Russian Killer's Baby (6 page)

“I cannot say.” Pyotr scratched his beard. “No one has said anything within my hearing, but it is possible that they would not, given my close relationship to you and to Vasily.”

“I wish Vasily were still here,” Feliks muttered.

Pyotr grimaced. “As do I.”

Chapter Seven

Annika paced the floor of the small sitting room where Feliks had told her to stay put. She hated staying put. She was used to doing her own thing. Being told to wait for someone else to make decisions on her behalf was irritating.

A tiny little face peeked around the edge of the doorway. Annika smiled and got a gap-toothed grin in return. Then Annika waved to her little visitor. There was a giggle, but no return wave.

“You can come in,” Annika told the little girl.

No response, although the child leaned a little farther around the door to get a better look at the interloper.

Annika tried again, this time in Russian. “Don’t be afraid. You can come in and talk to me if you want.”

The little girl took a few hesitant steps into the room. She wore a pretty pink dress with matching bows on the ends of her blonde braids. Annika guessed her to be no more than five or six.

The little one cocked her head to the right like a tiny bird. “My mother says you’re supposed to be dead.”

“So I’ve heard.” Annika paused in her pacing and opted to take a seat on an ugly green settee. “I’m pretty glad I’m not dead though.”

“Papa Pyotr says your papa makes lots of people mad and that’s why you’re supposed to be dead.” The quizzical look grew more pronounced.

Did nobody censor what was said in front of this kid? Annika wondered what she should say in return. She couldn’t very well call the kid’s papa a bastard, could she?

Annika had just taken a breath to answer when a woman appeared in the doorway. “Oksana, get to your room immediately,” she snapped in clipped Russian, and the precocious little girl bolted from the room.

“Don’t talk to my daughter,” the woman said in heavily accented English.

“I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know,” Annika explained. “In fact, she was busy informing me that I’m supposed to be dead.”

The woman’s dark eyes widened a fraction. “I’m sorry, she is too young to realize she is being rude.”

“I understand that.”

It was obvious the woman wanted to say more. Annika wondered who she was. “You can ask me anything you want to, you know.”

“What?”

“I said you can ask whatever you want,” Annika repeated. “I can tell you have something on your mind.”

“Your papa.” The woman seemed to be struggling with her words in English.

Annika took pity on her. What was she? Some kind of Russian mail-order bride? Annika switched to Russian. “You can ask in Russian if you want.”

“Why did your papa kill my husband?”

Annika felt as if someone had poured cold water down her back. “I’m sorry? You think my father killed your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Who was your husband?”

“Vasily Volkov.”

Annika racked her brain for any mention of a man by that name that her papa might have made. Nothing came to mind. She and Vadir didn’t speak much. She certainly didn’t ask him about his business concerns.

“This morning my papa told me that the syndicate was after him,” Annika said slowly. “He was sure that he’d done something very bad. Perhaps your husband was involved.”

“My husband was a good man!” The woman was fighting tears.

“What’s your name?” Annika asked gently.

“Irina.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Irina. I can well imagine that my papa could be involved, but I can’t tell you why or how because I don’t know.” Annika thought about everything that had happened since her father had shown up at her apartment this morning. “Believe me, I learned a long time ago that my papa is not a good man. I’m in trouble now because of what he did.”

Irina sighed. “I should not blame you for the sins of your father.”

“I understand why you would.”

Irina appeared to be thinking very seriously about something. She started to speak and then stopped. Finally her expression shifted as though she’d made up her mind. “There’s a back entrance here.”

“Okay.”

“Nobody is watching it at the moment.”

Annika jumped to her feet. “How close are we to the train station?”

“A few blocks at most.” Irina pointed in what Annika guessed to be a vaguely northeastern direction. “The station is that way, but you must hurry. Pyotr and Feliks will be done talking before long.”

“Thank you.” Annika touched Irina’s shoulder. “I’ll remember this. If I can somehow return the favor someday, I will.”

“Leave this room and go left,” Irina instructed. “You will see the way.”

