Clinch (The Underground Book 2) (34 page)

He must have sensed her behind him because he suddenly spun around, sloshing coffee over the edge of the mug she hadn’t noticed in his hand.

Steam rose, but Thor didn’t pay any attention to the burn that had to sting his fingers. He froze in place, his mouth open, no sound coming out.

Finally he managed to speak. “You… Uh, Haley?”

She giggled, the sound foreign to her ears after weeks of fear. And then she made her way toward the closet on the right side of the room to grab a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt—her standard weekday apparel.

When she turned to grab panties and a bra from a drawer, she found him still standing in the same spot, not blinking, his gaze roaming up and down her frame. “If you step out of the room, I could get dressed.”

He blinked, closing his lips. “Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.” He set the coffee mug on her bedside table and wiped his fingers on his jeans. As if the room were on fire, he took three strides to exit, shutting the door behind him.

Good. She fought the urge to smile. It had been a long time since anyone looked at her like that. And after what she’d been through, she needed the boost of confidence.

Tossing her clothes on the bed, she unwrapped the towel and quickly dressed. Not bothering with socks or shoes, she grabbed the steaming mug and took a long sip.

Even the man’s coffee was perfect.

∙•∙

Holy shit.

Mikhail Dudko slapped his hand against his forehead and paced Haley’s tiny living room. That little spitfire had him in knots. And she’d managed to keep him that way for the entire two days he’d known her.

Granted, she’d slept the majority of those two days.

She’d made an impression on him from the first moment he’d set eyes on her curled in the corner of Dr. Ted Christianson’s bedroom where she’d been held against her will. As soon as the doctor and two men working for the head of the Russian Mafia were killed in a shootout, Mikhail had been the first to enter the room.

He’d had no idea who he might find in there. He hadn’t expected it to be a tiny woman yielding a gun. And he certainly hadn’t expected to find a sexy redhead.

Lord. He’d always had a thing for redheads.

He chuckled to himself, remembering how feisty she was. He should have known. After all, even in her drugged state, she’d managed to find a gun and aim it at—well, everyone. She had no aim.

She’d shot both Erik and Boris at least once, although not fatally. Thank God she hadn’t hit any of the good guys—namely Mikhail himself who had entered the house with two of his fighting buddies, Ivan and Leo. The three of them had followed the two idiots—Boris and Erik—who worked for Anton Yenin, halfway across Chicago.

What they hadn’t expected was a shootout. Boris and Erik were too stupid to actually use a gun. But the house belonged to the doctor, who’d also been working under the radar for Yenin.

When the gunfire started, Mikhail wasn’t even in the house. He burst in through the front entrance while the police broke in through the back door.

The last thing anyone expected was a drugged and frightened redhead hiding in the house with big enough balls to shoot her way out.

She’d been a knockout at first sight. But the woman who just emerged from the bathroom with a large white towel wrapped around her middle, hair blown into submission, and makeup on… Lord, that woman kicked him in the gut.

She’d left him speechless. It had been difficult to convince his feet to move forward so he could leave her alone to get dressed.

A noise behind him had him turning around to find her exiting the bedroom. Jesus.

“You make good coffee.” She lifted her mug. “Is there more?”

“Yes. Of course.” He strolled across the room and took the cup from her hand. Their fingers touched, sending electricity through his body at the contact.

When he glanced down at her dainty bare feet, he almost swallowed his tongue. He needed to get out of her apartment and fast. He’d been with her for two nights, watching her, making sure she was safe.

Now that she was back in the land of the fully living, it was time to get away from her before he made a fool of himself.

You don’t even know this woman
…

A knock at the door made him flinch. He set her coffee cup on the end table next to the couch and turned to look through the peephole.

A woman stood outside, dressed in black yoga pants, a yellow nylon sports shirt, and tennis shoes. She wore her hair in a messy ponytail and had earbuds dangling from her shoulders. This could not be the FBI agent.

Mikhail opened the door.

The woman held out a hand. “Agent Taylor Brown. You must be Mikhail Dudko?”

