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Marital Privilege
Ann Voss Peterson
SHE'D WED A STRANGER…"My name isn't Alec Martin," he'd said. Laura thought she'd married a salesman and that their unborn baby would have the idyllic childhood she'd never had. But suddenly her ordinary husband knew how to do extraordinary things, like fire guns and hot-wire cars. And thanks to a witness, the mob had been brought to their doorstep with every intention of bringing Laura's "husband," Nikolai Stanislov, and his future offspring, back into the family fold.Now Laura's only option was to go on the run with a man she barely knew. A man who was proving, time and again, that he wouldn't go down without a fight. Or let her go without one.She'd never loved him more.Or trusted him less.
“Did you ever consider giving me a choice?”
“We chose each other, Laura. Our feelings for each other had nothing to do with my background. That hasn’t changed.”
“Everything’s changed.”
“Because my past is different than you thought?”
“Because my future is different. Our son’s future is different.”
This morning, when she’d awakened, her life had been everything she’d ever wanted. She had a thriving business. She thought she was married to the man of her dreams. And she had a perfect little son on the way.
And now her marriage—everything she knew—was gone.
Marital Privilege
Ann Voss Peterson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Special thanks to Lynda Sandoval, Linda Style,
Susan Vaughan and Virginia Kelly for their help
filling the gaps in my limited knowledge.
To my critique partners Carol Voss and Judith Lyons.
And to my family for doing without wife and mother
while I battled the Russian mob.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts, to working with quarter horses, to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her Border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at ann@annvosspeterson.com or visit her Web site at annvosspeterson.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Alec Martin—Born Nikolai Stanislov, Alec has tried to build a new life since entering the Witness Security Program. But when the man he sent to prison—his own father—is paroled, he has to run to save his life—and that of his wife and unborn son.
Laura Martin—She thought she was married to the man of her dreams, a safe caring man, only to find out he’s the son of a mobster. But before she can figure out if she still has a marriage, she has to run for her life.
Ivan Stanislov—The powerful head of a faction of the Russian Mafiya, Ivan wants revenge almost as much as he wants his unborn grandson.
Wayne Bigelow—The reporter says he wants to help Alec. Can he be trusted?
Tony Griggs—When the U.S. Marshal died, he gave away Alec’s new identity. Now his murder might bring Ivan Stanislov down.
Detective Mylinski—Is the seemingly honest cop beyond suspicion?
Special Agent Callahan—He needs Alec’s help to bring down Ivan Stanislov, but will he be able to honor his promise to keep Alec safe?
Sergei Kamarov—The murderous brute wants revenge and to regain his place in the warm spot.
Pavel Tverdovsky—The young thug is the future of the Russian mob.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Chapter One
Alec Martin stared at the photo of U.S. Marshal Tony Griggs on the morning news and struggled to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. He stepped toward the television set suspended high above the scarred oak bar. “Can we turn up the sound?”
The bartender glanced up from his cup of morning coffee and the list of booze he needed to order. “No remote. Lost it during a Packer game a couple years ago. You want to climb on the bar and turn it up? Hey? Be my guest.”
Alec didn’t move. The stiff collar of his dress shirt choked him. Sweat slicked his palms. He’d dreaded this day for ten long years. Even now he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing.
Snips of headlines scrolling under the talking head, CNN style.
Retired U.S. marshal killed.
Signs of torture found.
The screen focused on a balding police detective named Mylinski. Frustration knotted Alec’s aching gut. He had to know more, and staring at a soundless interview with a tight-lipped cop wasn’t doing a damn bit of good. He grasped his cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. Spinning on his heel, he made for the door, punching in Wayne’s direct number at the Brooklyn Chronicle from memory.
“I haven’t given you my liquor order yet,” the bartender’s annoyed Wisconsin accent sounded from the bar.
“I have to make a call,” Alec shouted over his shoulder as he pushed outside. The morning sunlight blinded him for a minute, but he didn’t slow his pace.
The secretary answered on the second ring. “Brooklyn Chronicle.”
Alec didn’t recognize her voice. “Wayne Bigelow, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bigelow is in a meeting. Would you like his voice mail?”
“No.” The last thing Alec was going to do was leave him a message. Not about this. “Interrupt the meeting.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do it. This is an emergency.”
“That may be, Mr….”
“Stanislov.” Alec never thought he’d hear the name come from his lips again. It rested on his tongue like a curse word, bitter, cruel. “Nika Stanislov.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanislov, but I’m not going to interrupt an important meeting for—”
“Tell him the name.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell Bigelow the name. Nika Stanislov. He’ll take my call.”
“Please hold,” she said, her exasperation coming across loud and clear. A click sounded, and canned music took over the line.
Alec strode across the parking lot, pulse hammering louder than the drone of synthesized strings in his ear. If anyone would know what was going on, it was Bigelow. He’d better, anyway. With Griggs gone, Alec sure as hell didn’t trust anyone in law enforcement.
He dipped his free hand in his pocket, pulled out his SUV’s keyless remote and unlocked the vehicle before he reached it. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it inside. His ass had just hit the driver’s seat when Bigelow’s voice boomed over the phone.
“Nika. My God, how are you?”
“Is he out?”
“Yesterday.”
The knot tightened. Alec had always thought he’d know the day the bastard got out of prison. That he’d feel the vibration in the air. Smell the stench. Something. But he hadn’t had a clue.
“I would have called, but…” Bigelow let his sentence trail off. There was no point finishing.
“Yeah, I know.” Bigelow didn’t know where Alec was. Nobody knew where Alec was. At least, no one was supposed to.
“Didn’t the Marshals’ Service tell you he was up for early parole?”
“No.”
“Probably a screw-up between state and feds. Typical.”
Alec wished this was a typical screw-up. But his gut told him different. “Griggs is dead.”
“Griggs?”
“A U.S. marshal on my case. The one in charge of relocating me.”
“When?”
“I just saw it on the news. Breaking story from Madison.”
“Madison?”
“Wisconsin.”
Bigelow let loose a string of curses. “Doesn’t anyone around here stay up on the news? We’d better have a reporter on a flight to Wisconsin right now, or someone’s going to lose his head.”
Alec turned the key in the ignition. The SUV roared to life.
“Where are you, Nika?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“You want me to call the cops for you?”
“No cops.”
“FBI? I know a guy—”
“No.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever I have to.” And the first thing on his list was finding Laura. Now. “I’ve got to go.”
“Will I hear from you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me give you my cell.”
As soon as he finished reciting the number, Alec cut off the call. He had to reach Laura. And he was afraid he didn’t have a second to lose.
