by Cate Clarke
Kennedy would have to do a test.
“When did you guys get here?” Kennedy asked, leaning back in the seat. Willow and Bobby exchanged glances, raising their eyebrows at each other in a silent contemplation.
“Just—” Willow started. “Just a few days ago.”
The van was not old or new. The cloth on the seats was worn, and it smelled of ancient cigarette smoke. Kennedy hoped for some music or even talk radio, but neither of them had even made a move toward the dial.
“A lot of people come to Washington in the summer to hike and stuff,” Kennedy continued. “March… not so much.”
“I said, no more questions, hun,” Willow said, an edge in her voice.
Kennedy insisted, “That wasn’t a question.”
“Well, maybe we can have some quiet time as we drive, you know?” Their eyes slid to her again, Willow’s over her shoulder and Bobby’s in the rearview mirror.
“I’ve never been to North Dakota. But I’ve heard it gets really cold up there,” Kennedy said, not stopping. Full speed ahead. “You guys get lots of snow?”
The brakes slammed. Kennedy went flying forwards, the seat belt tugging around her waist but her face flying into the back of the driver’s seat. A fuzzy pain shot across her forehead. She shook her head as she tried to regain some sense. They were pulled over on the shoulder. Bobby had gotten out of the car and was now opening the door to the backseat. Willow had undone her seat belt and was sitting on the console, staring at Kennedy with her intense green-eyed stare.
The door opened, Bobby got in and sat next to her on the backseat. His extra weight pushed down onto her as he inched himself as close as possible without being on top of her. The seat belt was pulling at Kennedy’s body, slicing into her as she tried to move away.
“Listen, girl,” Bobby said. “We said that’s enough. That means it’s enough. No more questions. No more talking. We were so nice to pick you up and take you out of those nasty woods. Your mom never taught you to be polite, yeah? We’ve gotta long drive ahead so it’s going to be a lot easier for you to go to sleep. In fact, you gotta sleep. You’re gonna lie down and close your eyes, I bet. That’ll feel good for you to get some rest. I know you’re just grateful to us, Kennedy. So the least you can do is do what we say.”
His breath smelled of Gatorade and old cheddar—it overwhelmed the bottom of her face as he kept close to her, waiting for her reply. Kennedy was breathing hard, her lip trembling and her eyes moving back and forth. Willow just stared. They all waited.
After a couple more moments of shaking and breathing, Willow asked, “That make sense, hun?”
Swallowing and nodding, Kennedy forced the tears to stay in her eyes.
Bobby said, leaning back with a smile breaking across his aging face, “Uff. Sorry about that. Let’s get back on the road, hey?”
The backseat door closed, and Kennedy lay down across the seats. The wool blanket was placed back overtop of her as she stared into the grayness of the back of the driver’s seat.
The test had worked. At least, there was that. Kennedy knew now that the Lefferts were not on her side—they did not find her to help her. Squinting into the dim space between the floor and cloth, Kennedy’s suspicions about the Lefferts were only reaffirmed by the sight of bowed strips of duct tape, holding up a handgun to the underside of the seat.
Chapter 13
Diana Weick
Seattle, Washington
Though Diana’s Subaru was still driveable, Rex called Wesley and had him pick up his car. They waited for the tow truck on the side of the road, several people slowing down to ask them if they needed help, Rex having too many friendly conversations with strangers.
There were several arguments on the way back between all three of them about going to the police station. Diana wanted to go now, knowing that the more time they spent apart from the van; the more likely they were to lose it. Rex thought they could wait until morning, and Wesley agreed with his father.
“How do you even know it’s her, Mom?” Wesley asked, the final straw.
“Stop,” Diana said, crouching down in the driver’s seat since she forced Wesley to switch with her despite Rex’s protests. “I saw her shirt, Wes.”
“What if it was just like a bumper sticker?”
“It was placed there,” Diana replied. “She put it there as a sign. Your sister is smart. Give her some credit.”
