Relentless Pursuit (2 page)

“Mr. Dubshenko…”

“Jennifer, my dear, how many times must I tell you to call me Vladimir?”  Jinx winced at Dubshenko's use of her name.  Growing up she'd always been called Jinx by her family, a term of affection.  People at work of course called her Jennifer or Ms. Marucci, but to hear her name said in Dubshenko's oily voice, well...eww.

“I'm sorry.  Vladimir, I don’t know what's going on, but can't we talk about this rationally?  Whatever Carlo has or hasn't done I'll make sure he makes it right.”  Jinx figured offering to play peacemaker might get Dubshenko to lower the gun he still held pointed straight at her brother's head.

“I'm afraid your brother has something of mine he has yet to deliver.  Actually, you have two things don't you, Carlo?”

Carlo flinched which was all Jinx needed to know Dubshenko was telling the truth.  Carlo had something important that belonged to the deadly Russian, and was terrified to hand it over. 

Dubshenko laughed, deep bellied and full of enjoyment.  “Carlo, Carlo.  Did you think I wouldn't find out what you did, you stupid fool?  I know everything.  Every move you make I have someone watching, reporting back to me.”

He strode forward until he stood within inches of Carlo.  Jinx held her breath as Dubshenko rubbed the barrel of the gun against her brother's cheek.  Sweat trickled down the side of her face, yet she remained frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.  Any sudden movement could set off Dubshenko and he would pull the trigger.

“What?”  Carlo's voice cracked, as the cold metal of the gun pressed against his forehead so hard, Jinx saw the skin dent inward.

“Where is it?  I won't ask again.  I'll just—kill your sister.”

Dubshenko whirled around, the gun now pointed straight at her.  Okay, things had gone from what-the-hell-is-going-on straight to this-son-of-a-bitch-is-pointing-a-gun-at-me! 

“Carlo, I don't know what the hell you've done, but if you've got something that belongs to Vladimir,” Jinx glanced at Dubshenko and watched him preen at her use of his given name, “give it to him now.”

“Listen to your sister,” Dubshenko glanced over at the goon still holding tight to Carlo.  “Get his phone.”

Tall, dark and loathsome grabbed Carlo by the arm and began patting down his pockets, quickly finding and pulling out his cell phone, which he promptly handed to Dubshenko.  Jinx studied Carlo's face intently, watching her brother for clues.  He quirked a brow as Dubshenko scrolled through his phone, focused on finding whatever he thought her brother had.  Knowing Carlo, whatever Dubshenko was looking for wasn't on his phone. 
Well, not that phone anyway
.

With a muffled curse, Dubshenko tossed the cell phone on the floor. He stomped on it with the heel of his expensive, shiny black shoes crushing the plastic case into dozens of pieces.

“I am not a stupid man, Carlo.  There are numerous hackers in my employ who will find where you have hidden it, and when they do your life is forfeit.  It's only a matter of time.”  Dubshenko walked over to Jinx, and cupped her cheek in his hand.  She tried wrenching her face away, but his grip tightened to the point of pain.  At the barely disguised lust in his eyes, Jinx stilled.  He wanted her to fight, struggle against his hold.  She could tell from the way his breathing sped up he liked inflicting pain.

“In the meantime, maybe I'll spend a bit of quality time getting to know your sister a little better.  More…intimately.”

“Don’t touch her you son of a bitch!”  In an unexpected move Carlo broke free from the bodyguard's hold and raced across the living room toward Dubshenko.   He grabbed the hand Dubshenko held the gun in, and both men grappled for control of the weapon.

A bark of the gunfire erupted, and time seemed to freeze.  Everything reduced to herky-jerky movements that flickered and sputtered like an old-time kaleidoscope.  It was a moment out of time, surreal to watch.  Her brother's body jerked with the impact of the bullet hitting him in the center of his chest.  A circle of bright red—such a small amount at first—bloomed outward from the darkening hole.  Carlo's knees buckled, and his body sagged to the ground.

Jinx didn't realize she'd screamed until she saw Dubshenko and his bodyguard turn toward her. Dubshenko shook his head, a moue of distaste puckering his lips.

“Get her.”  He motioned with the gun and the scarred, black-haired giant advanced toward her.  Adrenalin zinged through her like a bolt of electricity and she spun, sprinting toward the kitchen. 
Gotta get away.  Gotta run.  He's gonna kill me.

