by D. A. Young
“Is-is that a piece of an eyeball?” Blaise hissed. He was pointing at some shriveled gray matter on the once cream rug.
“It is. Watch your step.”
Carefully, Holt walked toward the bathroom, studying the floor as he went. Inside the bathroom were a used towel and washcloth and shower gel. Underneath the sink cabinet, another towel set. The shower curtain was gone. Holt knew it had been utilized to dispose of the girl’s body. He moved to the closet and found a few articles of women’s clothing from H&M. Size six.
The pricier clothing had been tossed away in favor of the less expensive brand???
Holt bent down and looked underneath the bed. Nothing.
“If you’re searching for another thousand square feet to appear and actually make this place livable, good luck,” Blaise cracked sarcastically, restless to be gone.
Holt got back to his feet and steered his cousin back out to the main room. “I know that’s your coping mechanism kicking in. This is a situation that no one could’ve predicted. Step out if you need to clear your head. If you decide to come back in, leave the commentary behind.”
There was shuffling in the outside hallway, and they frowned at each other. Next came the unmistakable rattle of the doorknob. It stopped then shook more aggressively. The men before them had a key. This wasn’t a friend. With caution, they approached it, and Blaise withdrew his Glock. Holt motioned for him to take the right side of the door, slightly around the corner. Blaise shifted into position, pointing his weapon directly at the entrance. Muscles vibrating in anticipation, Holt moved to stand behind the door. He reached behind him, easing his axe from its holster. The door inched open, and the hooded intruder eased in, reaching behind to quietly close the door.
Holt hooked them around their neck, wedging it between his bicep and forearm, cutting off their blood flow. If they continued to struggle, he could fracture their neck. Immediately, it registered to him that the intruder was female as her rounded bottom grazed his front and his hand pressed against the soft mounds of her chest. Blaise’s gawking as he revealed himself confirmed it.
“Helvette! Who is she?” he demanded of Holt.
“Do you not recall that one time when we arrived here together?” Holt reminded him dryly as his captive’s struggles decreased and she suddenly went limp. “I know just as much as you do.”
He lifted her over his shoulder and placed her on the sofa. Blaise grabbed the dining chairs, and the cousins hunkered down across from her to wait as she regained consciousness.
***
She was about five-feet-ten inches and an umber hue. Her individually braided hair was waist-length and framed her round face. Her deep-set brown eyes under thick arched brows darted around the flat, avoiding Holt and Blaise, seated across her. Pressing her voluptuous lips together, the mystery woman huddled into her oversized black sweatshirt, trying to make herself inconspicuous.
“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?!” Her accent was American. Holt bet it was normally pleasant, but under the current circumstances, it had elevated with hysteria.
“A better question is who are you and why are you breaking into my brother’s place?” Blaise asked with hostility while Holt remained silent, his unflinching stare focused on her.
Her eyes widened then narrowed with comprehension at the brightly dressed man, who seemed the lesser of two evils. She shoved her hands in her pockets, searching for the box cutter Holt had removed. Her missing weapon didn’t deter her. She launched herself off the couch at him with an enraged scream. Holt caught her around the waist and slammed her back down on the sofa, holding her in place with his knee in her stomach with minimal effort. Her movements were panicked as she clawed at his thigh and tried to reach his junk. Holt caught her wrists in one hand. Her eyes still spit fire, yet her movements stilled when he pulled his axe out and held it in front of her face.
“Lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but you have five minutes to compose yourself and start talkin’, or I’m gonna peel you like a fuckin’ banana. I’ll start at your forehead and won’t stop until your damn toenails pop off.”
The fact that he was robotic and matter-of-fact about the threat made him even more terrifying, she thought, heart pounding. Terrifying and fine as shit. His arresting face was reserved, and those gorgeous blue eyes were bottomless glaciers. They missed nothing. The mountain had anticipated her move before she’d even decided to attack. However, she could feel the barely restrained fury in his touch, and it seared her from the inside out. Fire and ice. He was a man proficient in violence and didn’t make idle threats.