He hit her number on his cell’s speed dial. His wife’s phone service picked up on the second ring. A pleasant voice directed him to her voice mail. Damn. Laura was always forgetting to turn on her cell phone. And at this hour in the morning, the restaurant’s answering machine would still be on.
He ended the call without leaving a message, and concentrated on driving. He had to get to the restaurant. He had to reach Laura. If Griggs had been tortured, he could have caved. He could have spilled Alec’s location. And if that happened, dear old Dad and his thugs were already on their way.
Pushing the accelerator to the floor, he raced down streets and around curves until he reached the strip mall at the edge of the tiny-but-growing town of Beaver Falls. Nestled at the end of the mall next to the Cup-N-Sup coffee shop and a women’s clothing store sat Laura’s pride and joy, The Blue Ox Café. The parking lot in front was still empty. It wouldn’t get busy until eleven o’clock, when Laura threw open the door for the lunch crowd.
Tires squealing their protest, Alec gunned the SUV around the building to the back lot. Three cars dotted the employee parking area. Laura’s blue van was not among them, but he spotted her partner’s Jeep. She’d probably hitched a ride with Sally, as she often did. He could only hope that was the case. If today was errand day, he might not be able to reach her for hours. And by then it might be too late.
He stopped the SUV at the curb behind a produce truck and jumped out. Dodging a ripe-smelling Dumpster, he dashed to the employee entrance and ducked inside.
No sound came from the kitchen, not the rattle of pans on the cook’s line, not the slam of the walk-in cooler’s door as the produce guy made his delivery. Heart knocking against his rib cage, Alec stepped into the kitchen. His shoes squeaked on rubber mats stretched over red tile. He moved as quietly as possible, walking through the prep kitchen, peeking into the deserted line. The odor of deep fryers hung in the air, heavy as an approaching storm. And there was something else. Another odor. Familiar but too faint for him to identify.
Pulse pounding in his ears, he ducked back into the prep kitchen. Next to a slab of prime rib, a meat cleaver lay on a cutting board, blood dulling the shine of its razor-sharp edge. He grasped the wood handle. Weapon poised in front of him, he stepped into the waiters’ aisle that led into the dining room.
Music drifted from the dining room, the high-pitched tone of strings rasping his nerves like cheese across a grater. The scent grew stronger.
Natural gas.
The restaurant was filled with it. Flammable. Highly explosive. He had to do something. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t take long for gas to reach the flames heating deep fryers and ovens on the cook’s line.
He spun around and raced through the waiters’ aisle and into the kitchen, his shoes squeaking on the mats. Reaching the cook’s line, he switched off fryers and ovens. He extinguished each pilot light and turned off every gas valve he could spot. It wouldn’t be enough. The leak hadn’t originated in the kitchen. The scent was strongest in the dining room. Even if by some miracle he found the leak, there was enough gas already hanging in the air to blow the place. All that was missing was a flame. But it wouldn’t be missing for long. Once the furnace clicked on, the gas would ignite. It would be all over. If anyone was in the building, he had to get them out. He had to find Laura.
And as much as he didn’t trust the police, he needed help. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in the number.
“Nine-one-one,” a woman’s voice answered.
“There’s a gas leak at the Blue Ox Café.”
“What is your name, sir?”
Alec hesitated. “That’s not important. There’s something else going on, too. I’m not sure what, but the place seems deserted. You’ve got to get the police out here. Hurry.” He cut off the call. Clipping his cell phone back on his belt, he clutched the meat cleaver, rounded the corner of the waiters’ aisle and stepped into the dining room.
As he rounded the corner, another odor hit him. A sweet copper scent that mixed with the natural gas and turned his stomach. He slowed his pace, weaving through tables, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He circled a row of booths and inched across the open center of the dining room, and jolted to a stop.
Dark blotches fouled the multicolored carpet and streaked a table in the center of the room. And beyond the table—
“Oh my God.” Cleaver in front of him, Alec raced toward the bodies, waiting for a flash of movement, a gun to his head, a blade between his ribs.
He reached Laura’s prep cook first. His chef’s whites were black with blood from the slash across his throat. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
There was no helping him. No saving him. Cursing his father, Alec moved on to the next body.
A waitress no older than twenty curled around a table leg at the edge of the dining room, as if she’d been hiding when the bullet had drilled into her chest and stolen her life. Her face was swollen, purple with bruises. She’d taken a beating before the bullet. And that pointed to one man. A sadistic bastard who got his kicks beating women before he killed them. His father’s right-hand thug, Sergei Komorov.
Gritting his teeth, Alec left the waitress and moved to the final prone form. The middle-aged guy who delivered produce had made it as far as the tile floor in front of the hostess stand before he’d been shot. His blood puddled under him and ran in rivers between the tiles.
Panic roared in Alec’s ears. The odors of blood and gas clogged his throat. Three dead. Where the hell was Laura?
There was one place left. He straightened from beside the produce guy’s body and forced his feet to move. Laura and Sally usually opened the kitchen first thing in the morning. By this time, they had moved to the bar.
He raced into the lounge. The room was cloaked in shadow, heavy wood blinds drawn over the windows. He led with the meat cleaver, checking behind half walls and plants, glancing under the row of bar stools. No blood. No bodies.
No Laura.
Relieved, he tried to block the image of his beautiful wife bloodied, dead. He had to find her. She had to be okay. Laura was his life, his future.
Laura and their unborn son.
He stepped behind the bar. Booze bottles that spent the night under lock and key lined the rail. The till was open, its tray of cash not yet in place. Someone had been opening the bar when this had happened.
Alec tried to breathe, tried to stay calm. He strode over the rubber mats, straight for the closed office door at the end of the bar.
Dread blared in his ears like a siren. He closed his fingers around the cool brass doorknob. Turning it, he yanked the door open.
A body leaned back in the chair. Long blond hair streaked dark with blood. A plastic tie clasped feminine hands together at the wrists. Broken and battered, fingers jutted at strange angles.
A sob shook from his chest. He grasped the back of the chair with trembling hands. Holding his breath, he spun it around. Blood coagulated, sticky beneath a slashed throat. Her face was so bruised and swollen, it was almost unrecognizable. She stared at him through blue eyes glazed with death.
Blue eyes.
Another sob tore from his gut. Sally, not Laura.
He averted his eyes from her face, ashamed at the relief welling within him. Spilling over. Sally, not Laura. Laura might still be alive.
But where was she?
If Laura had left to run errands, there might be a clue as to where she went, what the restaurant needed. He studied the desk. Blood spattered the surface, the three-ring binders, the papers detailing the Blue Ox’s liquor order—the order he was to pick up later that morning. He raised his eyes to the computer screen. A pink message slip stuck to one side of the screen, a simple message scrawled on the front.
