Her Russian Brute: 50 Loving States, Idaho (38 page)

Y
EARS later
, Nikolai could still remember the call as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It came in the early hours of the morning, startling him from a deep sleep.

“I am sorry to wake you,” his cousin had said in careful Russian. “But I must throw a party for your father.”

Code for kill. His cousin had given him a courtesy call to tell him he planned to have Sergei executed. Later he would find out the very good reason Alexei decided to do this, but at the time, it wouldn’t have been wise to ask over an insecure line.

“I understand,” he’d said, not really needing to know the reasons why.

“I have a man ready to host a party for Uncle Sergei, but our way is to let the son host, so I am calling you…”

One of the stranger Rustanov traditions. Every once in a while it became necessary to kill a member of your own family. But in a morbid bid to honor, the option of killing the family member was always given to the killee’s son.

Sergei had described this time-honored tradition to Nikolai with pride.

“If it ever happens to me, I want you to do it,”
he’d told his only son.
“I am Rustanov until end.”

The tradition and the conversation about it had been incredibly surreal and Nikolai had quickly put it out of his head. Especially after Alexei made the Rustanov family a legitimate business. Yet here was his cousin now, putting out a hit on his uncle, Nikolai’s father.

Sergei would still want his son to do the deed, Nikolai knew. To fly all the way to Russia to put a bullet in his own father’s head. Sergei would actually consider that an honorable way to go.

So, of course, Nikolai had said, “Thank you, but I do not wish to host this party. I trust your man to do a good job.”

And the next time Nikolai had seen Sergei, he’d been dead on a slab. Just like Fedya was lying dead in front him right now, his face a bluish gray, with a bullet wound between his open eyes.

“If anything ever happens to me. If your father ever does as he threatens, you must take care of your brother. He is weak. Not strong like you. You are your father’s son, and he is his. You must protect him. Take care of him.”

His mother’s words rang in his ears as he stared into his brother’s lifeless eyes.

“That him?” a voice asked from somewhere behind him. Probably the detective who’d escorted him in.

Nikolai nodded, unable to look away from his dead brother’s face.

“Sorry, but we need a spoken yes. You gotta say it out loud. Sorry, Mount Nik,” the voice said.

A hockey fan, Nikolai noted with a grim disinterest. During his decade plus in Indiana, he’d found that fans of America’s fourth favorite professional sport were everywhere. If Fedya were alive, he would have been thrilled at the recognition. During the years when he and Nikolai had still been talking, Fedya had often taken in Nikolai the pride he couldn’t take for himself.

“You showed your father good,”
he once said to Nikolai.
“You escaped. You did not let him ruin you like he ruined our mother. Like he ruined me.”

On the table, Fedya’s body morphed into a slightly shorter and more muscular one, grey of hair, but still radiating danger even in his death. The body was now Sergei’s, lying on the same kind of slab as Fedya, but in a Russian coroner’s office. Also, unlike Fedya, his father had been killed in the old way, the one named after the Rustanovs and popularized by Sergei himself. One last show of respect from Alexei who’d ordered the hit, but could not get Sergei’s son to make it honorable.

It had taken Nikolai three days to get to Russia and deal with the body, just as it had taken three days for the police to track him down. As it turned out, Fedya had moved since the last time Isaac had bailed him out of jail, and “hockey star brother” wasn’t the kind of note kept in the non-existent file of a criminal who had been arrested several times but had never garnered an official record, thanks to Nikolai’s connections. If one of the police officers in the precinct hadn’t been a hockey fan and put two and two together after an internet search, they might never have made the connection, since he and Fedya had different last names.

But there had been no denying it when the white sheet had been pulled from Fedya’s head. And now, as the body on the slab morphed back into his brother, he confirmed it out loud.

“Yes, that’s him,” he said, his voice grim.

“If you want more time to say your goodbyes, we can give you that.”

“No, that is not necessary,” Nikolai answered, placing another layer of ice over his heart. He’d said his goodbye to Fedya a long time ago when he cut him off. He known then that there was no way his brother would live past his forties. Known and forced himself to accept the inevitable bad end.

