The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4) Page 16

  Killing a cop is a capital offense. She’d be looking at the death penalty. She’s bound to know that, which tells me that death is not a deterrent for her. She truly has nothing to lose. I suspect she may be setting the stage for her own death, on her own terms. From the outside looking in, I can’t say that I blame her.

  I would love to be a fly on the wall when Novak and Dad get into it about her getting away. Knowing my father, he’ll make sure Novak never forgets how he fucked up – and, knowing Novak the way I do, failure will infuriate the fucker. Mission accomplished, basically.

  I hurry through my shower, hoping to position myself downstairs in time to catch at least part of the conversation between my father and Novak. At the very least, maybe I can discern Dad’s intentions while also enjoying Novak’s comeuppance, up close and personal.

  I’m drying off when I walk back into the bedroom, scrubbing the towel roughly over my hair before drying my torso and arms. Natasha looks up from where she’s sitting up in bed nursing her coffee and finishing off my half-eaten croissant. Her eyes heat with feminine appreciation as she checks me out. I’m pretty shameless when it comes to nudity. Hell, if I had my way I’d only wear clothes when absolutely necessary.

  “Where are you going so early?” she purrs as she wipes a crumb from the corner of her mouth and sucks it off the end of her thumb. In an instant, I’m hard and we’re locked in a heated standoff, each of us waiting to see what the other will do.

  “Me? I’m heading to the office to see if Jasmine left anything for me.”

  “So…I see you’re on a first name basis now. Well, you’re not going without me.” She hops off the bed, our sexy duel forgotten as she scampers into the bathroom, giving me a delicious view of the most perfect ass God ever made.

  In a matter of seconds I hear the water running and I know she’ll be ready by the time I finish dressing. She’s one of the few women I know who doesn’t need make-up. She wears it occasionally but she’s confident enough not to require it.

  Sure enough, by the time I’m straightening my tie she’s squeezing into jeans and a muscle t-shirt. The ensemble couldn’t be farther from haute couture, but it hugs her well-toned body in all the right places.

  “And what makes you so anxious to go with me?”

  “Oh, let’s see, we’re dealing with a woman with a penchant for killing and a fierce sense of justice, no matter how twisted it may be. That’s quite a combination and I’d hate to think I have any competition,” she smirks. “I know how you love a bad-ass woman.”

  “Ahh, so you’ve discovered my weakness for hit women, huh?”

  She playfully punches my arm. “You do have a death wish for the woman, you know.”

  “You’d kill for me?” I chuckle.

  “Damn straight I would. Hey…let’s go see if Novak’s made it in yet.”

  “You’re such a little instigator.”

  “Like you weren’t thinking the same thing. And, yes…I do love a good Bratva brawl.”

  “If those two go at it, it’ll be in a boxing ring, not in Dad’s office.”

  “Now, that I’d like to see. But I have to agree, Glazov isn’t going to risk messing up any of his high-dollar antiques. Let’s go, you’ve made me curious.”

  She slips on a black ball cap with a skull and crossbones applique. She looks so good without even trying. At a glance, we couldn’t look more like opposites. Only we truly understand just how alike we really are.

  She giggles as she grabs my arm, tugging me out the door. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much, she makes even the mundane, day-to-day things fun. She is the light of my life, my malysh. I’d live a pretty boring life without her.

  We both get quiet when we hear Dad and Novak’s voices.

  “I know she eluded you last night, but you’ve lost her?! You’re telling me you have no idea where she is? What the fuck were you two thinking, not stationing somebody behind her apartment building?”

  “That fire escape is decrepit, hasn’t been used in years! How the hell was I supposed to know the crazy bitch would use it to jump out of a third story window?”

  “Expect the unexpected, zhopa!”

  “Poshol nahuj, Glazov. Fuck off. I’m not one of your underlings, I’m family.”