“Laura sick. Won’t be in until late. Sally, could you open bar?”
Cold dread throbbed in Alec’s ears and pumped through his veins. He had to get home. He only prayed he wasn’t too late. Because if he had spotted the message, he could be sure his father and his men had spotted it, too.
And they’d already be on their way.
Chapter Two
Alec raced into the restaurant’s entryway. The odor of gas had grown stronger. It now completely choked out the coppery scent of blood. Any second now it would hit the furnace flame, and the whole place would go up. He couldn’t do anything more here. He had to get out.
Instead of retracing his steps to the back kitchen entrance, he raced for the closed front door. He twisted the dead bolt and threw the door open.
Fresh air hit him in the face like a splash of cool water. He launched into a run, sprinting down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.
Movement caught his eye. A woman stepped out of the Cup-N-Sup, steaming coffee in hand.
Oh, hell.
He veered for the coffee shop. “Get out of here. There’s a gas leak next door.”
The woman’s eyes widened. Clutching her cup, she ran for her car.
He dove for the coffee shop’s door and yanked it open. “Everyone needs to evacuate.”
Two employees and half a dozen customers turned to stare at him. None made a move.
“There’s a gas leak next door. The building is going to blow. You need to get out.”
Several customers shot for the door. Others narrowed their eyes, as if trying to figure out what he was up to.
He glanced out the coffee shop’s window, willing flashing red and blue lights to appear on the street outside, a siren to pierce the air. Where the hell were the police?
He turned his attention back to the skeptical people in front of him, raking his mind for something to make them move before it was too late. “It’s a terrorist attack. Get out.”
They headed for the door in a wave.
He followed. “Get as far from the building as you can. Run.”
People scattered.
Alec moved to the clothing store. After shooing the owner and a customer out, he circled to the parking lot in the rear of the building where he’d left his SUV. He needed to get home to Laura. To get her out before his father and his men found their house.
Please God, don’t let me be too late.
He cleared the hedge surrounding the rear parking lot. Feet hitting pavement, he raced for the SUV.
A rumble caught his ear. A thundering boom hit him in the chest, followed by the whoosh of sucking air. The ground shook. Sound exploded. He dove back behind the hedge. Flattening his body to the ground, he covered his head with his arms. Heat seared him. Debris hit him, cutting his arms, striking his back. The taste of blood flooded his mouth.
He raised his head, peering over the hedge. A ball of flame enveloped the building. His SUV stood silhouetted against the inferno, it and the produce truck reduced to nothing but twisted and blackened heaps of steel.
Hell.
He forced himself to his feet, trying to draw breath. His lungs seized and burned. There wasn’t enough oxygen. Wasn’t enough air. He stumbled toward the street. He had to find someone to take him home. He had to reach Laura before it was too late.
The street looked as solid as a jammed parking lot, drivers gaping at the ball of fire where a strip mall used to be.
He forced his legs to carry him over the curb, across the asphalt to the cars. The first driver hit the gas when she saw him and raced past wide-eyed. A man driving a panel truck rolled down the window. “Hey, buddy. You need an ambulance?” He pulled out a cell phone and punched 911.
Alec leaned on the hood to steady himself. “I need you to take me to my house. Please.”
“From the look of ya, an ambulance is a better idea.”
Alec looked down at himself. His white dress shirt was tattered. Blood soaked through the right sleeve. His tie hung like a cut noose around his neck. No wonder the first driver had hit the gas when she’d seen him coming. No wonder this guy wanted to strap him to a stretcher. But it didn’t matter. Reaching Laura was the only thing that mattered. “You don’t understand. The men who did this, they’re after my wife. I have to get home.”
The guy held up a finger. “This will just take a minute, pal. Hold on. The police and ambulance will give you the help you need.”
Fat chance. The police should have been here already.
A chill swept over Alec. His father had wide-reaching power. Enough power to keep news of his pending prison release from reaching Alec. Enough power to kill a U.S. marshal. Did he have enough power to delay the police in Beaver Falls? Did his money and muscle reach all the way to small-town Wisconsin?
Alec turned away and ran back across the street toward the strip mall. On the edge of the sidewalk, several bicycles stood in a bike rack. He pulled out an unchained touring bike and swung a leg over the seat. Pain shot through his arm and back. He gritted his teeth. Settling on the seat, he pushed off, pedaling as fast as his legs would move.
The wind fanned the cuts and scrapes on his arms, drying the rivulets of blood. Pain burned along his nerves. His lungs screamed for air. He pushed on, piloting the bike along city streets and over hills until the brand-new housing development on the outskirts of town sprawled before him.
It was late April and the trees hadn’t yet sprouted leaves. He could pick out his house among the many similar houses lining the gently curving streets. He could also pick out the dark-colored sedan parked at the curb a half block away in front of a home under construction. Just the kind of nondescript car his father always favored. And in the front seat was the unmistakable shadow of a man.
Alec’s blood turned to ice.
He pumped the pedals harder, racing down the hill. Negotiating streets he knew well, he passed his street and turned up the cul-de-sac backing up to his house. He climbed off the bike and let it fall to the curb. Cutting through the neighbor’s yard, he climbed over the low split-rail fence separating the backyards.
Hunkering down in a copse of trees and bushes, he surveyed his house. Blinds were drawn over windows and patio door. There was no sign of movement. Nothing unusual. Nothing, that is, but the hum of Alec’s nerves.
They were inside. He could feel it.
He scooped in a deep breath. What could he do? How could he fight them? How could he get Laura out of there?
He’d never owned a gun. After escaping his father’s world, he couldn’t stand the thought of owning a weapon of violence. At the moment his protest seemed stupid, naive. What he wouldn’t give to have a gun in his hand right now.
He crept around the edge of the yard, running half-crouched. Reaching the garage, he sidled between the fence and the wall until he drew even with a window barely large enough for a man to slip through. With any luck, his father and his thugs hadn’t thought of anyone coming through the garage. They’d be focused on the street in front.
And on Laura.
He pushed horrible images from his mind. He couldn’t let himself imagine what Sergei Komorov might be doing to his wife—what the bastard might have already done while Alec had been discovering the bodies in the restaurant and evacuating people from the strip mall. Laura had to be all right. If Sergei had touched her, Alec would strangle him with his bare hands.
He punched his fingers through the screen, the nylon ripping with ease. Grasping the bottom edge of the screen’s frame, he pulled it up and pried it from the window. Now he just had the window itself. He couldn’t break it, couldn’t risk the men inside hearing the glass shatter. Instead, he fitted his fingers to the seam between the upper and lower sash of the double-hung window and wiggled until the latch popped. Sliding the lower sash open, he unseated it then the upper and set them on the ground.