Nikolai took charge of the situation, turning to face the officers. “Tomorrow my assistant will come here, handle body. Is there anything else or can I go now?”

“We’ll get the paperwork together for you upstairs,” the older detective who’d brought him in answered. His face was creased with weary lines that spoke to how often he’d watch this same scenario unfold. “Now that you’ve given us a positive ID, we should probably ask you a few questions, seeing as how foul play was obviously involved. And there’s also the matter of your nephew…”

Nikolai went thunderously still. “
My what?”
he asked.

H
is nephew
. He had a nephew.

Nikolai was still having trouble believing what he’d been told, even as the police officer whose desk he was currently sitting at wrote down an address for him.

“Normally, I wouldn’t do this,” the officer, who’s desk plate read “Marco J. Gutierrez”, said. “But I’m a big fan. Plus, I want to see you reunited with your nephew. You know, it was me who connected the dots. Since he’s half black, nobody was putting it together, even though he’s got a Russian name. But he was over at my girl’s house watching hockey and I remembered reading something about you having a half brother who used to play hockey, too. Did an internet search the next day and put it all together. Lucky break, huh?”

Lucky indeed, though Nikolai still wasn’t clear on a few things. “Why is my nephew in custody of your girl? She is not his relation. I am.”

“Yeah, try telling her that,” Marco answered with a wry half-smile. “That’s why I’m giving you her address, so you can go over there. You should have seen the hoops she wanted me to jump through just to find him a foster home. My girl is sweet—real cute, too, but she can be like a rabid dog when it comes to the women and kids she takes in. And she’s taken a real shining to your nephew. The truth is, she might take some convincing before she hands him over to you.”

The prospect of having to convince some police officer’s girlfriend to give him the custody that should be his by familial right didn’t sit well with Nikolai. Not well at all.

Marco mistook his frown of irritation as one of worry.

“Maybe lay on the uncle stuff real thick. Make sure she knows you had no idea this kid was in the picture, or you would have helped out.”

“I would have done more than ‘helped out,’” Nikolai informed the police officer.

According to the police reports, the child’s mother had died of an overdose about two years ago—right around the same time Nikolai cut his brother off. Nikolai had no idea how close Fedya had been to the boy’s mother, but obviously he’d taken over his custody without telling Nikolai. Maybe because he’d thought Nikolai would have judged him for having a bi-racial son. Sergei, like many in Russians in his generation, had been a vehement racist and maybe Fedya thought Nikolai would react badly to the prospect of a half-black nephew.

But more likely, he decided Fedya hadn’t told him because he knew what would have happened if Nikolai had known his addict brother had full custody of a child. Nikolai not only would have taken the boy away from his brother, but he also would have made sure his brother didn’t see the child again until he got clean. So of course Fedya decided to keep the boy’s existence from him rather than risk losing his son.

But still, for a man-child like Fedya to insist on raising his son on his own? Stupid, Nikolai thought to himself. Stupid and unbelievably selfish. But of course, being stupid and unbelievably selfish was something his brother had excelled at, along with an uncanny ability to make the exact wrong decision at every one of his short life’s turns.

“Here you go, man.” The officer handed Nikolai a piece of paper with the name “Samantha McKinley” on it and an address. “And thanks. Not that I don’t appreciate her commitment. I know it will come in handy if we end up having kids of our own. But it’s kind of hard for us to spend quality time together when there’s a kid in the background taking up all her attention. Know what I mean?”

No, Nikolai didn’t know what he meant, and it sounded to him like the police officer’s girlfriend would have more than one child on her hands, demanding all her attention, if she decided to marry him.

But Nikolai took the piece of paper, forcing himself to set his irritation aside. As bad as the situation was, it was something that could be corrected. Right now. He’d go get the boy from the policeman’s girlfriend and by tonight, his nephew would be exactly where he should have been from the beginning: under Nikolai’s roof.

“
I
can’t believe you
, Marco! I can’t believe you!”