  My father’s voice takes on a sinister tone. “To whom much is given…much is required. How do you think it’s going to look when she’s arrested and tells the authorities two Russians buffoons were at her door? It’s not like you blend in covered in all that fucking hardware and ink – a brilliant move for a Bratva brigadier, by the way.”

  “That isn’t my issue.”

  “And just what is your issue, Novak?”

  “The fact that you passed this case to your son and his woman.”

  “When I’m ready to kill her, I’ll consider giving you the privilege of doing it.”

  I place my finger to my lips in an effort to tell Natasha to be very quiet and we tip toe away. There’s no telling how long those two will be going at it. I know Novak is pissed because he thinks Dad snubbed him. I’ll talk to him later when Dad isn’t around.

  I know my father and the reason he ordered us to find the woman was because we’re more invested in finding her. That, and he’s testing us yet again to see if we’ll follow his orders.

  Novak isn’t the only one under the Pakhan’s relentless scrutiny. In the end, it’s just the Bratva way.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Cop Killer

  I sneak around the side of my apartment building, making sure no one is around before I knock on Mrs. Harris’ door. Sleeping on the streets isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s dangerous as hell for me now. How did things get so crazy out of control?

  I’m going for some reverse psychology here; no one will think of looking for me this close to my apartment. If Mrs. Harris will let me crash at her place, I’ll be able to get to my stash of cash and my gun. I would kill anyone who tried to hurt my neighbor so she’ll actually be safer with me there.

  “Mrs. Harris,” I call out in a low voice as I knock on the door. I can hear the sound of her cane and footsteps shuffling slowly across the floor.

  “Good lord, child, you look awful,” she exclaims. She leans in to get a good look at me and scowls when she takes in my bedraggled appearance. I squeeze past her and lock the deadbolt before I say anything.

  “We need to talk,” I urge in a frantic, hushed tone. She pats my arm and waves me to a seat.

  “Of course, dear. Let me start some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

  Mrs. Harris may not have expensive things but her apartment is as neat as a pin. I take off my soiled jacket and am careful to place it over the arm of a wooden chair so it doesn’t ruin any upholstery. She slowly hobbles back in to wait for the coffee to finish brewing.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” The look on her face is one of concern, like a grandmother might have for a beloved grandchild.

  I settle back in the chair and decide to tell her enough for her to understand my plight, but leave out enough to ensure she isn’t put in danger.

  “I left an abusive man six months ago. Two men were trying to find me last night. I’ve got nowhere to go, Mrs. Harris.”

  “I thought those men I eyed through the peephole last night looked like hooligans.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at the antiquated word. She continues, “I may be old but I’m not stupid. You got nothing to worry about, you just stay here with me. And there’s always my ol’ trusty Shurshot if we run into any trouble.”

  “Shurshot? I’m sorry, you have…a Shurshot?” I question hesitantly, to ensure she’s saying what I think she is.

  “Oh, yes, honey, I love that shotgun. I may look old and frail but I ain’t puttin’ up with no shenanigans. I might be too old to duke it out anymore but I can still shoot a fly off a horse’s ass and not leave a mark.”

  At her use of “anymore” I shift gears from a chuckle to a full blown belly laugh. It’s b
een a long time since I laughed this hard. She returns to the kitchen to get our coffee. I follow behind her and watch as she places the cups on the counter and pours the coffee.

  She gestures for me to get a TV tray over from the corner so I do. I carry it into the front room and set it up. I return to the kitchen, place the coffee mugs and a plate of cookies on a small tray that I carry as I follow her back into the living room.

  I slump back onto the couch this time and take a sip of the warm brew, savoring the aroma and flavor of the dark roast.

  “So,” I sigh, “I don’t know how I got in so deep.”

  “We never do, dear…we never do. Why don’t you just lie down, sweetheart, you’re safe here.”

  I’m too tired to disagree. I lie down, fluff a decorative pillow and shove it under my head. As I drift off, I barely register Mrs. Harris draping a blanket over me and tucking me in like a child. She strokes a gnarled, arthritic hand over my hair, humming softly until I fall asleep.