He blinked, hesitating before taking her hand. “Yes. Come in. You weren’t quite what I was expecting.” He stood back to let her pass.

It felt like he was playing house. After all, this was Haley’s apartment, not his.

Agent Brown chuckled as she entered the apartment, reaching for Haley’s hand next. “Haley, you look so much better today.”

“Thank you. Did we meet the other day, Agent Brown?”

The taller woman with the dark brown hair and deep brown eyes smiled. “Please, call me Taylor. And not really. You were out of it. I was briefly at the clinic when you came in. I’m hoping you won’t mind me asking you some questions.”

“Of course. Please. Sit.” Haley pointed at the recliner across from her sofa. “I just hope I have anything to add that will help catch whoever did this to me before he grabs anyone else off the street.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry to tell you this. I know you work with the homeless every day, but I’m afraid at least a dozen people have gone missing, including one more this morning. It’s hard to track everything since homeless people don’t often get reported.” Taylor set her briefcase next to the recliner and lowered into the seat.

Haley shuddered. “I knew some people were unaccounted for a few weeks ago. I even reported it to the cops. But they don’t put a high priority on missing homeless. Unfortunately a lot of law enforcement sees them as expendable. The officer I spoke to barely gave me the time of day. He suggested maybe they got jobs or moved to a different territory.

“That could happen in rare instances, but people on the streets don’t usually disappear without a trace. They have a sort of unconventional family system. If one of them got lucky, they would have told others. If someone was moving to another location, they also would have informed their friends. Multiple disappearances without a word are rare.”

Mikhail could hear the passion in Haley’s voice when she spoke of how much she cared about the less fortunate members of society. He had lived with similar bad luck himself. As a teenager, he’d been one of those people, sometimes living on the streets of Russia.

He shook thoughts of years ago from his head and took Haley’s arm to lead her to sit on the sofa. “I’ll get you more coffee. Would you like some, Taylor?” His voice cracked with each word.

“No, thanks.”

“Okay.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll just wait in the other room. Give you both some privacy.”

Haley swung her head around to face him where he stood behind her faded maroon couch. “No. Please. Stay. Keeps me from having to repeat myself later.” She gripped the arm of the couch, fingering the frayed seam.

It was true that she hadn’t told him much of anything yet. She’d slept most of the past day and a half, and when she had been awake, it had been to eat something small or drink copious amounts of water.

Mikhail refilled Haley’s mug, set it on the end table next to her, and stepped over her legs to take a seat on her other side. He left plenty of space between them, though what he really wanted to do was haul her into his lap and wrap his arms around her.

It was absurd how strongly he felt about Haley. He barely knew anything about her. What he did know was that ordinarily she wouldn’t be the kind of woman who would want to be coddled. She had latched on to him for dear life when he’d first approached, but she’d been drugged and scared out of her mind at the time.

What was the real Haley like?

“Do you mind if I tape our conversation?”

“No.” Haley crossed her arms and rubbed her biceps as if she were cold.

Taylor leaned forward and set her cell phone on the coffee table, and then she cleared her throat. “Oh.” She glanced down at herself. “Any time I come see you, I’ll do my best to blend in. Figured if I pretended to be a random renter in this building returning from the gym, no one would pay any attention to me.”

“Why so secretive?”

Mikhail rubbed his palms on his thighs as it dawned on him why Taylor hadn’t shown up dressed in a suit.

“Safer for everyone if no one thinks you or anyone else involved in this case realizes you’re talking to the FBI.”

Haley frowned, but she nodded.

Taylor pressed a button on her phone to start recording. “Do you remember what happened when you were kidnapped?”

“Not really. It was late in the evening. I had just finished delivering sandwiches to a group of people under the overpass—the same place I stop most Monday evenings. Whoever took me must have watched and waited for me to walk away, and then they grabbed me from around the corner when I was alone on my way home.

“I vaguely remember a moment of fear when a hand wrapped around my arm, but I never saw anything. When I woke up, I was in a locked room alone. My clothes were gone. I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown.”