“Sammy, don’t be mad at me,” Marco said on the other side of the line. “I’m only trying to do what’s best here.”

“What’s best?” she repeated, her voice full of derision. “For who? Your favorite hockey player? I can only assume that’s why you’d give this guy our home address.”

“I gave him your home address. It’s just yours. You only have temporary custody, and you’re not the kid’s blood,” Marco answered. “Rustanov is.”

“Maybe not. But I could have stalled, given Pavel the time and counseling he needed to properly process what happened to him before I sent him off with some guy who didn’t even know he was alive until a few hours ago!”

“You’re acting like it’s his fault his druggie brother didn’t tell him he had a kid. The point is now he knows, and he’s trying to make it right.”

“Trying to claim Pavel like a piece of luggage, you mean. And you just made it that much easier for him!”

Just thinking about how Marco had betrayed her and Pavel in favor of his hockey hero made her want to scream. But Pavel was in the front room with Back Up and she worked hard to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t hear her in the back bedroom when she all but hissed, “Pavel doesn’t need a hockey star who will hand him off to a nanny to raise. He needs
counseling
. He needs
guidance
. He needs
love
.”

Sam thought about Nikolai Rustanov’s derisive dismissal of love as a silly custom at the party and said, “He needs all the love he can get.”

“Sam, I like you, I really like you, but you have got to start seeing reason here. You are one person and you said it yourself, you’ll be stretched thin again as soon as the shelter fills back up. Rustanov can hire a battalion of yous to give Pavel whatever he needs. You should—”

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Marco,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “I don’t care who he is, I’m not going to hand a traumatized little boy over to him just because they have some tenuous family connection. You have no idea what Pavel has been through. No idea!”

“And you do?” Marco asked, sounding both confused and skeptical.

Sam paused, then paused some more, her mind buffering, because how could she explain it to Marco? Her reasons for feeling so connected to Pavel were secret, and she hadn’t told anyone but Josie.

“Yes, I do,” she eventually said. “More than whatever therapist this hockey player’s assistant picks out for him. So please, if you really like me, if you ever cared about me at all, call him off. Call him and tell him not to bother coming over here. Tell him that he’ll have to go through Child Services if he wants custody of Pavel, just like anyone else would.”

“Sammy…”

“Please, Marco. I know what I’m doing and I know what’s best for Pavel right now. You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do trust you, but in this case, I think you’re being a little… I don’t know a nice way to say this—but you’re being kinda crazy, Sammy. I mean, don’t you want us to get back on track with dating? See where the relationship goes? All the places it could go?”

The stress he put on “all” left no doubt of his real meaning. During their last date, he’d hinted that the next order of takeout should include an overnight stay. Obviously he was fed up with waiting to take their relationship to the next level.

Sam’s heart hardened with bitter disappointment. Marco might think she’s cute, she realized, but apparently that was all he thought of her.

You’re just a piece of ass, far as any of these boys concerned, and that’s all you ever going to be to them.

Her stepfather’s ugly words rang in her ears as she realized the truth about Marco. He wasn’t a potential love connection. Not someone she could eventually marry and trust. At the end of the day, the only thing he cared about was getting her into bed.

“You’re right, Marco. Obviously, I’m not thinking clearly,” she said. “I mean, Nikolai Rustanov knows how to hit a ball with a bent stick really well, and all I am is a grown woman with two degrees who works with children in crisis on a day-to-day basis. What could I possibly know better than Nikolai Rustanov about what’s best for Pavel? Thank you for interfering. I’m not sure how I ever got this far without your clearly superior expertise and advice.”

“Now you’re just being mean, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me, Sammy. In fact, don’t ever call me again.”

“C’mon, Sam—”

Sam hung up on him, and then threw her phone across the room in disgust. How dare he? How dare he?

She clenched and unclenched her fist, so frustrated it made her feel violent inside. She’d thought Marco was different from all the other guys who’d only stepped to her because she’d inherited her mother’s good looks. But as it turned out, he was just like the rest. In it purely for the cookie. It was so obvious why Marco had suddenly decided she wasn’t thinking clearly. Because she took a child into her home, one that would temporarily stall their fledgling relationship and disrupt any chance of sex happening in the near future.