Funny how he’d made sure the windows in the rest of the house had double locks but he hadn’t thought about the garage window. It had seemed too small to bother with, too separate from the rest of the house.
He could only hope the men inside hadn’t thought of it, either.
He placed his hands on the window frame. Arm throbbing, he hoisted his body through the little space and lowered himself inside until he stood on the lawnmower. So far, so good. Now for a weapon.
Stepping off the mower, he grabbed a shovel from a wall rack. He crept to the door leading to the kitchen and pressed his ear to the cool steel.
The rumble of male voices filtered through the door—voices colored with Russian flair and cut with a hard Brooklyn edge. Accents he’d hoped never to hear again.
Rage hardened in his gut. He gripped the shovel, knuckles white. He pressed his ear tighter to the door.
“What does Mr. Stanislov want done with her?” a voice he didn’t recognize asked.
Laura. He was talking about Laura. She must still be alive. Relief sucked the strength from Alec’s legs. He leaned on the door and strained to hear more.
“Ivan told me, bring back Nika.” Sergei’s voice boomed through the kitchen.
Alec’s gut tightened. So dear old Dad hadn’t made the trip. He’d sent his thugs to collect Alec. He was getting lazy in his old age.
“You going to take care of her, then? I know you like doing the women.”
Sergei grunted. “I got to find out what Ivan wants us to do. I think he’ll want the baby.”
“You’re not touching my son.” Laura’s voice chimed through the kitchen strong and clear.
Alec’s heart clutched. Tears welled in his eyes. She sounded unhurt, unbowed.
And gloriously alive.
“Son? Ivan will like that. A grandson. Maybe the child will make up for the father.”
“Grandson? What are you talking about? You have the wrong house. My name is Laura Martin, and I don’t know anyone named Ivan.”
“Ah, I see.” Sergei’s voice took on an amused lilt.
Guilt drilled deep into Alec’s chest. He should have told Laura the truth about who he really was from the beginning. He should have known he couldn’t keep his past at bay forever.
He couldn’t think about that right now. There would be time for regrets. Time for the truth to come out. Now he had to focus. Laura’s and the baby’s lives depended on it. The men inside would be armed with guns, and here he stood with nothing but a shovel. He had to even the odds, give himself a fighting chance.
He fingered his cell phone with his free hand. If he could distract at least one of the men, make sure he was out of the kitchen, away from Laura, maybe he could surprise the other before the thug could draw his gun.
Alec unclipped his phone from his belt and entered his home phone number from the speed dial directory.
Inside the kitchen he could hear the phone ring.
He pushed his ear to the door.
“I should get that.” Laura’s voice. “It’s probably Sally from the restaurant. If I don’t answer, she’ll send someone over. Probably the police.”
“She will not be sending anyone,” Sergei growled.
“You don’t know her. She worries about me like she’s my mother.”
“She’s dead. Slit her throat myself.”
Laura gasped.
Alec gripped on the shovel with sweat-slick hands, the image of Sally’s battered and lifeless body sharp in his mind’s eye.
Sergei’s guttural laugh filtered through the door. “Don’t worry. As soon as the baby comes, you’ll be joining her. Unless I get impatient and cut him out of your belly.”
Alec gritted his teeth. It was all he could do to stay where he was. To wait. The bastard wasn’t going to touch his wife, or their baby. He’d see to it.
The phone continued to ring. Finally the answering machine picked up. Moving silently away from the door, Alec ducked down behind Laura’s van, set down the shovel, and cupped his mouth with one hand. When the answering machine’s beep sounded, he talked into the phone in a low voice. “Look out the front window, you bastards. You might as well give up now.” Alec snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his pocket. He picked up the shovel and made for the door.
A single set of footsteps moved across the kitchen floor and thundered toward the front of the house.
Now was his chance. Shoving the door open, he burst into the kitchen swinging.
The shovel connected with Sergei’s head before he could turn around. The sound of the blow echoed through the room. The force shuddered up Alec’s arms.
Sergei bellowed like a mad bull. He staggered forward but didn’t go down. Instead, he spun and reached for the gun in his waistband. He yanked it out and leveled it on Alec before he could land another blow.
Sergei fired. The shot went wide, the bullet ripping into the cabinetry beside Alec.
Alec swung the shovel again, this time connecting with Sergei’s arm.
The brute cursed in Russian. The gun rattled to the floor.
Movement flashed in the corner of Alec’s eye. Laura. But he didn’t have time to turn his head before Sergei launched himself.
Alec swung, catching Sergei in the face with the shovel’s sharp edge.
Blood slashed across his cheek and nose. He staggered back and fell against the cabinets.
Footsteps thundered from the front of the house.
Alec landed the shovel against Sergei’s head again. He spun just in time to see the second man round the corner into the kitchen. The barrel of his gun stared Alec directly in the face.
A shot exploded in Alec’s ears.
Chapter Three
Laura Martin lowered her bound hands and the Russian-made Makarov 9mm she’d managed to pick up from the floor. The weapon’s report still echoed through the kitchen. Its recoil vibrated through her arms. The sharp odor of spent gunpowder seared her senses.
She’d shot a man. Maybe killed him. Yet she felt nothing.
She should move. See if he was still alive. Administer first aid. Something. Yet even though she was staring at his prone form, watching the dark stain seep through his sweatshirt and wick through the fabric like tie-dye, she couldn’t quite believe what she’d done. None of it felt real.
Ripping her gaze from the crumpled form, she focused on her husband’s pale face. “Alec?”
His gray eyes met hers. The shovel fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. In two strides he crossed the distance between them and gathered her in his arms. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
She pressed her body against his warmth—warmth she’d thought she’d never feel again. “I’m fine.” A bald-faced lie. She was trembling so hard she could hardly stand.
He moved back from her, running his gaze over her face and down to her bound hands. “The baby?” He smoothed a palm over her nightgown and the curve of her bulging abdomen.
“He’s fine.” She could feel him shifting inside her, his movements faster and more spastic than usual, as if fueled by the adrenaline in her bloodstream. “What is going on, Alec? Who are these men?”
He stepped away and grabbed a knife from the butcher block. Slipping the blade between her wrists, he cut the plastic binder, freeing her hands. One hand on the small of her back, he tried to guide her toward the garage. “We have to get out of here.”
She stood rooted to the spot, still staring at the bodies on the floor. One slumped against the white kitchen cabinets clutching his bloody face, barely conscious enough to moan. The other lay sprawled where his body hit the floor. A pool of blood spread over the hardwood. “We have to call the police.”
