Page 47 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

I have a solution for that, too. But he’s not going to like it. The thing with Mills crossing legal boundaries with good intentions is that I have to ease him into it one step at a time. “Give me a week, tops, and we’ll figure something out,” I insist. “Can you do that? We can’t risk the Sokolovs finding out he’s dead just yet.”

Mills thinks about it for a minute but ultimately concedes. “Fine.”

“I’ll take his car—he’s got a car here, somewhere in town—and his credit cards and phone. I’ll fake a trail out of Seeley Lake, so if anybody comes looking for him, they can follow it,” I say. “In the meantime, Anya will stay in the lodge with us, out of sight, for the most part. We’ll be careful.”

“And then what?”

“You’ve got friends in the NYPD, don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I never should’ve mentioned that to you.”

“Too late,” I shoot back with a cool grin. “Come on, man. When you need us, we come through for you every damn time, without hesitation. Help us out. We’re trying to get justice for Anya, while keeping the Bratva away from Seeley Lake.”

“Dammit, Nico. Fine. Yes, I have a few reliable links within the NYPD.”

“Great. Put some feelers out. Find out what the word on the streets is surrounding the Sokolovs and the Asimovs. Rumors will do just fine, too. There’s always a seed of truth in rumors, something for us to follow up on. I’ll text you some names and useful details,” I say, putting them into a note, which I share with Mills. “How good is your tech guy?”

“Very good.”

“Is he up for the USB drive task?”

Mills nods again. “He’s already on it.”

“Whatever information he manages to retrieve, we need to be the first and only people with access to it until we can get it to the Feds. I’m positive it’s the key to taking down the entire Sokolov family. Aleks Asimov worked damn hard to compile whatever is on that thing. Max Sokolov was desperate enough to follow Anya all the way up here to silence her.”

* * *

An hour later,the two of us are checking out the streets around the police station. Assuming Max followed Anya last night from the base of the mountain, where the lodge road connects with the main road into town, we figure he must’ve parked it somewhere nearby.

“There.” Mills points to a black sedan, parked half a block south of the station. “North Dakota plates. By the looks of it, a rental.”

“Max would’ve switched cars a few times along the way to avoid detection,” I agree. “What makes you think it’s a rental, though?”

“The sticker on the windshield. I recognize the logo. AmEx Rentals. They’ve got lots across the Midwest, Montana included. There’s one in Missoula.” He pauses and takes a car key out of his jacket pocket. The key chain has the same logo embedded on both sides. “I also found this on the guy.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You knew what to look for, you sly bastard.”

“I keep a few secrets of my own,” Mills says, and gives me a playful wink as he proceeds to unlock the passenger door.

It’s definitely the right car. I take the driver’s seat, and he rides shotgun as we drive the sedan out of Seeley Lake altogether. The night falls quietly over the mountains on both sides of the road as we pass through Condon and stop for gas before we head up to Big Fork.

“Use his credit card,” Mills tells me as I head inside the gas station shop.

“I’ll pick up something to eat, too.”

Might as well make it seem like Max was on the road and headed farther out. He’d need sustenance for the trip, so I stock up on gas station food, snacks, and drinks. Mills and I catch up on a few things along the way.

He brings me up to speed on how life is on the reservation lately, while I tell him more about our friendship with the Asimovs and our history in New York. It feels nice to talk about these things with someone other than my brothers—not that Chance and Booker aren’t great listeners, but we have the same emotional involvement.

Mills is on the outside looking in.

“So, you still visit the reservation once a week?” I ask as we drive out of Big Fork.

“Of course. My folks are there. Cousins aplenty. And it helps the tribal police, too. I keep my duties separate from tribal matters, obviously, but when I pass through, the tribal police tell me it gets kind of quiet. Fewer bar fights. Less activity on the shady side of town, if you know what I mean.”

“They’re good kids, though.”

“Yeah, they’re all just trying to do something, to earn a living, to survive at the end of the day. Now, let’s rewind to your side of the fence. You said you fellas had a choice to come here or to go back to New York and work security for the Asimovs? Why didn’t you go for the security gig? I’m sure it paid ridiculously well.”

---