But the joke was on him. There was nothing Sam despised more than disloyalty. From the well-meaning relatives who told an abusive husband where his wife was hiding to the cop who sent a hockey player straight to her front door. Nothing could have been a bigger turn off for Sam. Nothing.

There came the sound of knocking so loud, she could hear it all the way in the back of the house.

Sam let out an irritated sigh. Apparently the hockey player had arrived.

She walked to the front room, already rehearsing her speech about how he’d need to go through Child Services, just like any other adult seeking custody of a child they’d never met before. She’d need to send Pavel to wait in the second bedroom while she dealt with his uncle, and that might be a little hard considering Pavel had a bad case of hero worship where Mount Nik was concerned.

However the question of sending him away became moot when she reached the front room and found the table Pavel had been sitting at empty. He was supposed to be filling out a battery of tests so she could assess his skills and know how to properly advocate for him when she went to enroll him at the local elementary school next week, but he was nowhere to be found.

Back Up, on the other hand, was already at the door, muzzle up, mouth open, tongue primed to lick whoever was knocking.

“Pavel?” she called out, wondering if she’d not noticed that the bathroom door was closed when she walked past.

More loud knocking and someone on the other side shouted, “Pizza delivery!”

A temporary relief replaced the dread she’d carried into the living room. Oh good, it was just the pizza she’d ordered. She could take it and Pavel into the back room and turn on the TV for him while she dealt with his uncle—

“Don’t answer the door, Mama,” a voice said.

Sam frowned. It was Pavel’s voice, coming from under the table.

She bent down to find him crouched beneath it, much like he’d been crouched inside the cabinet when she’d come to get him a few days ago.

The knocking must have triggered him somehow, she realized. Made him think he was back in the house where his father’s horrific death had gone down.

She held her hand out to him. “Pavel, it’s okay, it’s just the pizza I ordered. From the same place as two days ago. You said you liked it, remember?”

But Pavel shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s one of the bad guys.”

More knocking. “Tony’s delivery! I got the pizza you ordered right here, ma’am.”

“Hold on,” Sam called back. She wished the pizza guy had been considerate enough to ring the doorbell instead of knocking. The sound had probably been enough to send Pavel into a post-traumatic episode.

“You think the pizza guy hurt your dad?”

Pavel shook his head, his voice frantic as he answered. “He’s not a pizza guy. He’s a Russian. He’s one of them.”

Sam hesitated, not sure how to handle this situation. There was a lot of stuff to parse out with Pavel and she wanted to help him through this, show him how to manage his emotions when he’d been triggered. But she also needed to answer the door and hide him away in the guest bedroom before his uncle showed up.

Now the guy on the other side of the door was pounding. “Are you coming out to pay for this pizza or what?”

“I’ve got to pay for the pizza,” Sam explained to Pavel in a low, calming voice. “I know this situation makes you feel scared and anxious, but it will be all right.”

Pavel leaned forward and grabbed her forearm with both of his hands, tears springing to his eyes. “No, it won’t. Mama, please don’t answer that door. Please!”

She knew Pavel was having a post-traumatic episode. And she knew she’d really regret this when it came time to figure out how to get a hungry little boy to stay in his room while she talked to his uncle. But in the end, she gave in.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry,” she told Pavel. Then she called out to the guy on the other side of the door, “I’m sorry. We won’t be needing that pizza any longer. Just charge the credit card I gave you and, I guess, donate it to the next homeless person you see.”

“Are you serious, lady?” the voice on the other side of the door asked.

“Yes, completely serious,” Sam answered, feeling both guilty and silly as Pavel clung to her forearm, his thin fingers digging in like a tiny bear trap.

“How about my tip?” the delivery guy asked.

“I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to tip you right now. I can’t come to the door,” Sam said. “But if you leave me your name, I’ll stop by Tony’s later and make sure you get a generous tip for your trouble.”