Annika stepped quick and light as she left the ugly sitting room. She heard boisterous voices conversing in Russian to her right. Moving away from the men who were very likely syndicate muscle, she headed left down the narrow corridor.

There were heavy antiques and knickknacks everywhere. Annika had to dodge a towering clock or risk banging her knee. Fortunately, the thick Persian rugs muffled her footsteps.

Once she reached the end of the hallway, she realized it emerged into a kitchen. The state of the art room was filled with shining stainless steel appliances, but no people. Annika made her way around the island toward the door. She increased her pace, anticipating freedom and wondering if she was making the right choice.

Grabbing the door handle, she gave it a turn and gingerly opened the door. She held her breath and listened closely for the sound of men outside. The only noise was the rumble of traffic on a nearby street.

Annika stepped out and let the door close softly behind her. She gauged her direction and set off in hopes of catching a train just as it entered the station. She glanced back once as she went down the steps to the driveway. There was no doubt Feliks was going to be mad. The real question was why did she care?

***

Feliks noticed the imp peeking through the crack beneath the door long before Pyotr did. He gestured to his friend to let him know tthey had a tiny eavesdropper.

“Ah, she is heartbroken since the death of her poor papa,” Pyotr said mournfully. “It would cheer her up to know her Uncle Feliks has come for a visit, you know.”

Feliks got down on his hands and knees and crawled toward the doorway. Using his finger, he jabbed in the vicinity of the shadowy form behind the door. There was a responding giggle and a girlish squeal of delight.

“I do believe we have a mouse,” Feliks loudly told Pyotr in Russian. “We had best call the exterminator.”

“Or perhaps we could get a cat,” Pyotr suggested.

Feliks poked at the shadow once again. “For such a large mouse? Can you imagine the size of cat we would need?”

“A kitty?” Oksana apparently thought this was a marvelous idea. The door flew open, and Vasily’s six-year-old daughter burst into Pyotr’s study. “I want a kitty cat, Uncle Feliks! Can you bring me one?”

“I don’t know.” Feliks glanced at Pyotr. “You will have to ask Papa Pyotr that question since it is his house.”

Feliks swept the little girl into his arms and settled back on the couch. She snuggled in close, and he wondered what it would feel like to cuddle with his own child. He enjoyed Oksana. In fact, Feliks could recall the day she was born and what it had felt like to hold her tiny body in his huge hands. Yet his own child would be an entirely different experience.

“I could trade you something for the kitty,” Oksana offered.

Pyotr smiled indulgently. “And what do you have to trade, poppet?”

“I have a secret.”

Feliks wondered what marvelous secret the little girl could possibly think to trade. Perhaps there really were mice in the house. “And what is your secret,
malenkaya
?”

“There was a woman in the house,” Oksana announced.

Feliks exchanged a glance with Pyotr. They often underestimated the precocious child’s powers of observation. Feliks tugged her braid. “Yes, there is.”

“She’s not there anymore.”

Feliks struggled not to react with sudden violence. Oksana wouldn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the lady left the house through the kitchen.” She made a face. “She was very nice. I think Mother liked her very much.”

Feliks and Pyotr stared blankly at one another. Oksana wasn’t the type of child to tell tales. She exaggerated at times, as was normal for a child, but she didn’t lie. Had Irina somehow helped Annika escape? And why would she do that?

Feliks kissed Oksana on the top of her silky blonde head and set her on the sofa. Getting up, he tried to seem calm. In reality he was nearly all the way to panic inside.

The corridor outside Pyotr’s study was quiet. Feliks trod lightly on the thick rugs as he made his way toward the kitchen. The scent of cookies made his mouth water. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Didn’t pregnant women eat frequently? What if Annika was hungry? How had he never thought of that?

Irina was alone in the kitchen. She didn’t look up when he entered. Again and again she used the flat spatula to loosen the crispy cookies from the pan. Then she would pick them up and set them aside only to move on to the next row. The work seemed rather cathartic.

“Irina, did you send Annika out through the kitchen?” Feliks asked quietly.

“Da.”

“Why?”

“She was here against her will.” Her tone made her choice seem so very simple.

