“Oleg?” It was a woman, her voice weak and scratchy. A junkie, too feeble to speak. He didn’t have time to waste and pulled the phone from his ear, ready to hang up. “It’s Ava,” the woman whispered, “Ava Thompkins. It’s about my sister, Madelyn.”
Oleg exhaled. Was it worthwhile to pursue Madelyn Thompkins? Well, she had shot him and as far as Oleg was concerned, that was a deed that could not go unpunished.
“Have you heard from her?”
“Finally,” said Ava. “But I’m sick. I need more medicine from you.”
She meant heroin, the only thing that would ease her pain short of death’s icy kiss. He had plenty of drugs on hand, more even than the ten baggies he’d tempted her with. “If you can deliver your sister, I’ll give you the full amount.”
“I think she’s at home.”
“I don’t want you to guess, I need to know where she is. Better yet, get her to meet you somewhere.”
“I’ll text her.” A pause. “She wants to know if I’m still at the address I texted about this morning.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Find out if she’s alone.” Oleg needed to know if he’d be dealing with just Madelyn or if he would be forced to face Roman again.
“She says she is.”
The perfect plan came to Oleg. All he needed was to get Madelyn back to The Prow. He doubted that she would be dumb enough to return to the bar, even if her sister asked. What Oleg needed was to take Madelyn by complete surprise.
“Tell her to meet you at the University Memorial Center. Second-floor study lounge.”
The University of Colorado’s student union was perfect. Not only would Madelyn feel completely safe in such a public place, the second-floor lounge was rarely used. Except by people like Oleg. He had passed on drugs for money many times in that room without ever being bothered. This time, he’d need backup and help. With Serge and Anton both dead, Oleg was shorthanded. He could call Jackson, never mind that the cop had threatened to sever all ties.
“She wants to know when?” Ava asked.
Oleg could get to the university in fifteen minutes, but he’d need to get ready. He reached into his pocket for his cell. He drew out the dented hunk of metal and plastic that used to be his phone.
“What time is it now?” Oleg asked.
“Six-oh-four,” Ava said.
“Tell her to meet you at half past the hour. And you need to be there, too.”
“No way. I don’t know what you want with Madelyn, but she’s my sister. I can’t let her know that I’m involved.”
Ava really was high if she thought Madelyn wouldn’t figure out it was her sister who had set her up. “You want your drugs? Be at the Memorial Center in fifteen minutes and do exactly as I say.”
Ava exhaled, her voice even weedier than before. “I’ll text her.” Then, a moment later, “O, M, W,” Ava said.
“What?”
“That’s her reply. On my way.”
Chapter 9
The plane, a Bombardier Challenger 300, touched down on the runway at Denver International Airport, the last rays of sun glinted off the fuselage.
Behind the plane came a cadre of cars and SUVs. Sirens blaring and lights flashing, the official vehicles surrounded the aircraft. It was forced to a remote hangar, where a battalion’s worth of law enforcement officials waited. Adrenaline surged through Roman’s veins. One gun in hand, another in a holster on his thigh, body armor over his chest and tactical glasses to protect his eyes—it was Roman’s favorite outfit.
The aircraft’s stairs were lowered.
“Out of the plane!”
The two passengers—both male—disembarked from the Bombardier Challenger’s cabin, which was large enough to hold twenty. Both men descended the stairs, hands raised. Even without the private charter jet, Roman would have recognized them as wealthy. They wore thick gold watches and heavy gold chains, along with Italian leather loafers and skinny jeans so tight they looked shiny—and most likely European. But without question, neither man was Nikolai Mateev.
On the other hand, they weren’t simply businessmen. Traveling under bogus passports, they had a plane full of black market clothing. Not exactly the head of the Russian Mafia, but the men were breaking some serious laws.
Roman and Ian stood a little to the side as Special Agent Jones from the FBI called Customs to come and take custody of the plane and its contents.
“A little less than what we expected,” said Ian. Even under his body armor, he wore a white button-down shirt and tie.
“Which means that Nikolai Mateev could be anywhere.”
“We’d been so sure...” Ian’s words trailed off as another RMJ operative, Cody Samuels, approached.
“Ian,” Cody said as he extended his hand in greeting. And then added, “Roman,” as he turned to shake hands again. “I have some news you all might find interesting. First, the task force is reconvening in half an hour at the FBI’s Denver field office.”
“We’ll be there,” said Ian.
Roman’s mind was well beyond the next strategic meeting. “You think this is a stunt? It was easy to find these guys and figure out that things weren’t right. It could be that we were meant to find them, so they were dangled into our view. Like a magician’s sleight of hand.”
“You think they’re decoys?” asked Cody.
“Could be.”
“It’s a theory worth considering,” said Ian.
Roman scanned the empty hangar, nothing more than a domed metal roof and concrete floor. He searched every inch, as if Nikolai Mateev was hiding nearby and laughing his butt off.
“What makes it worse,” Cody continued, “is that the car you recovered from Zavalov was stolen before we could pick it up.”
“Stolen?” Roman’s ears buzzed, like the word itself had damaged his hearing.
“A highway patrol unit went out to pick it up and it was gone.”