A hand latched onto her arm and Jinx yanked, feeling the stitching in her sleeve tear loose with her jerking movement, but at least she was free. 
For the moment
.  She snatched the wire bowl of lemons sitting on the butcher block island, tossed the entire thing toward her assailant.  It bounced off his chest and he batted it away, still advancing on her.  She looked around for something else to use for a weapon.  The block of knives was too far away and he'd be on her in an instant, well before she could get one pulled free. 
The sink
.  Grabbing the bottle of dishwashing liquid she aimed and squeezed, the stream of pink liquid hit him square in the face.  He stopped advancing, wiped at his eyes and bellowed a curse in a heavy Russian accent.  Yep, he definitely worked for Dubshenko.

While he smeared the soap across his face trying to clear his vision, Jinx aimed the creamy, slick liquid onto the floor at his feet.  Hopefully, he hadn't seen that since his eyes had tears running from them. Maybe spreading out the dish soap bought her a few extra seconds.  Squirting the remainder of the bottle onto the tile, she prayed the newly slick surface might slow him down.

She chucked the now-empty plastic bottle at his head and sprinted toward the back door, snagging her purse on the way out.  Her one thought—my cell phone's in my purse.  I've got to call the police, get an ambulance for Carlo. 
Oh, Carlo, please don't be dead
.

The doorknob slipped beneath her soap-slicked fingers when she twisted it, and she lost her grip.  An angry outburst peppered the air behind her.  Dubshenko had entered the kitchen behind his cohort and Jinx's fingers scrambled against the lock. 
Did I turn the dead bolt when I got home?  Why won't the damn door open?
  No, the lock was still in the unlocked position.  It was just her stupid clumsiness that kept it from opening.

The knob twisted—finally—and she tugged the door inward and raced out into the humid evening air.  Sweat immediately pooled between her breasts and plastered her shirt against her back.  Droplets beaded along her forehead.  Ignoring the discomfort, she ran.

Get to the car, call the police.  Get to the car, call the police
.  The refrain played over and over in her head keeping a relentless beat that matched the rhythm of her bare feet skimming across the grass and dirt of the backyard.  The brittleness of the dry, brown grass stabbed at her naked soles, but the pain never penetrated.  She kept running.

“Jennifer, my dear, come back inside.  We can talk about what happened.”

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch!”  She didn't even bother turning around, knew too much time had already passed.  Was Carlo still alive?  Tears flowed down her cheeks with the realization—he was dead.  The gunshot wound, all the blood.  His unconscious body slumped to the floor.  There was no way he'd survived a point blank shot at such close range.  Her brother was dead.  Now she was running for her life from the very man who had killed him.

She had to get away.  Knew if they caught her she'd die.   Legs pumping, breathing became more and more difficult as she raced full out.  Her bare toes caught on a rock and she stumbled on the uneven terrain, barely staying erect when she traversed the side yard where it changed from grass to the concrete and broken pavement and spiky weed of the city sidewalk in front of her house.

She stopped short, her feet stomping on the hard concrete at the sight of a huge black limousine parked just feet in front of her, its engine idling.  There wasn't a doubt in her mind it belonged to Vladimir Dubshenko.  The big black behemoth blocked her car in, effectively trapping her.

Changing course, she darted toward the right, through the small line of perfectly manicured bushes dividing her yard from the house next door.  Thanks to her fastidious neighbor, Mr. Swanson, the neatly trimmed hedge rose to about waist high.  Hunkered down low, she ran in an awkward loping gait. She did her best to stay hidden from view.  If she could make it past her next door neighbor's backyard, there was an open alley, and then green space with lots of trees and dense foliage behind their houses.  She could hide.  Jinx was good at hiding—she'd been doing it nearly her whole life.  Louisiana was abundant with greenery, wild and lush, though the last couple of years with the drought things weren't as verdant as they'd been.  There was still enough overgrowth and dense vegetation to mask her from ruthless thugs bent on ending her.  She'd use every advantage she had to stay out of Dubshenko's clutches.

Behind her, running footsteps and heavy breathing sounded closer and closer.  Grabbing her side, she winced at the stitch of pain. She held her hand pressed against it as she ran.  She might be a curvy girl, bigger than society dictates considered beautiful, but she was in great shape physically.  She could outrun this clown.