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Nikita

  When I open my office door, I’m relieved to see that we’ve beaten my early-bird secretary to work. I bend down and pick up an envelope as Natasha closes the door.

  “I see we avoided your sex-starved, overdressed front desk bimbo, yay.”

  I ignore the catty remark. I’m too busy speculating about the contents of the envelope. I grab a letter opener and carefully open it. Huh. Nothing but cash.

  “No note, huh?” Natasha’s thinking the same thing. A note would have given us some insight into her frame of mind.

  “Damn it! A retainer fee is a hell of a thing for her to be worrying about in a situation like this.” This case is beginning to irritate me and I’m looking forward to it coming to an end—the right end.

  “But, see, that’s the thing,” Natasha says, pursing her lips. “For her to be thinking clearly enough to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s to ensure ironclad attorney-client privilege, she’s got nerves of steel. Like I said, everyone’s underestimating this woman. I’m sure she’ll contact you, and you probably won’t have to wait too long, either. Looks like you’re all she’s got.”

  “That raises a good point. She can’t go back to her apartment now, so where the hell is she staying?”

  “We need to find out if she has any family. We know her real name is Emily Finley because she was married to her third kill. But other than that? Who knows?”

  “If she has family, why the hell didn’t they help her get out of her abusive marriage?”

  “Not everyone has a close-knit family like we do. And let’s not forget, people can be assholes. They don’t want to get involved, even to help someone they’re close to. The fact that her husband was a cop probably didn’t help.”

  “There’s no excuse for anyone who knew about the abuse to just sit back and let him beat the shit out of her. I’d be willing to bet she has no family and when no one on the force would help her, she snapped--”

  Natasha cuts me off, “Maybe so, but remember, Nikita, she made choices along the way too. That doesn’t justify her husband’s abuse, of course, because nothing ever could. I imagine it must have been incredibly hard to go through something like that and scrape together enough courage to leave the way she did. Unfortunately, it looks like she was pretty damaged inside and out by the time she did.”

  I stand with my hands on my hips and my head bowed as I think through about a million scenarios for how this could go down.

  “Battered women’s syndrome is real and cases have been won by using that defense. This woman’s crimes go way beyond the scope of those cases, Natasha.” I run my fingers through my hair as I tilt my head back and exhale harshly, “Jesus, she doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell because she killed cops.”

  She wraps her arms around me from behind, squeezing me tight as she rests her cheek between my shoulder blades. “I’m afraid you’re right. Look, Nikita, the only person I care about in this shit storm of chaos is you. You can’t make everything right here. You’re going to have to let go of this need to see the woman get justice. For her, there will be no justice, baby.

  “No matter what you do, no matter what favors you try to call in, no matter what strings you try to pull – none of it will matter. When the authorities catch her, Nik, she’s as good as dead. There’s no way I’m letting you go down with her. Let. It. Go.”

  “Baby, I can’t…not even for you.”

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Cop Killer

  I’m rested when I wake up. First decent night’s sleep I’ve had in months if not years. When I don’t see Mrs. Harris right away, I assume she’s in her room asleep. That gives me an opportunity to take care of a few things.

  I take a shower. Sleeping outside the night before last has me feeling so grubby, it’s worth the extra time just to feel human again. But I can’t put off the inevitable. As much as I don’t want to go back to my apartment, I don’t have a choice. I need some clothes, a burner phone or two, some cash, and my gun.

  I leave a note for Mrs. Harris in case she wakes up. Out of habit I go to the door and look out the peephole to be sure no one is loitering in the hallway. I venture out into the hall and slip into my apartment. First stop, my closet. I work fast, grabbing the things I’ll need because I won’t ever be coming back here.