“Do they have video from the truck stop?”
Cody shook his head. “Not a second of it. It was parked in a location that just missed surveillance. We do have tape of it driving away, but no clear view of the driver.”
Roman had been so careful about where he’d parked, not wanting either Madelyn or himself filmed. His wonderful plan had backfired.
Cody continued. “Until the car is recovered, no one can collect any evidence.”
The buzzing in Roman’s ear grew until every part of his body itched. Much like when the plane landed, adrenaline flooded his system. Only this time it didn’t leave him powerful and ready for battle, rather it left him detached as he watched events he wasn’t completely a part of. “And what about Oleg Zavalov?” he asked Cody. “Has his body been recovered?”
“Not yet, although he could be halfway to the state line by now. He’ll turn up, though. They always do.”
Roman had parked his SUV at the back of the hangar. Without a word, he took off at a trot. It could all be just as Cody predicted. A nice car abandoned in the truck stop would be a prime target for thieves. And the mountain streams would rage and roil for weeks to come. Since Oleg hadn’t surfaced quickly, he might not rise ever again. But still, like the two black marketers, it all seemed too simple.
And Madelyn was alone. There were too many loose threads for him to feel comfortable with her not having protection—provided by him.
“Roman!” His name echoed in the empty hangar.
He turned. Ian chased after him. Roman slowed and walked backward.
“Are you heading to the FBI’s office?”
Roman shook his head. “I’m going back to Boulder. I have something to drop off at Madelyn’s.”
* * *
Madelyn took RTD, Boulder’s public transportation system, to the University of Colorado’s main campus. The hospital, where she spen
t most of her time, was miles from the redbrick buildings of the college’s center. It’s not that Madelyn never came to campus, she did. But what she found was wholly unexpected and left her breathless.
The central lawn was packed with people. From a distance, she wondered if it was an end of semester concert, but as she approached, Madelyn saw the protest signs and banners rising from the crowd, a field of flowers springing up from the grassroots of humanity. This was the rally from earlier news reports.
A dais had been constructed outside an administrative building. Several students filled the platform. A young man, with a sparse goatee and frayed denim jacket, stood behind a podium. His voice was carried by a string of speakers held on poles around the perimeter of the crowd. He challenged leadership to explain the most recent tuition increase. “Come on down,” he said, his voice taking on the singsong quality of a game show host.
Madelyn left the crowd behind, thankful that Ava had suggested they meet at the Memorial Center. She needed a quiet place to talk to her sister. Assuming the protest remained peaceful, a study lounge would give them the solitude they needed. Hope rose within Madelyn’s chest. Did Ava need help? Was she ready for a change?
Pushing open a heavy glass door, Madelyn entered the student union. The main floor, consisting of a coffee shop, study area, fireplace and TV lounge, was empty. Even the cafeteria was closed. Her footfalls on the tile floor echoed through the vast space. She headed to the winding stairwell that led to the second floor.
She peered through a window, inset in the door. The room beyond was dark as pitch. She reread the plastic nameplate attached to the wall. Second Floor Study Lounge. She looked into the room again, this time she saw the faint outline of a person sitting on a chair.
Madelyn opened the door. A light, controlled by a motion detector, came on. The person in the chair was Ava, unquestionably Ava, but not. She was thinner than even Madelyn had guessed from the social media photo and she still wore the same dirty shirt from that night. Ava’s collarbones cut sharply out of the stretched neck. An open sore on her cheek, angry and red, was a stark contrast to her pale skin. Dark hair hung in lank clumps past her shoulders.
Her sister’s head lolled to the side. Her eyes were shut. A white, powdery residue ringed her nose.
Madelyn also saw her playmate and best friend from years gone by. Brown eyes, so much like her own, twinkling with fun and mischief. A secret whispered on a summer’s night, carried away by a hot breeze. Snowball fights. Exciting first dates. Bad breakups.
Madelyn knelt at Ava’s side. She touched her sister’s arm and shook lightly. “Ava, it’s me, Maddie.”
Nothing. She looked around the space, taking it in for the first time. The upholstered chair was one of a dozen that sat around the edge of the room. A table stood to the side, surrounded by half a dozen straight-backed chairs. Another door, to the left, was closed. The room beyond was dark, and most likely set aside for students to prepare presentations. She searched the walls for a phone and found none. Madelyn needed to find help for her sister, and at the same time, she was loath to leave Ava’s side when she’d found her only moments before.
“Hey.” Madelyn shook her sister’s arm again and tried to think of the best plan—take Ava to her house or get her straight to CU Hospital’s detox unit? For the first time in her life, she wanted another person with whom she could share her burdens. She wanted Roman. It was a futile desire. Beyond her crazy-busy life, Madelyn now had Ava to take care of and she had to save Ava from, well, Ava. She couldn’t ask Roman to tether himself to such a heavy weight.
Ava blinked. “Hey.”
Madelyn laughed, their greeting a comedy of the absurd, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Ava,” she began, “it’s so good to see you. You don’t know how worried I’ve been—how worried Mom and Dad have been. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
She reached for her sister. Ava shrank back. Madelyn’s hand hung, suspended in midair, like a speech bubble over a cartoon—empty except for a question mark.