“No police.”
“What do you mean, no police? Of course we have to call the police. These men broke in. They were going to kill me. I shot one of them, for crying out loud. He might be dead.”
“I know you trust the police, but all cops aren’t as honest as your dad was. We can’t risk it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain later. All of it. Right now we have to get out of here. The thug outside probably heard the gunshots.”
“The thug outside? There’s another?”
“He was waiting in a car down the street.”
Mind still whirling, she let Alec guide her into the garage. She might not know what was going on, but she didn’t want another of those men to catch up to them. She and Alec had been lucky to escape from the two in the kitchen. Before Alec had shown up, she’d thought she was dead.
Like Sally?
“One of those men said Sally is dead.” Not wanting to believe it was true, she studied Alec’s face, waiting for an expression that would answer her unspoken question.
He gave her a brief nod.
Pain clutched her heart. Her knees almost gave way beneath her. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be happening.
Alec grasped her arm, keeping her on her feet and moving through the garage, toward the van. “Try not to think of it now. We have to focus on getting out of here.”
She stopped in her tracks a step from the van. “Wait.”
“Laura? Get in the van.”
She glanced down at the Mak 9mm still in her fist. If they were going to face more of these men, she wanted to do it armed. “Rounds. We need bullets. And guns. The men in there have a mini arsenal on them.”
“I’ll get what I can. You get in the van.”
“It’ll take less time if I help.”
He nodded toward the kitchen door and released her arm. “Let’s make it quick.”
They ducked back inside. The strong odor of blood filled Laura’s senses and turned her stomach. She breathed shallowly through her mouth, trying to concentrate on getting the guns, trying to stave off the nausea, the way she had through the first and most of the second trimesters of her pregnancy.
The man Alec had laid out with the shovel hadn’t moved. Except for the low groan rumbling deep in his throat, she might have thought he was dead. She was just about to kneel down and check him for weapons and rounds when Alec grabbed her arm. “I’ll take care of him. You check the other one.”
She nodded. She had to admit, she was relieved. There was something deathly brutal about this man. Every time he’d looked at her, she’d felt his hatred. His rage. Even though she’d never done anything to him. Even though she’d never even laid eyes on him before.
While Alec rifled through the man’s clothes, she stepped across the floor to the man she’d shot. The pool of blood beneath him had grown, inching along the wood floor and seeping into the cracks between the boards. Blood soaked his sweatshirt around the exit hole in his back.
He was dead. She’d killed a man. Nausea bucked in her stomach. The coppery sweet odor clogged her throat, choking her. She struggled for breath. For control. She had to push the guilt away. She couldn’t let herself feel. She had to function.
She bent down and picked up the pistol that had fallen from his hand. Then she focused on the man’s waistband. Holding her breath, she ran her hand under his sweatshirt. She felt a pouch attached to his belt. She yanked up the sweatshirt’s hem and unsnapped the pouch filled with 9mm rounds.
Alec handed her another pouch on his way to the front of the house. Moments later he raced back into the kitchen empty handed. “We’re going to have company. Get in the van. Hurry.”
Scooping up the handgun and rounds, she scurried out the door and clambered into the van.
Alec took the driver’s seat and started the engine. He snapped his seat belt and turned to her. “Keep your head down.”
She hooked her own seat belt. Slipping out of the shoulder harness, she bent at the waist, her head nearly touching the dash, the baby pushing her stomach into her throat.
Alec hit the button of the garage door opener, shifted into Reverse and stomped on the gas.
The van lurched backward. They burst into the daylight. Laura lifted her head to peek through the window. A man strode through their front yard toward the driveway, an assault rifle in the ready position.
She ducked.
Gunfire popped, hitting steel, hitting glass. Cracks splintered the passenger window and spider-webbed the windshield. “Hold on,” Alec shouted.
She hunkered lower. Grateful the lap belt was still in place, she gripped the bottom of the seat with one hand and braced against the dash with the other.
Reaching the bottom of the driveway, Alec slammed the car into drive. The van lurched. Rubber screeched against pavement, grabbing for purchase.
More gunfire from outside. The back window shattered.
The van thrust forward. Sitting as low as possible, Alec gripped the wheel, knuckles white, squinting through the cracked windshield. He spun around the bend at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. The van tilted, as if lifting off two wheels.
It settled on the straightaway. The engine roared, the sound overwhelming the thrum of Laura’s pulse in her ears, the panic racing along her nerves.
Alec took two more turns before settling on the main road.
She sat upright in her seat and twisted to check out the blown-out back window. The road was vacant behind, no bullets flying, no car following. The wind whistled through the broken car windows and whipped her hair against her cheeks. Clutching dash and door, she closed her eyes.
This couldn’t be happening. More than anything, she wanted to go to sleep, wake up and find she was safe in her bed. That Sally was still alive. That she had never pulled the trigger and taken a man’s life. That it was all a vivid hormone-induced nightmare.
Opening her eyes, she focused on her husband. His shirt was ripped and bloodstained. And he hadn’t injured his arm in the fight in the kitchen. She was sure of it. She touched his sleeve. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
No, he wasn’t fine. And despite what she’d said to reassure him earlier, neither was she. “What happened? How did you get hurt? Tell me what’s going on.”
Flattening his lips into a tight line, he took two more turns at top speed. He adjusted the wheel and settled on another country highway, pushing the pedal to the floor. “Now’s not the best time.”
She checked out the back window again. “No one’s following. Now’s the perfect time. Who were those men?”
A muscle flexed along his jaw.
“Do you know them?”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed and seemed to darken, turning gray to slate.
He knew, but he wasn’t going to tell her. How could he not tell her? “They almost killed me. They were going to take our baby. I deserve to know who they are.”
Eyes riveted to the road ahead, he blew out a long breath, as if acknowledging defeat. Another mile passed before he opened his mouth to speak. “You’ve heard of the Russian Mafiya.”
Of course she had. She didn’t have to have a father in law enforcement to be familiar with Russian organized crime. Their greed. Their brutality. Their blatant disregard for law and decency. And the men who had broken into their house and dragged her from her bed had spoken with Russian accents. But that still didn’t explain anything. “Why would the Russian mob be after us?”
He hesitated again, this time his expression was one of pain. And guilt. “My name isn’t Alec Martin.”
“Excuse me?” Whatever she’d expected him to say, this wasn’t close. Heat stole over her followed by cold. “What is your name?”
“Nikolai Stanislov.”
“Russian.” Her mind stuttered, struggling to process the information, struggling to make sense of it. “You’re involved with the Russian mob?”