“I mean,” Wesley cleared his throat, “she asked me once if lava was alive because it moves. But, okay.”
Diana glared in the rearview mirror, the lights of Seattle encroaching in front of them as she took the exit off the freeway.
With a warning glance thrown at Wesley, Rex said, “If it is her, we can call off the search party.”
“With an APB out, they’ll be able to confirm that soon,” Diana said. “As long as Merino listened, then this won’t all be for nothing.”
The next morning, Merino did ask Diana all of the same questions that Rex and Wesley had. She was prepared for them. In fact, she thought she was prepared for everything until Merino said:
“Don’t worry about the van for now. I’ll take care of it. But, I called someone in… someone I want you to talk to.”
Turning in the chair opposite Merino’s desk, Diana looked to the door behind them. First, she saw his silhouette—huge shoulders, long neck and a hat on his head. But it was his laugh that sent a reminiscent shiver down her spine. The one she had heard when waking up at 4:00 a.m., when jumping from a jet, diving into ice water, bleeding feet running along gravel.
Lieutenant Dominic Ratanake stepped into the office, the detective stumbling back and then completely leaving the room. Ratanake was many things to Diana, but to Merino he’d only known him as her BUD/S trainer, her commissioned officer, in the SEALs. And that was his mistake.
“Diana Weick,” Ratanake said, stepping forward and putting out a huge black hand. Diana stood up, saluting him first and then shaking his hand.
“Good to see you, Lieutenant,” she managed.
Ratanake did a circle around the office, seemingly considering sitting down in Merino’s chair but then opting for standing next to the desk.
“What are you doing here?” Diana asked when he said nothing but stared at her with dark eyes.
“The detective. He called me.” Ratanake jutted out his chin toward the door. He slid along the wood so they were closer together. “It’s been a while.”
“Feels like forever. You still serving?”
He nodded. “No more BUD/S. Got a cushy office now.”
“You deserve it.”
“You did too.”
“You come back here just to try and get me back in?”
Ratanake shrugged. “I came back for a few reasons. First, I saw you on the news—thought you could use some support. Second, yeah, I want to re-enlist you, Diana, but we’ll get to that. And third, I missed you.”
Heat flushed across her cheeks. He peered over her shoulder and asked, “You back with Rex?”
She shook her head.
“Good.”
“You’re really going to dredge that up, Ratanake?” Diana asked. Their relationship had always been professional, but the night before Diana had left for Russia on her first Kushkin mission, they’d both found comfort in whiskey and then in each other. But Ratanake was possessive. He’d been possessive about their squad during training, and it was tenfold with Diana, especially when they’d broken through the intimacy barrier. She’d broken it off immediately and while he’d been respectful of that, he’d never looked at her the same way. He was easier on her—stepped in front of her instead of the others when they were in danger, gave her the best MREs and schedule despite her protests. After a silence, she said, “That was ten years ago.”
“I don’t care.” Ratanake’s low chuckle filled the room.
She’d avoided him for so long because Diana knew—Ratanake could never let that one night go.
“So is that why you c
ame all this way then?”
Ratanake sighed and said, “I wish.”
There was a deep smell coming off of him—his cologne mixing with his sweat, Old Spice, musk and something else. Diana stepped around the chair, his eyes following her every move, and she moved closer. Scotch. There was a whiff of alcohol on his breath.
“I heard talk of a van,” he said, looking down at her from his 6’5” frame. “Someone took her now, is that right? From the woods into a Honda?”
Diana muttered, “Something like that.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t give me the details, Weick.”
“I didn’t call you, Ratanake. Merino did. Who says I want your help?”
Shaking his head, he chuckled again. “Oh trust me, you need it.”