“Can you describe the room for me?” Taylor asked gently.

“It was like a jail cell, I guess. Nothing but a cot, a sink, and a toilet. Gray walls and flooring. What I noticed most was that the only color in the room was my hair. Sometimes I pulled it in front of my face to remind myself I could still see in color.” Haley smiled wanly.

“But they fed you?”

“Yes. There was a hole in the bottom of the door, like a doggy door for a small puppy. It would open just long enough for a tray to be shoved under.

“There was also a window on the door, almost a foot wide and high, but I couldn’t see through it. It must have been one-way.”

“Were you sexually assaulted at any time?”

Mikhail held his breath, his body rigid.
Please, God
.

Haley shook her head. “No. I mean I wasn’t aware of anything like that, and I never had any physical evidence. I thought about it the first day when I woke up in a hospital gown. Freaked me out. But nothing…” She glanced down at her lap, swallowed, and lowered her voice. “Nothing felt, you know, like I’d been touched.” Her face turned red, and she didn’t move for several seconds.

Mikhail slowly exhaled, but what he wanted to do was reach out to her.

Taylor continued, “Did anyone ever come into the room?”

Haley nodded. “Yes. It took me several days to realize the food I ate was laced with something to make me tired. A while after eating, someone would come in and give me shots in the arm or draw blood. A few times I was aware of this, but it was hazy. I couldn’t fight them. I couldn’t even find the strength to scream or speak.”

Mikhail gripped his knees with both hands, fighting the urge to kill someone. If he ever got his hands on the bastards who did this…

And the worst part was—he had a pretty good idea who it was.

“So this went on for two weeks?”

“Yes, though I lost track of time. No one fed me that last morning. I was more awake by the time the door opened and a man came inside. He tossed me a pair of scrubs and told me to put them on and follow him.

“He was all business and didn’t say another word. I hoped he was rescuing me. And I didn’t have a lot of options. My hands shook while I changed. He stood in the doorway facing out. I slipped on the tennis shoes that had been wrapped in the scrubs. I could hardly stand and support myself. I was too weak. It was a wonder I was able to walk out of that place on my own accord.”

“What did you see on the way out?” Taylor asked.

Mikhail was wondering the same thing, but he kept his lips pursed.

“There were rooms lining the hallway on both sides. I couldn’t tell if they were occupied.

“Scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know if I was being led to my death or my salvation.”

“Can you describe the man you followed?”

Haley curled her legs up under her and took another sip of her coffee before she answered. “Pale. Messy, dark hair. About an inch shorter than me. Maybe five six. Skinny. Glasses. Black frames.”

Ted Christianson. Mikhail was sure of that.

“And then what?” Taylor asked.

“He led me outside. The sun was so bright it was hard to see. And I was cold. I didn’t have a jacket.”

“Did you see anyone else on the way?”

Haley shook her head. “Not until we reached the car. A man was leaning against the passenger door when scrawny guy reached to open it. He said ‘you can’t put her in the front seat asshole.’ And then he rounded both of us to pop the trunk.

“I nearly peed my pants at the thought of getting inside. And they made me do it myself. Climb in, I mean. The guy who had been leaning against the car held up a syringe as he nodded at the trunk.

“It was clear I had two choices: get in myself or be drugged into submission.” She glanced away again, pursing her lips for a moment before continuing. “That guy. He, uh… He intended to rape me. At least he said he did. As I curled up in the trunk, he chuckled. I’ll never forget that sound. A deep cackling tone. Mean. And he clapped the other guy on the back and said, ‘Thanks for moving her for me. It’ll be so much sweeter fucking her tight pussy in a more private location.’”

“Jesus,” Mikhail muttered, unable to stop himself. In fact, he asked the next question before Taylor had a chance. “What did that fucker look like?”

Haley turned to face him, and then her face dipped toward her lap. “Short also. Stalky. Muscles like yours, though. But he was older. Maybe mid-forties. Gray receding hairline. His accent was Russian.”

Mikhail gritted his teeth.

That mother fucking son of a bitch.

Anton Yenin.