“I know that, Irina, but Annika isn’t safe out there by herself. The syndicate wants her dead.” Why was he explaining this to Irina? It was really none of her business. She had violated the trust of Pyotr’s household. It was a serious thing.

Irina reached for the bowl of cookie dough and began to form another batch on the flat sheet. “Then let her take her chances on her own. No woman likes to be the prisoner of a man she does not want.”

“Is that how you feel?” Feliks asked quietly.

Irina turned huge, dark eyes toward him. The pain Feliks saw reflected there knew no bounds. She had lost her husband, and was now forced to accept the charity of his friend. To say this did not come with a cost would be folly. Feliks knew as well as Irina did.

Irina’s nostrils flared. “I gave her a chance. Even the daughter of a murderer deserves that.”

“Can I do anything for you, Irina?”

She stiffened. “Find the man who is truly responsible for my Vasily’s death. This plan of Orlov’s is wrong. What sort of men make war on women and children?”

“Cowards”

Irina stared at him, tilting her head sideways as if she saw right through him. “Do you want her, Feliks?”

“She’s carrying my child.” He didn’t know why he’d shared that fact, but Irina was a woman who invited confidence.

“Then go after her on her terms. You cannot take her captive. She must come willingly. I think you know this.”

He touched Irina’s shoulder and was surprised to see her flinch. “Thank you.”

She ducked her head. “And do not believe everything you are told about the syndicate. Trust no one, Feliks. Not even those closest to you. There are bad things happening within the organization. Vasily knew this, and it cost him his life.”

Feliks wanted to ask her more. He needed to know what she knew about Vasily’s death. Could there be a traitor in their midst? And how did Yuri Orlov fit into all of this? But for now he needed to find Annika before anyone else did. That was the only task that mattered.

Chapter Eight

Annika was beginning to believe her bid for freedom was complete folly. Her path through the poorly lit neighborhood was harrowing at best. Had she not been able to see the brightly lit MBTA station ahead, she might have been tempted to knock on a stranger’s door and beg for the use of a phone to do something stupid, like call her papa.

“That would be ridiculous,” she whispered.

Somehow talking to herself made it seem less lonely out here. How could a busy neighborhood in a bustling metropolitan area be completely deserted? Shouldn’t there be people about somewhere?

As Annika approached the train station, she became aware of the fact that she had no money. Feliks had allowed her to grab her sweatshirt and shoes, but no purse or phone. It had been a good strategic move on his part, but it left her out here with next to nothing.

She dug into the pocket of her sweatshirt as she took the steps up to the station two at a time. Her fingers brushed a single bill. Annika pulled it out, relieved to see that the well-worn and probably much washed ten-dollar bill would be enough to get her home.

“Lucky for you.”

She was taken aback by the raspy male voice. Then she realized there was one other person in the train station. The same tall, cadaverously thin man she’d seen earlier at the convenience store. He was here. Now.

“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to keep her tone firm and confident.

“Little Annika,” the man said. “Always one step behind.”

Two could play at that game. She cocked her head and shifted toward the edge of the platform. “It’s Yuri, right?”

He swept her a ridiculous bow. “Yuri’s body disposal service, at your…well, service, I guess.”

“Lame.”

His expression sobered, turning ugly. “You’re on borrowed time. Don’t you think you should be using your last words more effectively?”

“Who says I’m not being effective?”

Before he had time to react, Annika dropped into the trough between the platforms. The five to six foot fall caused her to scrape her knees on the rough retaining wall, but she was still alive.

“Annika!” Yuri snarled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She wondered the same thing about the time she heard a train whistle shatter the still night air. The glaring lights from the oncoming vehicle made seeing the rocky track bed difficult.

“You stupid bitch!” Yuri ran alongside the platform’s edge. “You’re doing my job for me. All I have to do is hang around and wait for proof of death and boom! Payday!”

She ignored him. This was no time to let him draw her into an argument. She didn’t have time to doubt herself, either. Keeping her strides short and holding her arms out for balance, she ran away from the lights. She had to make it past the edge of the station platform and find a way to get off the tracks. Then she needed to hide. Yuri wasn’t going to give up. That much was obvious.