“The idea holds a certain ah-peel for me,” Blaise quipped, pun intended. “Do it. She knows more than she’s telling.”
They both ignored him.
“You’re American?” she gasped, feeling slightly optimistic as if their nationality gave them a common bond to negotiate. “Promise you’ll let me go, and I’ll tell you whatever I can!”
All the blonde giant said was, “Four minutes.”
“Get off me!” she snarled, dropping her arms. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just let me go!”
He released her, sat back down, and focused on her, the axe handle swinging nonchalantly between his fingers. She knew he wasn’t in the least bit swayed by her being a woman and would use the axe at his discretion.
“Feisty bitch,” Blaise drawled, crossing his legs. “Should we break her of those bad manners, too?”
“Fuck you, pixie dust!” she spat.
His feral grin stretched wide across his face. “You’re nowhere near my type.”
“Two minutes,” Holt reminded her.
Tossing Blaise a fulminating glare, she enunciated, “My name is Zoraida Quinn! I’m from San Jose, California and arrived here ten days ago, looking for my cousin Arianna. She left home for college in Atlanta two years ago, and everything was fine. Arianna didn’t come home her freshman year, due to school, her internship, and all our conflicting work schedules. It was hard, but we Skyped, texted, and called each other frequently. Then suddenly, all lines of communication shut down. She went missing. It took another three months of the cops not helping for me to quit my job and commit to searching for her full-time.
Turns out, she was only in Atlanta for five months. She met a guy and moved to Miami for him. There was another guy in D.C. and finally New York!” Zoraida rolled her eyes. “Her roommate in Miami was the only one she kept in touch with. She said Ari met a rich guy, and they were inseparable. The day I arrived here, Arianna called home and spoke to my mother. She said that she’d been in trouble but was finally getting out.”
Her voice wobbled, and Zoraida’s long lashes swept her prominent cheekbones. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to compose herself. If the tears fell, she couldn’t predict when they’d stop. Being weak wasn’t an option or extravagance she could afford right now.
“Arianna feared for her life. My mother told my little cousin that I was coming! That everything would be okay! Her big cousin was coming to save the day like I always did. And I planned to. Mommy gave me the address, and I came directly here. Arianna was so happy to see me! She looked like she’d been through some shit. I told her to come with me to my hotel. Arianna insisted she had one more thing to do. Told me she’d meet me later and couldn’t wait for us to be together like old times. That she just wanted us to go home.”
Holt pressed forward, full of urgency and hopefully on the verge of discovering another piece of this puzzle. “What happened then?”
“Hours went by. I hadn’t bothered unpacking and was ready to buy our tickets home and camp out at the airport until the flight was ready. I got a bad feeling and went back for her. I knocked and knocked and received no answer. I was desperate, so I broke in.” Zoraida’s eyes dulled, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom and looked physically ill.
“That’s when I saw the room. I heard voices in the hallway, and the doorknob rattled. I left out the bathroom window and ran out of
here, straight back to the hotel and checked out.” Zoraida’s head came up defiantly. “But I wasn’t going to wilt into the fucking shadows! I’ve been staying at a hostel nearby and discreetly coming by to check and see if any missing persons or murders have been reported. I’ve noticed the three men, but Ari hasn’t been back.”
“May I see a picture of your cousin, ma’am?” Holt asked softly. “Blaise, make sure Thea gets it.”
Zoraida pulled her phone out and showed it to him. Holt studied the pretty young woman and passed the phone to Blaise, who snapped the pic and texted it to Thea. It was horrifying that someone had purposefully blown her face off. The cousins avoided making eye contact, allowing Zoraida to hold on to her hope a little longer.
She focused on Blaise, “What’s your story? You said this place belongs to your brother?”
He swiped his hand across his face. “Yeah, it does. Listen, Ms. Warner, I apologize for my earlier behavior.”