Merino was so stupid. The respect Diana had gained for him after their last altercation had just been squandered by inviting Ratanake here, thinking it would be to her benefit. Sure, there was a certain catharsis in seeing him, but Ratanake was focused and diligent like she was. And his focus was on getting her back into the SEALs. From the moment she’d walked away from it all, that had always been his goal—the messages on her phone, the emails, the occasional letter before she’d moved.
The lieutenant bent down, pulling a file out of a messenger bag and putting it on the desk behind them, clearing away some of Merino’s papers with a heavy swoop of his huge arm. Diana stood next to him as he flipped through the documents.
“That’s his son,” Diana said.
Ratanake lifted the photo into the air. “Taras Kushkin.”
Then he gathered another photo from the file. Alexander Kushkin in the middle with his two sons on either side, Taras and Andriy. They both were young with light brown hair, distant looks in their eyes like they’d had no warning that the picture was being taken. Even though they were wearing coats, they were on a beach, a lake stretched out behind them.
“This is probably how you remember him,” Ratanake said, handing her the photo. “He was just a boy when you were there last.”
He continued, “Really, he’s still just a boy. Thinks he’s going to take over everything his daddy built. Pretty ambitious. Fucked in the head.”
“More fucked than Kushkin?”
Ratanake thought, leaned forward and flipped through the file until he pulled out a sheet. It was a list of names, mostly all women, all different languages. Diana ran her finger down it, looking for any that she recognized. When she flipped it over, the other side was entirely filled with names as well.
“That’s a ledger of the suspected trafficking cases by Kushkin across Europe,” Ratanake said. Placing both of his hands on the desk, staring down at the file, he added, “In the last month.”
“Who’s this?” Diana pointed to a highlighted name near the top of the list. “Juliette Joubert?”
The French tied Diana’s tongue into a messy heavy knot.
“Europol agent on the inside,” Ratanake said. “And she is really the reason that you’re going to enlist again, Weick.”
She put the ledger down and looked at him, her mouth pulled to one side and her eyes trying not to roll. Diana sighed and said, “I’m not going in to save an agent that stepped too far over the line, Ratanake.”
“No, you’re not,” Ratanake replied, smiling, enjoying having the power once again. “Agent Joubert sent over this recording that she got recently, which was sent over to us because of our experience with Kushkin and because of… Well, listen.”
Pulling out his phone from his pocket, the recording already opened, he played it for her:
“Well, I already told you about the Weick girl—”
“Yes, Andriy. You did.”
“Well, it’s been three days now and still nothing.”
“Your news is to tell me that nothing has changed?”
“My news is to tell you that they’re en route now.”
“En route to where? We don’t know where she is.”
“Leave us.”
Then there was a pause, some shuffling and the recording cut off. A chill fell over Diana’s whole body.
“Weick Girl”
It all collapsed down on her. It was so so heavy. They were looking for her. They weren’t looking for Diana—they were looking for her thirteen-year-old daughter, and they were experts at trafficking. Kushkin had connections everywhere. If Taras was really as insistent as they said, he wouldn’t stop. He would do everything he could to get Diana to come to them to complete his sick quest for vengeance. She wished she could take it all back. Everything. The boat ride. The gun to Kushkin’s head. Never would she have even enlisted if she had known this would be the fate waiting for her.
Without thinking, the anger taking over, she slammed her fists down onto the desk. Papers went flying. A coffee mug fell off the edge of it, smashing to the ground in a thousand pieces of ceramic. She did it again. And again until her fists were numb and two of her fingers were sprained.
Collapsing into the office chair behind her, tears streaming down her face, she looked up at her old lieutenant. One man that she truly trusted. The man that had helped her through her father’s death, who had not allowed her to quit and who had driven her to the breaking point but kept her whole. Perhaps, Merino hadn’t been so stupid to invite him here.
“Dominic,” she said between broken sobs. “What do I do?”
The door opened. Merino and Rex stood there, staring at the broken coffee mug, the mess on the desk and Diana’s slumped form in the chair.
“What did you do?” Rex snapped at Ratanake, who didn’t reply because he had his eyes fixed on Diana.
