Chương 2
She shoved him away.
“My mother is sick.”
“I know.”
The fact that he knew frightened her more than the bullets.
“How do you know?”
Viktor took the tiny key from her hand, studied it for half a second, and returned it.
“Because they photographed her. Because Aleksandr’s enemies study weaknesses before they apply pressure. Because your mother is on dialysis three days a week, your brother has two unpaid judgments and a suspended license, and you work six mornings and four nights because your family’s rent went up last spring.”
Clara’s mouth went dry.
The bodyguard across from them had close-cropped blond hair and a cut along his cheek. He held the open suitcase on his knees, keeping the photographs from sliding out.
Clara pointed at him. “Who are you?”
“Sergei.”
“The others?”
“Oleg and Tomas.”
She looked at Viktor. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re the good ones?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly to be rehearsed.
“You are supposed to believe the bullets.”
The SUV crossed an intersection against the light. A horn blared. Pedestrians jumped back from the curb.
Clara looked through the rear window. The second SUV followed closely. Behind it, a white delivery van turned onto the same street.
“Van,” she said.
Sergei looked back. “I see it.”
Viktor lifted a radio. “Oleg, block.”
The second SUV changed lanes and slowed. The van tried to follow, then swerved around a bus and vanished in traffic.
Clara pressed her nails into her palms. Her body had begun to shake now that no one was physically pulling her. She hated the shaking. It made her feel like a passenger inside herself.
“Call my mother.”
“No.”
“Call her.”
“We relocate first.”
“She might be alone.”
“She is not.”
Clara turned toward him so quickly that her shoulder hit the door. “What does that mean?”
Viktor watched the passing buildings.
“At six forty this morning, two of our people took positions near your apartment. At seven twelve, your mother left with Marco. They entered his car and drove south.”
“Marco’s license is suspended.”
“I know.”
“Where did they go?”
“We lost them near Market Street.”
Clara’s fear sharpened into anger. Anger was easier. It gave her somewhere to stand.
“You were watching us before the diner.”
“We began watching after Aleksandr disappeared.”
“He disappeared after I helped him.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let my mother get into Marco’s car?”
“Our men were told not to make contact unless there was an immediate threat.”
“There was a threat. You brought a suitcase full of photographs of my family into my job.”
Viktor said nothing.
The silence told her he agreed, or that he did not care, and she could not decide which was worse.
Sergei lifted Ivan’s blood-stained identification card. “There is more blood on the edge than on the center.”
Viktor looked at it.
“What does that mean?” Clara asked.
“It may not be Ivan’s blood.”
Sergei slid the card into a plastic evidence sleeve. “Or he held it after he was injured.”
Clara pictured the rain from the night before.
Aleksandr had appeared outside the diner shortly after eleven, when the stools were upside down on the tables and Clara was counting a register that never came out right on Thursdays. The rain had flattened his silver hair and darkened his overcoat. He had stood beneath the broken green awning with one battered suitcase in each hand, watching the street instead of seeking shelter.
Ivan had been beside the curb.
At first Clara thought he was drunk. Then she saw his shoe in the gutter and the blood diluted pink by rainwater.
She had unlocked the door.
Aleksandr told her not to call the police.
She had called an ambulance anyway.
The old man came inside only after she threatened to lock him out with his dying driver. He sat in the third booth from the window while Clara pressed clean towels against Ivan’s shoulder. He never removed his overcoat. He watched her with a tired, almost offended patience, as if her refusal to obey him were inconvenient but not surprising.
When the ambulance arrived, Ivan was gone.
So was the blood on the sidewalk.
Aleksandr had remained in the booth.
Clara had gone outside with the paramedics, arguing that a man had been there. She had looked under parked cars, behind the trash enclosure, and inside the alley. By the time she returned, Aleksandr had disappeared too.
The two suitcases had been left under the table.
Manny wanted to put them in the dumpster.
Clara had refused.
Now one sat open across from her, and the other—
She leaned forward.
“Where’s the second suitcase?”
Viktor looked at Sergei.
Sergei looked down at the one on his knees.
For the first time since the bullet struck the diner, Viktor’s composure shifted. It was not panic. It was a small tightening around his eyes.
“Oleg had it.”
He spoke into the radio. “Confirm second case.”
Static answered.
“Oleg.”
The radio crackled. A different voice came through, strained and distant.
“Rear vehicle hit. We lost the case.”
Viktor’s gaze went flat.
“How?”
“Alley collision. Two motorcycles. Tomas is wounded. Case taken.”
Clara stared at the tiny key in her palm.
The first bullet had not been meant to kill her.
It had been meant to make them run.
Viktor reached the same conclusion. He leaned toward the driver.
“Change route.”
The driver took the next right without signaling.
Clara’s apron pocket felt suddenly heavy, though it was empty now.
“What does the key open?”
Viktor looked at her.
“I hoped you knew.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Aleksandr placed it on you.”
“Why?”
“Because he trusted you.”
“He met me for twenty minutes.”
“Sometimes twenty minutes is enough.”
“That sounds like something people say after they ruin someone’s life.”
May you like
Sergei looked away.
The SUV entered a parking garage beneath a medical office building. The gate opened before they reached it. A security guard glanced up from his phone and then quickly looked down again.