“Nika Stanislov was involved with the Russian mob.”
Nika. His real name. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t handle this. “That’s why you use a false name? Because you’re a mobster?”
“I’m not a mobster.” He bit off the words, his voice sharp.
She opened her eyes and studied the lines of his face, the bitter set to his jaw. He had the same short brown hair, the same gray eyes, the same rugged features, yet she didn’t recognize this man. She’d been married to him for more than a year, dated him for two before that, and she didn’t know him. “Who are you?”
“Alec Martin is a name assigned to me by the federal witness-security program.”
“You’re a crime witness?”
“Yes.”
It didn’t take much to put the pieces together. “You witnessed something having to do with Russian organized crime.”
“My father is what they call a �big man.’”
“Your father was a mafia don?”
“Is.”
“He’s alive? You told me he died when you were young.”
A bitter smile curved his lips. “Only in my fantasies.”
She pressed her fingers against her lower lip. This couldn’t be happening. The Alec she’d married was tender and honest. This Alec—the one who had another name, the one who knew mobsters, the one with fantasies of his father’s death—she didn’t want to know. “What crime did you witness?”
“You name it.”
“Things your father did?”
“Yes.”
“And you testified against him?”
He nodded slowly, his eyes still on the ribbon of asphalt stretching in front of them. “About thirteen years ago. He was convicted of manslaughter.”
Manslaughter. Merely another name for murder.
“The men at the house were about my father getting revenge.”
“If you testified against him thirteen years ago, why is he just coming after you now?”
“He was just released from prison.”
“Why not put a contract out on you while he was in prison?”
“He likes to handle personal problems personally. Says it’s a matter of honor. As if the son-of-a-bitch knows anything about honor. Those men weren’t there to kill me. They were there to take me back to New York. Back to face my father.”
“One of them was talking about taking our son.” She slid her hands down over her belly. “What does your father want with our baby?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s not going to get near our baby. I’ll make sure of it.”
She wanted to believe him, wanted it with her whole heart. But after what she’d been through today, she couldn’t fool herself into thinking she and their son would be safe just because Alec said so. She couldn’t fool herself into believing anything Alec—no, Nika—said. “Why didn’t you tell me? When things became serious between us, when we started talking about marriage, about having kids…” Rage worked its way into her throat, pinching her voice, cutting off her words.
“I thought it was over. When I met you, nothing had happened for ten years. I thought I could finally have my own life, my own family.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I should have a say in my future? Did it ever occur to you that I might have ideas about the type of man I wanted to marry? The type of man I wanted to father my kids?” A flurry of kicks vibrated inside her, her son’s movement fueled by the adrenaline racing through her veins. She folded her hands over her belly and lowered her voice. “Did you ever consider giving me a choice?”
“We chose each other, Laura. Our feelings for each other had nothing to do with my background. That hasn’t changed.”
“Everything’s changed.”
“Because my past is different than you thought?”
“Because my future is different. Our son’s future is different.”
This morning when she’d awakened, her life had been everything she’d ever wanted. She had a thriving business. She thought she was married to the man of her dreams. And she had a perfect little son on the way. Her biggest problem had been a case of the sniffles. Her biggest concern had been asking Sally to open the bar so she could get a little extra sleep. And now her friend, her marriage—everything she knew—was gone.
Her sinuses burned. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to scream. To hit him. To hurt him. To make him see what he’d done to her, to their baby. “This is not what I wanted. Not for myself, and certainly not for my son.”
“I know.”
“Do you? I wonder. Did you know that my mother used to stay up all night whenever my father was on patrol? She would sit in the dark with her rosary beads and wait for him. I think she truly believed if she didn’t keep her prayer vigil, he wouldn’t come home to us.”
Alec said nothing.
But what could he say? He knew about her mother’s fears. He’d seen for himself how her anxiety had gotten so severe before her death that she’d had to live in an institution. But even then, Laura had doubted he’d truly understood the causes and ripple effects of her mother’s illness. Now she was certain he hadn’t understood. Not one bit. If he had, he never could have kept his real identity from her. He never could have put her in this position. “I always tried to stay awake with her. When I fell asleep, I felt so guilty. Like I’d let her down.”
“That’s terrible to put so much pressure on a kid.”
“Our son is going to face more pressure than that. If he survives long enough to be born, that is.”
She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand then buried her clenched fist in her lap. “By the time I reached high school, I decided that my life was going to be different. I would make it different. I set out to choose a man with a safe job to fall in love with. To marry. To have a child with. I didn’t even date men who didn’t fit into that plan. I didn’t look at them twice. When I met you, I thought I’d found the perfect man. A liquor distributor. A salesman. Not a police officer, like my father. And sure as hell not the son of a mobster. If I’d had any idea…”
The creases flanking his mouth and digging into his forehead deepened. “I wanted to be your husband. I wanted it so much.”
“Enough to lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me who you really were. That’s lying in my book.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
But his acquiescence wasn’t enough to loosen the knot twisting in her stomach or lighten the weight in her chest. It wasn’t even close. “You should have told me the truth, Alec or Nikolai or whatever-the-hell your name is. You should have let me decide if I wanted to live with this ticking bomb.”
“I’m sorry, Laura. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me. Not if you knew who I was.” He pulled his gaze from the highway for a moment and looked at her. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Damn you, Alec. You’ve lost me, anyway.”
Alec turned hollow eyes on the road twisting through rolling farm fields, his face pale in the shattered pattern of sunlight shining through the windshield.
She clutched the bottom of her nightgown, trying to cover her legs. If only she could do something. Take control. Stand up, walk around, burn off the desperate feeling storming her nerves. Anything. Instead she was stuck in this damn car next to a man she didn’t know, driving hell-bent for nowhere. And there wasn’t a thing she could do to change it. Or was there? “Turn the car around.”
“What?”
“I want to go back to Beaver Falls. I want you to drop me off at the police station.”
Chapter Four
Alec gripped the steering wheel. His head throbbed just behind his eyes. Dread pooled in his chest, filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe. “I’m not taking you back to Beaver Falls.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust the police.”
“Why?”
“My father has been successful because he knows that most people have a price, and he can afford to pay it.”
“You think he’s bribing police officers in Beaver Falls?” She sounded shocked, like this was the most outrageous suggestion she’d ever heard.
He shouldn’t be surprised. “You only think it’s ridiculous because your father was a cop. You come from a totally different world than I do. You automatically trust cops. You see them as the good guys, the white knights.”
“And your background makes you objective?” She shook her head. “Just because your father bribed cops in New York when you were growing up, doesn’t mean all the officers in the entire country are on his payroll.”