Zoraida acknowledged the confession with a jerky nod. “I just want to find Arianna and take her home. I didn’t mean to break in or cause you any more trouble, I swear. I don’t know shit and won’t say shit. On God, you have my word.”
Holt showed her a pic of Matty. “This is Mattias Falk. Have you ever met him? Or heard about him? Does his name mean anythin’ to you?”
Zoraida peered at the picture closely, studying it. Holt waited patiently. Even as Blaise’s phone pinged and from Holt’s peripheral, his cousin’s head bowed in resignation.
“No. I don’t know him or even if he’s the guy Zoe was involved in.” Her eyes zigzagged between the cousins, and she jumped up. Defensively, she wrapped her arms around her middle and backed away from them. “What aren’t you telling me?! Don’t fucking lie to me either! After the hell we’ve been through, praying and worrying, I want to be able to give my family some good news.”
“Get the car, Blaise.” Holt stood up slowly, not wanting to alarm her but prepared to offer comfort as he delivered the killing blow.
The younger man hastened to obey. Tears filling his eyes as he closed the front door behind him. He might be an obnoxious ass ninety percent of the time, but Zoraida was a victim as much as they were in this mystery. Blaise was halfway down the walkway when her anguished scream pierced his heart.
***
“Hola?”
“Hey, you busy?” Holt stated, watching as Zoraida packed up her things. He was worried about her. She’d been relatively quiet after her initial outburst. Holt didn’t blame her. She’d been entitled to it.
“Si. You’ve caught me in the middle of making my world-famous tortilla paisana! If you’re nice to me, perhaps, I’ll share the recipe with you. Okay, since you didn’t ask and I’m bored to death, the trick is to use a good Spanish ham, like serrano, and finely diced potatoes and a non-stick frying pan.”
Holt snickered. “My God, you really are bored out of your mind, aren’t you?”
“I have finished ten novella series on Netflix since I last saw you. Chill-less.”
“Then today’s your lucky day. I need you to come to Sweden and pick up a package.”
“Que?”
“Get with Romankov. His plane should be ready and standin’ by.”
“Que?”
“Merada!”
Cruz’s chuckle filled Holt’s ears.
“Relax, Woodsman. I’ll go speak with him now.”
“When you do, can you check on Kat? She didn’t come back home last night and texted me that she’d be sleepin’ at Autumn and Tuck’s. I haven’t heard from her since.”
The rough-edged anxiety in Holt’s tone furrowed Cruz’s brow. The Swede and his princess were always joined at the hip or talking and texting. Even when Brammer went out of town.
“You can count on me, amigo.”
Holt disconnected the call and foreboding settled over him like a thunder cloud, making him feel stupid for dismissing Kat’s earlier premonitions.
“I’m packed,” Zoraida announced woodenly, standing by the door waiting for him, her luggage at her feet, backpack over her shoulder, and a small, gold box in her hands. She looked so defeated that Holt’s heart went out to her. After breaking Arianna’s death to Zoraida, they’d gone to the crematory where Thea had sent the body and paid to have it preserved until Holt could view it. Zoraida had wanted to see Arianna one last time until she changed her mind when Holt pulled her aside.
“You don’t want to see her like that. Remember Arianna the way she intended you to. In the end, she was obviously tryin’ to shield you from the ugliness she’d encountered. Honor her memory in that way.”
He took her roll-on carrier and the backpack from her shoulders. “You hungry?”
“No.” Zoraida had nothing left to give or share, least of all small talk. She felt blessedly numb now that the truth had been revealed. “Where are you taking me now?”
“Blaise is taking you to the airport. From there, a friend of mine will accompany you back to San Jose and escort you right to your mother’s door.”
“It’s not necessary,” she automatically said. These people had gone above and beyond in what they’d accomplished in such a short time for her. “I’ll be fine.”
“Zoraida, I’m sorry for your loss. I swear to you that I will get to the bottom of this and bring you and your family the closure and justice that you deserve.”