“I’m sorry,” said Ava.
“You’re sick. Don’t apologize.”
Ava nodded slowly, her gaze dropped to the ground. “I am sick and I need my medicine. You don’t know what it’s like to be as sick as I am. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything other than look for the next dose. In fact, there’s nothing I won’t do.” Ava met Madelyn’s gaze and looked away. “It’s awful.”
Madelyn paused. From Ava’s point of view, the drugs were necessary. Yet in reality, they were the problem. “There are things that can be given to you to help with the pain and insomnia—other medications to fight the worst of your addiction.”
Ava shook her head. “I’ve tried all those. They don’t work. Maddie, I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to hell for everything that I’ve done.”
“No! Just focus on getting better, that’s all.”
Ava’s eyes flashed. Her jaw tightened. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to get better.”
“You don’t? What do you want, then?”
“To tell you I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
A door opened, creaking on its hinges. Mad elyn turned to the sound. Her heart plummeted to her middle. Oleg Zavalov stood on the threshold of the presentation room. His face was a tapestry of injuries—bruises and scrapes. One eye was swollen shut and his bottom lip protruded.
Roman had beaten him.
She’d shot him.
He was swept away by the creek.
But he was here. Alive.
“She’s sorry for leading you to me,” Oleg said, answering the question for Ava.
“You’re dead,” Madelyn said.
He ran his hand through his hair and smiled. His lip split and the crack filled with bright red blood. “I was, but hell refused to take me. So, here I am.”
Madelyn’s throat closed, the inside of her chest burned—as if sliced open. Her face was hot and numb all at once. She knew the feeling. It was betrayal. In an instant, Madelyn was flung back to a memory from more than fifteen years ago. Madelyn had been ten, her sister twelve.
The day had been hot and hazy. It was late July. Too much summer had gone by to find pleasure in the endless days of nothing to do, and too much of it remained to mourn their passage. Ava and Madelyn, bored and hungry, had asked their mother to take them to the store for candy. Their mother had refused, but gave permission for them to walk together, provided they used their own money.
Neither sister had a penny to her name. But their father threw his spare change into a drawer of his desk. Who would notice if a handful of quarters went missing? Ava had asked.
Pockets loaded with money, Madelyn and Ava had bought everything from soda, to chips, to candy and gum. Upon their return, their mother was none the wiser. Madelyn and Ava congratulated themselves on their cunning and went about their day.
That night at dinner, with the incident almost swept clean from Madelyn’s mind, Ava told their father that Madelyn had stolen his money to buy junk food. Ava swore that she’d told Madelyn not to. Ava knew that stealing was wrong and that Madelyn should not get away with being a thief.
Madelyn’s memory ended there. She did not recall what her parents had said, nor the punishment meted out by her father. But she did remember the moment Ava spoke up, the cut and burn of betrayal.
And once again, Ava had lied and betrayed Madelyn. Only this time, it wasn’t child’s play.
“Ava.” Madelyn turned to her sister. “How could you?” Her throat constricted. A million moments of sisterly love were shattered and Madelyn strangled on the last word until it was only a broken sound.
Before Ava could answer, Oleg rushed toward Madelyn.
Madelyn knew that there were three physiological reactions to danger. In the animal kingdom, it was all instinct. A cornered tiger became a fierce combat
ant; gazelles fled. And a rabbit, sensing a hawk in the sky, held itself in statue-like stillness, in hopes that it would be overlooked.
But in humans it was as much upbringing, conditioning and society as it was brain chemistry. Which meant that in many ways, people chose their reactions to fear and threats: fight, flight or freeze.
It was the last instinct which first gripped Madelyn. Then Roman’s face flashed into her mind, along with the training he had given her. She made the choice to fight—to win—to live.
Oleg smiled again, the bloody lip now oozing. He swung out. Madelyn ducked, but his fist slammed into the side of her head. A burst of pain exploded in her skull and then swept downward until her jaw ached.
She dove forward. Grabbing Oleg by the ankles, she pulled up and shouldered his knees back. The man fell over. Madelyn, on hands and knees, clambered toward the door. Oleg grabbed her foot, pulling her back.
She breathed deeply, smoothing away the sharpest edges of panic that filled her chest. Like Roman had instructed, Madelyn marshaled her strength. She focused it in her heel and aimed for a place six inches behind Oleg’s eye. She kicked out, her foot connecting. Oleg roared in pain. Rearing back, he let her go.
On her feet, Madelyn reached the door and gripped the handle. She jerked the door open, then stopped. She’d gotten away, but what about Ava? If Madelyn left now, her sister would soon be dead—either by Oleg’s hand or the abuse she inflicted on her own body.
Madelyn was done being the rabbit, or even the gazelle. She was the tiger, and even if Oleg Zavalov had her by the tail right now, she’d force him to let go and then introduce him to her claws. She turned, her arm swinging in a wide arc. She caught Oleg in the side of the head and her fist throbbed. He stumbled back, shaking his head like a wet dog.
Her Rocky Mountain Defender (Rocky Mountain Justice Book 2) Page 16