“Ms. Weick—” Merino started.
“You know what to do,” Ratanake interrupted it all. “We get you back out there. We’ll do AOT if we need. He wants you, Diana, and he’s not going to stop. You call me. We’ll set you up with what you need.”
He packed up the file, dropping his business card on the desk. Before walking out the door, he squeezed her shoulder with a strong, lingering touch and nodded at Rex and Merino.
Dropping her head between her knees, flexing her foot against her boot, she took several deep breaths.
“You okay, Di?” Rex whispered, coming up next to the chair and leaning on the armrest.
Merino walked behind his desk, not even addressing the mess and instead saying, “I don’t know what’s happening here, Ms. Weick, but we need to talk now.”
“Just give her a minute!” Rex shouted.
“It’s fine, Rex.” She lifted her head. Wiping at her face with the back of her arm, she regained at least a partial focus—back to the tunnel vision. “What is it?”
“The van—” Merino sat down on his chair. “We found it.”
“What?” Diana stiffened. “Where?”
“A couple hours south of Seattle,” he continued. “They must have switched cars. But, Diana, you were right. It was Kennedy’s shirt. She must have slipped it out of the back of the trunk and if that wasn’t enough… We found her phone in the backseat. The screen is smashed but we might be able to salvage some parts of it.”
“Where are they headed?” Diana asked, standing up from the chair.
“We expect south still. This is crossing over state lines so we’re calling in the FBI.”
“I’m going after her.”
Rex and Merino exchanged glances.
“Wait,” Merino said. “Wait until we have an idea. We’re going to catch them on security camera eventually. They’re headed into one of the most monitored states in the country.”
“You’re going to tell me to sit on my hands?” Diana exclaimed. “After I told you about the van last night... I told you it was her!”
“I know—”
“No, you don’t know. You have no fucking clue, Detective. If I don’t go now, she’s going to slip out of the hands of your guys again. And I’ve dealt with the FBI before—they’re no more competent than the gorillas you have out in that lobby. If you want to stop me, yo
u’ll have to arrest me. If you want to be useful, text me the details of where the van was found. Trust me when I say this, Merino—this is out of your hands.”
Chapter 14
Diana Weick
Seattle, Washington
Rank and the guard were both bleeding out on the floor, their pools slowly meeting together along the tile. Diana turned the gun to Kushkin, and he turned his to hers. Behind her, the boots of guards were falling fast, approaching them from the other end of a long corridor. She had to do it and do it now, or she would never again get the opportunity to kill Sarkis Kushkin.
Surroundings—fire extinguisher to her right, another office chair to the left and Kushkin in the middle of it, his silenced pistol pointed directly for her torso.
“Even if you kill me,” he said, “you do not get out alive.”
The sounds of the guards’ boots grew louder, crescendoing, Kushkin gesturing his gun in their direction with a casual shrug.
“As long as I get to kill you first,” Diana said. She hopped across the room, landing on the office chair and pushing off of it, sending it flying where she’d just been standing. With a crack, Kushkin’s gun went off. The back of the office chair split into two pieces, the bullet wedging itself into the doorframe. With the momentum from the chair, she threw herself at him, the gun in front of her, pulling the trigger as she landed with both knees and sending the bullet into his stomach. Blood seeped through his shirt and onto his tactical vest. Diana brought the gun up, under his jaw, and pulled the trigger a second time. Running past Rank’s motionless body, grabbing the guard’s gun, she threw the fire extinguisher down the hall toward the guards. With three shots, she hit the extinguisher and then two blind into the white cloud of discharge. Guards scrambled and yelled out, searching for the source of the shots. Diana hustled in the opposite direction, not looking behind her, not turning to check if anyone was still breathing. Heart beating firm against her sweat-covered chest. Alarm ringing and screaming off the tile. Kushkin’s blood joining that of the guards and Rank’s as Diana sprinted away.