“Maybe not. But the trick is finding out which ones are. Before you trust them.”
“Do you have any reason to believe the Beaver Falls police are corrupt? Do you have any proof?”
“I have a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“Yes. And in light of what’s happened, a feeling is enough. We can’t take chances.”
“I’m not taking chances. I’m just not going to let your paranoia prevent me from getting help.” Or from leaving you. She hadn’t said it, but the sentiment was there, hanging in the air between them like an iron curtain.
“It’s not paranoia.”
“Really? You haven’t given me one reason I shouldn’t rely on the Beaver Falls police.”
“Before I found Sally and the others, I called 911. I reported the gas leak and—”
“The others?”
Alec cringed. He had forgotten Laura didn’t know about the massacre he’d stumbled across. The deaths. The explosion. “I went to the restaurant to look for you. That’s where I found Sally.”
“And others.” The words came out on a whisper, as if she was afraid to know more, but couldn’t keep herself from asking.
“Yes. There were others.”
“Who?”
He’d give anything not to tell her. The news of Sally’s death was enough for Laura to come to terms with. But knowing Laura, she would never let it go. Not until she knew everything. “Your prep cook, Tim.”
She flinched as if he’d physically hit her.
“One of your waitresses.”
“Traci. Traci was supposed to open the dining room for lunch.” Her voice was robotic, as if she was keeping the names at a distance, not really thinking about what it all meant. “No one else. Please, no one else.”
“The guy that works for the produce company.”
“Ed.”
“I didn’t see anyone else.” As if the three he’d just named plus Sally weren’t enough.
She leaned back in her seat, breathing shallowly through her mouth. The only sound inside the van was the thrashing wind and the miles humming by under the tires.
Finally she turned her head toward him. “What does any of this have to do with not trusting the police?”
“I smelled a gas leak when I entered the building. I called 911. About the leak. About my suspicion that there was more going on. The police never showed. Not the entire time I was there.”
“Because their response time wasn’t as fast as you thought it should be, you assume the entire Beaver Falls Police Department is working for your father?”
She made him sound like he was paranoid. “It wouldn’t have to be the entire department. It could be one or two officers that delayed their response. Or the dispatcher. But I guarantee it wasn’t a coincidence that the police didn’t arrive before the gas explosion and fire destroyed evidence of the murders.”
“The restaurant exploded?” She gasped in a breath, weathering the shock as she had the news of the deaths.
Alec watched her out of the corner of his eye. There was no telling how these shocks, one after another, would affect her health. At just over seven months along, it couldn’t be good for her. Or for the baby. He’d heard enough stories of premature labor to scare the piss out of him.
But short of lying, he didn’t know how to protect her from the truth. And he’d lied to Laura enough. More lies, even to protect her, would only make things worse. “I know this whole thing seems insane. It’s only natural you’d want to go to the police, to trust them. Especially since your father was a cop. But if you knew my father, if you’d seen what he’s capable of…”
“I’ve seen enough to know we can’t handle this alone.”
She might be right. God knew he’d come awfully close to losing everything this morning, closer than he could bear thinking about. But who the hell could they trust? In his father’s world, trust was for dead men. And whether he liked it or not, this morning he’d been sucked back into his father’s world. And so had Laura. “We don’t have a choice. We have to handle this alone.”
She shook her head, as if she couldn’t imagine it.
She probably couldn’t. She was raised by a cop, taught to trust cops. He wasn’t. And the one time he’d trusted the authorities, they’d let him down. It had taken ten years, but they let him down nonetheless. “I understand you’re angry with me. Hell, you probably hate me. That’s okay. I deserve it. But you need to think beyond that. You have to trust me. You have no other choice.”
“No. I have a choice.” She narrowed her eyes to brown slits and set her chin. “I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you. I want out. Now. Take me to the police station.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. “Like hell.”
“You’re kidnapping me?”
“Damn it, Laura. I’m not staking our lives on the police. If that means I’m kidnapping you, so be it.”
She reached toward him. Before he realized what she was doing, she unsnapped his cell phone from his belt. She flipped the phone open. “Now do you want to drop me off at the station, or should we do this the hard way?”
Alec gritted his teeth. He could just pull the car over and wrestle the phone from her before she had a chance to punch in 911, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not to Laura. “All right. Call them.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Tell them to meet you in an hour at Conason Park. Near the shelter.”
“What are you up to?”
He didn’t answer. She’d understand soon enough. If his plan worked, either Laura would be as safe as possible with the cops or as safe as possible with him. And all that mattered now was that she and the baby were as safe as they could be. “Make the call.”
LAURA JOINED ALEC on the edge of the bluff overlooking Bear River and the Conason Park shelter. A cool wind gushed through the valley and swirled over the bluffs. Laura shivered and pulled the blanket, rummaged from the winter driving supplies in the van, tighter around her nightgown. She hadn’t felt cold since she’d become pregnant. Through the Wisconsin winter she’d worn short-sleeved tops most days. But even though she wasn’t exactly dressed, the chill she felt now went deeper than any clothing or blanket could warm. It drilled into the very marrow of her bones.
She wanted to get this over with. Leaving the life she’d thought she had, the husband she thought she knew, was painful enough. The last thing she wanted to do was draw it out. But Alec had insisted they stay on top of the bluff, watch for the police’s arrival and make sure his father’s thugs were nowhere in sight before he would let her go.
Shading her eyes with one hand, she peered down into the valley. Noon sun sparkled off the river that wound through the park. Maples and oaks had yet to leaf out, and their bare branches camouflaged little of the parking lot, playground and shelter below. From here they could see the park entrances and roads approaching the shelter in both directions. If something wasn’t on the up-and-up, they would see it.
It seemed Alec had thought of everything.
No surprise. She’d always known he was smart. His intelligence was one of the things that attracted her to him the first time he’d shown up at her newly established restaurant to take her liquor order. What she hadn’t recognized was his cunning. She’d never guessed he could think like a criminal, anticipate what they would do, how they would strike.
But then, she hadn’t known so many things about him.
He stood next to her, eyes shifting back and forth, covering both entrances of the park. Tension rolled off him in waves. His body seemed to vibrate with restlessness.
He’d always carried a certain intensity, a need to move, ever since she’d met him. If seated, he’d jiggle his leg. If standing, he’d pace. More than once, she’d jokingly asked him why he needed to keep moving, what he was running from.
Now she knew.
“Where will you go?” The question escaped her lips before she could bite it back. She probably shouldn’t have asked it. She probably shouldn’t care.