  I stuff an overnight back with enough clothes for a few days. I open my messenger bag and place my laptop and any chargers I may need into it. I can stay in a motel with the cash I have now; which will ensure a safe place to hide and keep my belongings. It isn’t a matter of if those guys will come back and ransack my apartment, only a matter of when, so I need to get the hell out.

  The final thing I need to do is call Nikita Glazov and find out if he’s on board. I dial the number I’ve memorized and he picks up on the second ring as if he was expecting my call. I hope that’s a good sign.

  “I take it you got the retainer.”

  “Yes. It wasn’t necessary, you know. But, yes, money has changed hands and that means I’m your attorney. Anything you tell me is confidential.”

  “Meet me in Central Park—on the backside of the park—not on the Magnolia Street side.”

  “Okay…I’ll be in a black SUV.”

  “No surprise there,” I say as I shake my head. You can’t get more Russian mafia than a black SUV. “Will anyone be with you?”

  “My fiancé. We’re in this together and you can trust her. I may have to finesse the attorney-client privilege issue a bit if she’s along for the ride, but you leave that to me. Natasha will know what to say if she’s ever questioned. You know, whether you realize it or not, you’re safe with me. With us.”

  “Safe? I barely remember what that is. I haven’t been truly safe in years, but I’m used to it. If anybody needs to be careful, it’s you, Mr. Glazov, not me.”

  I end the call and head out the door. I’m not looking for redemption. I just want someone to tell my side of the story when I’m dead and gone. I want people to know why I’ve done the heinous things I’ve done.

  Over and over in my mind I’ve thanked God that I never had children. What a disaster of a legacy I’d be leaving for them. That’s one good thing about being all alone in the world – there’s no one left for me to disappoint.

  I wonder how much Nikita has told his father about me. It’s unnerving to know that I’m on the Russian mafia’s radar. I believe his father sent those Russian goons to my apartment. I wonder how they broke the news that their prey managed to escape. Bet it wasn’t pretty.

  It’s very possible that I’m walking into a trap. How did it come to this? I have no choice but to trust the son of a killer, a prince of the Russian mafia.

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Nikita

  The park is empty, so that’s one less thing to worry about. Natasha huddles behind my seat, using her binoculars to scan the area for any unexpected guests and, hopefully, spot my newest client. The woman shouldn’t have any trouble findi
ng us in this deserted parking lot. The tricky part is going to be keeping her safe until I’m ready to make my move, whatever that turns out to be.

  I know this park like the back of my hand. We’ve spent every summer going to ‘Shakespeare in the Park’, not mention all the picnic lunches and romantic walks we’ve taken together here. A smirk curls my lip when I think about how we’re living the equivalent of a double life—organized crime by day, childhood sweethearts by night.

  “I think that’s her over there. See her? Behind the column under the arbor.”

  “How the hell can you see her back behind there?” I ask as I peer at the same area and see nothing. “Are those heat seeking binoculars you’ve got going on there?”

  “No…X-Ray vision.”

  “Ha ha. That I don’t doubt. I don’t even want to know if you’re kidding. Seriously, I don’t,” I say when she opens her mouth to speak. She merely shrugs and resumes her surveillance.

  The woman looks around hurriedly as she approaches. I reach back to unlock the door and she slides in, settling into the far corner of the back seat. Although no one is anywhere in sight, she slouches down in the seat.

  “Nobody followed you, Jasmine, we’ve been watching.”

  “I always feel like somebody’s following me. That’s the reason I need to talk to you.”

  I brace myself for more bad news. This job has taken on a life of its own; much like my fiancé, I don’t like being out of control. I listen as she continues, her voice shaky as she continues to peer out of the car window anxiously.

  “Listen,” she says, “these dirty cops have been having internal struggles for a while now. If I wasn’t taking them out, they’d probably end up killing themselves off anyway. Fucking bastards.”

  I nod slowly, admiring how well this woman understands the cop mentality. “I agree, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They could eventually implode without any help from us. Give us some details.”