tail twitching with anticipation, the feline followed her into the kitchen.
An hour later, after she stowed the suitcase in her bedroom closet, she made a call.
“Hi, Janna. Just checking in?” said the cheerful voice when she identified herself.
“Dr. French,” Janna said. “I’m so glad you’re there.”
The phone was a secure land line. Janna had swept the entire apartment. DARK demanded it, and her tech experience made it part of her natural routine.
“I told you I expected to hear from you. How’d you get along working with Simon?”
Janna emitted her relief with a whoosh of breath. Tears welled. She finally had someone she could confide in. DARK’s secrets as well as hers were safe with Dr. Sarah French. Janna had done a background check before beginning to see the psychologist. Her office appointments had dwindled to occasional ones, but the two women talked on the phone often. Dr. French’s support and encouragement had bolstered her strength to leave Gabe. She needed another hefty dose of courage.
Janna stretched out on her bed. Rocky leaped up beside her, contorted his sinewy body and began washing his chest. She reached out to scratch between his ears. Where should she begin? “Simon is only one of my problems. There have been other … developments.”
“Go ahead. What happened?” The counselor’s warm voice conveyed confidence and caring.
Janna couldn’t tell her all the facts, even though Dr. French would hold it all in confidence. How could she reveal what she’d begged Simon to keep secret? Having the warmth of her cat tucked against her side made it easier. “Gabe’s connected to this op, to the man arrested in New York. Something he was involved in just before he died.”
“You must’ve been so shocked.”
“And how did you manage with Simon?” Dr. French knew all about her ambivalence in that department.
“Simon was a rock.” If he hadn’t been there with her, she couldn’t have gotten through the weekend. What would some other officer have said? Or done? She shuddered.
“I’m going to put you on the spot,” said the woman. “Why are you still keeping Gabe’s pathological control and abuse secret? Especially from your family and your friend Simon?”
Her heart pounded with throbbing force and she drew a deep breath. She asked herself that question constantly. Why? “Too many reasons. How could I more than a year after his death? People wouldn’t believe me. They saw only the heroic side of him, the Dr. Jekyll side. And telling people would bring back all the anger and pain—”
“And shame?”
With tears clogging her throat, Janna couldn’t reply.
“After all our talks and the articles I know you’ve read, you still blame yourself for what he did. You made the choice to break free. You had the courage to leave your abuser.”
Only she didn’t leave. He died, and she didn’t have to go through with it. Fate had allowed her to avoid the horrors that other women suffered when their husbands pursued them, stalked them. “Yes, and I don’t want to go there again.”
When she dated Gabe, he’d been the perfect gentleman, the prince every woman longs to find. He looked past the socialite history and the brainy geek to the woman beneath. He seemed to respect her work and treated her as an equal.
Until after the wedding. Then he changed. Her marriage slid from a giddy peak of new love to confusion and humiliation down to a pit of fear.
Sarah French’s gentle voice reeled her from her thoughts. “Janna, you’re not my typical client. You’re more educated and stronger in many ways than most. You dealt with the trauma intellectually, but emotionally, you haven’t faced the reality or its toll on your life. Beginning with one person would be a start. You need Simon’s help. Why not tell him?”
Dark Rules (The DARK Files Book 3) Page 5
