Page 26 of Vengeful Embers

The soft sound of wheels on polished wood makes me turn as a woman enters the room in a motorized wheelchair. She’s in her mid-fifties, maybe older. One half of her face is burned, the scars tight but healed. The other half is untouched and striking.

I notice her wince of pain as she shifts slightly. The thick wool blanket covering her lap ripples, and the bump beneath it tells me exactly what she’s hiding there—a gun.

"Mr. Dragunov," she says, voice cool but clear. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

“I was hoping to speak to Mrs. Ofeliya Zorin,” I tell the woman whose face suddenly registers.

I realize who she is, and now I know why the house is so heavily guarded with one of the top security firms in Russia, if not the world.

“She’s asleep,” the woman replies. “Even if she wasn’t, Mrs. Zorin doesn’t take visitors.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Especially unannounced ones.”

“I apologize for that,” I say. “But I need her help with something.”

“Can I try to help you with it instead?” the woman offers.

“And you are…” I enquire.

“Mrs. Zorin’s nurse,” she tells me, not offering a name or any further details that clarify my earlier suspicions that she’s Lidiya Zorin, who supposedly died twenty-six years ago. Also, in a fire, except hers was said to be a fiery car wreck. Seems the Zorins like to burn themselves to death, then reinvent a new persona, like a phoenix. “Whatever you want to say to her or ask, I can assure you I know her well enough to answer.”

I glance around the room. “I notice there are no pictures of Mrs. Zorin's family.”

“What concern is the decoration of the house to you, Mr. Dragunov?” The woman's eyes narrow a little more.

“It was just an observation,” I tell her. “I came here with my grandfather as a boy, and I remember this room being filled with family pictures.”

“They are too painful to keep on the walls,” the woman answers. “I have a lot of work to do, Mr. Dragunov. If you could please get to the point of your visit. If I cannot answer, I will ask Mrs. Zorin when she wakes and contact you.”

I nod and pull out my phone. “Can you confirm this is Leonid Zorin?” Her eyes drop to the photo, and there is a brief moment of shock in her eyes, but it disappears quickly. “Leonid Zorin is dead, Mr. Dragunov. He died twenty-four years ago.”

“In a house fire?” I ask, and see her brow lift in surprise. “I don’t see any burn marks on him, though in this picture, do you?”

“What is your point here, Mr. Dragunov?” Her voice turns cold. “Is this what you came here for? To harass Mrs. Zorin about her late grandson?” She looks at him in disgust. “She is nearly ninety-five years old. She lived through losing her son, her grandson, and…”

“Granddaughter?” I fill in for her. “I was going to say she barely remembers her name, but she remembers the family she lost. Do you want to know where all the family photos are?” She cocks her head. “They are in her bedroom where she is bedridden. They are a cold substitute for the people she loved.” Her eyes narrow a bit more. “If that is all you came here for, I’m glad you never got to talk to her.”

“All I want to know is what Leonid’s connection to the Morozovs was?” I see her look at me in surprise. “Anya, in particular.”

“That's a dangerous question, Mr. Dragunov, even for someone like you,” she states. “Why are you asking? And where did you get that picture?”

“I got it from a contact,” I tell her. “I want to know if another friend is in danger.”

She looks at me for a while before saying. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Leonid died in a fire twenty-four years ago.”

“Like you were supposed to have died, a few years before that?” I ask, smugly, letting her know I know who she is. “Funny how the youngest Zorin dies in a fire and then a few years later her older brother goes the exact same way.” I glance at the walls. “Is that the real reason there are no photos of your family on the wall?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Dragunov.” She starts to reverse her chair. “The guards will see you out.”

“Wait!” She stops at the door. I take out a business card from my pocket and a pen. I flip it and write my personal number on it and put it on the mantle beside the puzzle box. “This is my number if you change your mind about talking.”

“A bit of advice,” she offers and I nod. “Don’t get involved in whatever your friend is involved in. As this is one spiderweb you don’t want to get caught in.”

She turns her chair, and I hear it glide down the hall as I stare at the empty door with a furrowed brow. I wonder what the fuck that meant and am even more curious about Leonid’s connected to Anya Novikov or rather Anya Morozov. While she didn’t answer me directly, I’m more than convinced there is one. What worries me is that Konstsantin had said Tara had no clue who the woman in the photo was. So now I have to wonder. Is she in danger? Or does she know who her father really is?

9

RUSLAN

The wind off the Black Sea cuts through the silence as I approach my car, gravel crunching beneath my boots. I pull out my keys, barely glancing up. I might not have gotten exactly what I came for, but I got enough to go to General Morozov with, who is the next call on my list.

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