Silence. A long silence, while Sam waited for the guy on the other side of the door to give up and go away.

But there were no receding footsteps. Instead, there came more loud pounding on the door, so heavy it shook the whole frame.

“Open the door. Open the door and pay for this pizza. NOW!” The easygoing pizza guy was gone, his voice deeper and carrying the trace of a faint accent. “Open this door now, bitch!”

Sam went still as her instincts came online. Thanks to her training at the shelter, she knew when to confront an angry man at the door and when that man was high-risk enough for her to immediately involve the police. She knew exactly where she and Pavel stood with this guy.

“Pavel,” she whispered, tugging at the little boy’s arm now instead of vice versa. “Let’s go. We need to—”

A gloved hand smashed through the thin side window to the right of the door, and went straight for the deadbolt. It was one of three locks on the door, but in this case, it was the only one that she’d locked.

Sam’s heart went cold with fear. Yeah, there was no way the man on the other side of the door was the local delivery guy.

“Back Up, here girl!” she called while pulling Pavel from underneath the table.

Back Up trotted over and Sam managed to get the little boy out, just as the door came crashing open.

“C’mon!” she yelled, picking up Pavel and running into her bedroom with Back Up on their heels. She slammed the door behind all of them, looking around for a phone. She needed help, but her phone…

She cursed, the memory of it bouncing off the bed to places unknown when she’d thrown it in frustration coming back to her.

Did she have time to look for it? No, she decided. Better to put as many doors between them and the bad guy as she could. With frantic breaths, she ran into the bathroom with Pavel in her arms. Slammed that door behind her and placed him in the tub.

Pavel was crying now. “He’s going to kill us!”

“No, I won’t let him hurt you!” Sam said, her eyes scanning the bathroom for something she could use to defend them against the maniac at the door.

There was a metal towel rack was bolted solidly to the wall but no amount of her frantic tugging pulled it off. Sam soon gave up, her eyes once again scanning until they landed on the small window right above the tub. It was too small for her to fit through.

But maybe Pavel could.

She bent down to talk to the little boy crouched in her empty bathtub.

“Pavel, I’m going to push you through the window. Go around the cottage, and run as fast as you can to Ruth’s House.” She gave him six numbers, the date of her mother’s death, then said, “That’s the code to get in. Climb out the window and don’t look back, no matter what. Just get to the shelter’s back door, okay? Then call 9-1-1.” Sam put her hands on both sides of the boy’s frightened face. “Okay?”

Pavel nodded, solemn as a tomb. “Okay, I’ll go, but I don’t want you to get hurt like Papa.”

She wished she could tell him she wouldn’t, wished she could reassure him, but it wasn’t true and there wasn’t enough time. She settled on not letting her terror show as she bent down further and helped Pavel climb up on her shoulders and out the window.

His feet disappeared just as the bathroom door rattled with the force of someone banging his shoulder against it. The sound of someone trying to get in.

Back Up once again went to the door the bad guy was trying to bash through, sniffing at the crack beneath it with more curiosity than anything else. Sam loved her bullie, but this was one of the times it might have come in handy not to have a total sweetheart of a dog.

“Go away!” Sam yelled. “I have a rabid pit bull in here and she will tear you from limb to limb if you don’t go away now!”

Back Up looked over her shoulder at Sam and snuffed like, “Who me? I’d do no such thing! In fact, dogs of my breed are way more likely to be kidnapped because we’re so ridiculously friendly and trusting!”

Seriously, she’d seen teacup poodles show more menace than Back Up was displaying now. But maybe the guy on the other side of the door believed her because the rattling came to an abrupt stop.

With her heart in her throat, Sam waited. But no sound came. Minutes passed that felt like hours. And soon the fearful anticipation was replaced with dread. What if he hadn’t been scared… what if he’d left? Left because he’d gotten what they’d come for?

Sam’s heart seized with those thoughts and without thinking, she opened the bathroom door. She had to be sure, she just had to be…