Not much farther, just across the alley.  She could make it.  Before she'd taken two steps, a body slammed into her, knocking her to the ground.  All the air in her lungs whooshed out at the impact.  Momentarily stunned, rough hands grabbed her and flipped her, slamming her back against the hard-packed earth.

“Stupid bitch.”  Dubshenko's goon grabbed her arms, and Jinx thrashed wildly.  She couldn’t give up.  If he took her back to Dubshenko…

With an upward swing, the heel of her palm slammed into his nose pushing upward.  Blood gushed out and he yelped in pain, turning her loose to grab at his face.  Raising both feet and bending her knees, Jinx rocked backward onto her shoulders, and kicked forward with both feet, catching him in the chest and toppling him backward.  Scrambling backward in a crablike crawl she finally regained her feet, grabbed up her purse from where it had fallen when she'd been tackled and took off running.  But not before she saw Dubshenko rounding the corner from her yard and striding toward them.

“Jennifer, stop right now.  Do not make me hurt you.  Come with me and I will explain everything.”  His quiet voice had Jinx running even harder away from both of the men. 
Explain.  Yeah right.  He gets his hands on me, I am one dead chickie.  I saw him commit murder.  He knows I'll testify against him.  No way he'll let me live.

By now, her feet were a torn mass of open cuts and she was sure they were embedded with heaven only knows what, but she'd worry about that later.  Fortunately, since buying her little cottage she'd taken many nature walks through these woods and she was familiar with them, knew where the best ins and outs and hidey-holes were.  A few more yards and she'd be home free.  Dubshenko wouldn't dare shoot at her out in public where any of her neighbors might hear it and come and investigate, or better yet call the police.  But then again, he'd already killed Carlo, maybe he wouldn't think twice about killing anybody else who got in his way.

Riding high on an adrenalin-induced burst of speed, she raced across the open alleyway and into the relative darkness of the trees.  She didn't dare stop to look behind her, still running.  Think, Jinx, where's the best hiding place close by?  Get out of sight.  About fifty yards in, there was a fallen over tree lying in a small dried up creek bed.  She could hide behind it, wait for it to get full dark and then outwait them.

She heard Dubshenko at the edge of the alley calling her name.  The fear-laced rush of adrenalin was wearing off, and the reality of the evening's events started sinking in.

Her brother was dead.  Murdered by one of the biggest Russian mafia leaders in the state.  He ruled New Orleans seedy underbelly from everything she'd heard.  He wouldn't stop looking for her.  There really wasn't much choice.  She'd have to go to the cops.  Trusting the police—not the best option—but she'd tell them everything she knew so they could at least start an investigation.  After that, she'd do the one thing she was good at.  The one thing she'd been doing her entire life.

Disappear. 

Chapter Two

N
othing in the world compared to the feeling Remy got every time he walked through the doors of the station; the smell of burnt coffee, sweaty bodies and stale, musty sex perfumed the air.  Uniformed cops led handcuffed perps toward the holding cells, paperwork in hand.  Even the buzz and pop from the overhead fluorescent lights felt homey and comforting.

Damn, I love my job
.

Sauntering through the front door, he managed to make it farther into the bull pen, took a sharp right and meandered all the way to the back wall where a beat-up, scratched to hell and back, tan and chrome metal desk sat.  It had definitely seen better days, but occupied a place of pride, the narrow space by the window.  The nighttime lights from downtown New Orleans shown through the panes of scratched glass as revelers paraded by on their way to a night of parties and debauchery in the Big Easy.  It was still early enough in the evening that people lined the streets, heading for Bourbon Street and the French Quarter and all the touristy-type fun New Orleans was famous for.

Plopping down in his equally beat-up office chair with the padded armrests wrapped in duct tape with stuffing sticking out, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out the file for his current case.  The one Cap called his obsession.   He began his daily review of the ever-growing file of the scumbag POS who still roamed the streets of his town, Vladimir Dubshenko.

Remy hadn't been able to find a way to nail Dubshenko's ass to the wall yet, but it wasn't for lack of trying.  The District Attorney never felt there was enough evidence to make a case stick.  Remy planned to change that fact pretty damned quick.  Vladimir Dubshenko was a walking, talking menace to every single person in this town.  There wasn't a law he hadn't broken—drugs, prostitution, gun running.  You name it, Dubshenko had his sticky fingers all over it.  Unfortunately, every time Remy rounded up enough evidence and injured parties to arrest the scumbag, the witnesses tended to disappear before an indictment could be handed down.