He didn’t look at her, his concentration rooted to the park. “I don’t know. Maybe the Twin Cities. Maybe farther. Somewhere I can get lost in the crowds.”
“Your money won’t last long in a city.”
“I’ll find work. Off the books.”
That was easy enough. Although she never used undocumented workers, she knew countless other businesses did. There were a lot of advantages for the business owner. Low wages. No need to provide health care and other benefits. And no unemployment, worker’s compensation or payroll tax. The underground economy was alive and well in the U.S. It was certainly possible for Alec to simply vanish from the system. She would never see him again.
And he would never know their son.
She steeled herself against the thought. Alec had made his bed when he’d decided to lie to her about who he really was. She couldn’t let herself feel sorry for him. She wouldn’t. But still, the idea that he would miss his son’s birth, his first words, his first steps, left a hollow feeling in her chest.
But even worse, their son wouldn’t have a dad.
As much stress as her father’s job had caused during her childhood, she couldn’t have imagined growing up without him. His encouragement. His unwavering faith in her. His love.
She wanted those things for her child. When she’d chosen to marry Alec, she’d done so as much for their future children as she had for herself. She’d thought he’d be a gentle and caring father. A protector who would keep them safe. A role model.
How could she have been so wrong?
She couldn’t think about it. None of this was in her control. Alec’s lies had rendered all her plans useless. All her dreams of a happy family unattainable. She just had to do the best she could from here on out. “What am I supposed to tell the baby about you?”
“Nothing.”
“I have to tell him something. He deserves to know.”
“I don’t want him to be part of that world. My father’s world. I don’t want him to know anything about it.” Muscles clenched at the corners of his jaw. Tendons stood out along his neck. “If everything works out with the police the way you’re hoping it will, promise me you’ll tell him I’m dead.”
“I’m not going to lie.”
“You don’t know it will be a lie.”
His words knocked the air from her lungs. He was right. She wouldn’t know. His father could find him, kill him, and she would never know.
“Promise me.”
Tightness pinched her throat. Swallowing hard, she smoothed her hair back from her face and scanned the park through the haze of leafless branches. “I’ll tell him you’re dead.”
“Good.”
Where were the police? Why weren’t they here by now?
As if conjured by her thoughts, a sedan slowed on the highway below. It swung into the entrance of the park and crept toward the parking lot. She’d never cared about makes and models of cars, couldn’t tell one from another, but the plain lines and dark blue of this one seemed like just the type the police favored for their unmarked cars.
The time had come.
She forced herself to keep her eyes on the car. She couldn’t allow herself to glance at Alec, to look one last time at the intense gray of his eyes, the gentle hook of his nose, the full lips she’d once relished kissing. It wouldn’t get her anywhere. It would only make the moment more bitter. Only remind her of what she’d once thought she’d had with him. What she’d never really had at all.
The car wound past the first parking lot and toward the shelter.
“There’s a cabin up near Minoqua. On Lake Tomahawk. 1342 Brinberry Road.” She could feel his gaze on her, sense the question in his eyes. “It was my dad’s fishing and hunting cabin. The one in pictures of me as a kid. Before he died, he sold it to his former partner. No one uses it until summer, so it should be empty this time of year. The key is hanging under the edge of the siding, near the door.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
The car slowed near a bank of trees.
Drawing a deep breath of resolve, Laura offered her gun to Alec, grip first.
Alec met it with a flat palm, pushing the weapon back to her. “Keep it.”
“I won’t be able to keep it. Not in police custody.” She looked up at him. But he was watching the car. She followed his gaze.
The car had come to a complete stop. Now it backed into a small, gravel service path concealed by trees on one side, and the park shelter on the other. A beam of sunlight penetrated the windshield, shining like a spotlight on the occupants.
Laura narrowed her eyes, straining to see. The driver looked young, not familiar. But the passenger—
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and stared at the cut and bloodied face of the man who had dragged her from her bed. The man who had said he’d killed Sally.
Sergei Komorov.
“Do you still think the Beaver Falls Police Department will protect you?” Alec said, his voice as low and ominous as a rumble of thunder.
Her mind spun. She didn’t know what to think anymore. All she knew was that there would be no officers whisking her and her baby to safety. There was no safety anymore.
For any of them.
Chapter Five
Evening shadows slid into the forest as Laura ran her hand under the edge of the cabin’s siding. Except for their time at the park, she’d spent all day in the van. And even though her belly was awkwardly in the way, it felt good to bend and stretch out her hamstrings. Her fingers brushed rough wood and swiped through webs and sticky egg sacks left by last year’s crop of spiders. She shivered, but kept groping until her fingers hit a protruding nail. She slid her fingers down the nail, gripped the key and slipped it free. At least the key’s hiding spot hadn’t changed. Pushing herself to her feet, she circled to the door.
Other than the crackle of sticks under Alec’s feet as he walked around the cabin’s perimeter, the forest was silent. In summer, the song of frogs along the lakeshore and the chirp of crickets filled the dusk, finally giving way to the haunting calls of loons late into the night. But in April the lake was just waking up from winter, and only the birds broke their silence.
She slipped the key into the lock. Rusty tumblers ground and scraped as the dead bolt slid open. Alec had said he wanted to collect firewood to ward off the north woods chill before he joined her in the cabin. But Laura knew his real motivation for exploring the forest surrounding the cabin had more to do with security than warmth. It was just as well. She hadn’t set foot in the cabin since her father had become sick. And with the uncertain way she felt about Alec, she’d rather confront the house and her memories alone.
She turned the knob and pushed. Hinges creaked as it swung wide. Picking up the bags of groceries, clothing and bandages for Alec’s arm Alec had bought at a Wal-Mart on the way out of Beaver Falls, she stepped onto the worn white-and-yellow-patterned linoleum she remembered from childhood.
Her mother’s deep-gold curtains had been replaced with a cheery yellow-and-red check, but the rest of the kitchen appeared untouched. Leave it to Frank to keep the same decor. He probably couldn’t bring himself to change anything his former partner had picked out unless he was forced.
Laura breathed in the faint scent of mildew and mothballs. Even that hadn’t changed. She remembered stashing mothballs around the cabin before winter to keep the mice out. Apparently, that strategy still worked.
Setting the bags on the kitchen counter, she pulled out the maternity clothing, undergarments and shoes Alec had bought, and stepped through the archway leading into the cabin’s only other room. This room, too, was just as she remembered. Sure there were a few new sticks of furniture: a pleather recliner, a sofa bed near the wood-burning stove. But the ancient couch still dominated the room that doubled as gathering area and bedroom, its orange stripes as vibrantly loud as ever. The Bengal tiger of couches, her dad used to call it.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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