She believed he would, too. The steely mask of resolve in Holt would not allow him any other course of action. Zoraida pressed the box to her chest and reached out to hug him with one arm.
“Thank you for this, Holt. It’s obviously not the way I planned to accomplish my goal, but at least Ari and I will be going home together.”
***
Cruz downed the rest of his Jameson and finished the last slice of his paisana, eager to be on his way. As it was Sunday, the butcher shop was closed, and he’d planned to relax and reevaluate his life and this shitty assignment. He got up from the kitchen table grabbed his leather jacket, shoving it on, along with his boots. Cruz checked the jacket pocket for cigarettes and a lighter and headed down to the garage. His phone rang and he paused, debating whether to answer it after staring at the name Hidalgo for a moment.
“Shit! Just leave me alone!” he groaned.
Cruz ignored it and reached for his helmet. He strapped it on, used his remote to open the garage door, and hopped on his Ducati 750 GT. It was built in 1974 and had been faithfully restored to perfection. The tomato-red paint job had been a bitch to get right. Cruz had visited twelve custom body paint shops and interviewed them extensively before finally making a selection. Chrome gleaming and black leather polished impeccably, it sat like an enchanting siren, beckoning him to take her on a beautiful ride. He was the only one allowed on her and gave it a thorough revving for good measure before easing out into the alley. The door automatically slid shut behind him and Cruz was off, expertly handling the powerful machine despite the snow and slick roads. It was all the action he’d gotten since returning from Europe, he dismally thought.
Discussing the continent with Thea had done wonders for his disposition. It also made him anxious to return. Cruz missed the freedom he had there. He detested the cold weather here and longed for the warmth of the Mediterranean and a silken body underneath his. As much as he’d been tempted to accept Thea’s provocative invitation, he did not believe in mixing business with pleasure, friends or family; no matter how nice a woman’s rack or ass. Despite his agenda here in Whiskey Row, Brammer was his amigo. He would not dishonor their friendship.
Too many women were eager to participate in warming his bed. Cruz didn’t want a ‘yes woman’. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate their gestures. He always reciprocated their gratefulness in bed. The problem, Cruz had explained to them regretfully, was he had an unapologetically disloyal dick that couldn’t be reformed.
He rode up to the Romankov estate and waited patiently to be announced. The driveway was lined with the cars of all of El Lobo’s children
, so Cruz roared past them and stopped in front of the doors, amiably greeting the guards and steering clear of the Ovcharkas. The butler opened the front door to him.
“Good morning, sir. You’re expected in the family room.”
Cruz didn’t know where that was so he just followed the commotion. He pointed to the closed double doors, and the butler gave him a thumbs-up. Cruz opened the door and walked into complete chaos. “The Wolf” was pissed. His better half was even more so as were his sons. They were all circled protectively around the princess, who looked like death warmed over.
Alexei saw him and raised his hand for silence and instantly received it. “Merada.”
Extremely concerned by Kat’s wan appearance, Cruz didn’t bother cracking jokes. “Alexei, what’s going on? Perhaps, I may be of assistance?”
“Nothing I won’t deal with when I get to Sweden,” the Russian declared ominously. “I’m coming with you.”
“Me too!” Vivienne added darkly.
“Now, hold on a darn minute!” Casey interjected, his irritation evident. “We really not givin’ him the benefit of the doubt! He wouldn’t do that to Kat!”
“No one is disputin’ that fact!” Jack impatiently explained. “But someone obviously felt like they could disrespect her like that! I’m goin’, too!”
Cruz observed Senorita Romankov sitting quietly, thinking not for the first time, how lucky his amigo was. Even today when she looked under the weather. Dressed in all black, her red curls and the crimson slash of lipstick were vividly stark against her wan hue. She reminded him of the unlucky heroine in a tragic love story. Her vibrant personality had been buried deep like a treasure.
“We’re talkin’ crossin’ international waters here,” Darby chimed in. “If anyone is goin’ with them, it’ll be me! The two of y’all hold down the fort while we—”
