Page 189 of Nothing More

She glanced at him, frowning. “Don’t say ‘men like us.’ You might be a self-righteous shit, but you’re not likehim.”

The quirk of his brows evidenced surprise. “I’m touched, love.”

“Ugh.”

“But.” He tucked his napkin into his shirt collar like a two-year-old and forked up a nauseating bite of his own eggs. “It could also be that this Petrov fellow is one of the poor fools who Morozov left behind to get arrested.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” This was good – talking shop. It kept her from dwelling so much on the idea of Toly dead in a ditch somewhere.

The first few minutes after they found the banged-up and abandoned tracking device had been the worst. She’d spent what felt like hours – but proved to only be ten minutes – fighting her gag reflex bent over a rail. The scent of the river hadn’t helped with that, but the guys making solid, pragmatic plans behind her had.

Tenny had wanted to search the surrounding parking lots and warehouses, working outward, and Devin had suggested they go talk to Melissa. They’d split up: Tenny and Reese off to do some recon, and Devin and Raven to the precinct. Having a task to complete, doing something proactive had settled her stomach.

They would find Toly, no matter what. She wouldn’t allow herself to think otherwise.

Melissa had eschewed them coming to the precinct as too risky, and so she’d suggested the diner, into which she now hurried with a jangle of the bell and the unladylike clomp of boots over the tile.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless, as she slid into the booth beside Raven. “Black coffee,” she said, as a waitress approached, and the girl turned on her heel to fetch it. “We have a problem.”

When Raven’s stomach jumped this time, it was with the anticipation of tackling another challenge. It was remarkable, really, the way all the nerves and shaking anxiety that had plagued her for weeks had given way to a positive surge of adrenaline at this turn of events. She’d always been the sort of person who leaned into stress; those anomalous weeks after the Abacus takedown had left her lost and worried that she’d lost her edge.

It turned out having her lover kidnapped was the swift kick she’d needed to regain the old fire.

“What?” she asked.

The coffee arrived, and after an absent thanks and decline of food, Melissa whispered, “Homicide is claiming they got a hit on the DNA found at the Nikolai Bobrov scene. I wouldn’t even know about it yet, but my old partner from Vice is the one working the case. He and his partner are also caught up in Morozov’s house raid, and we were swapping notes this morning and” – she was talking fast, gesturing with her hand like she wished she could talk faster – “long story short, the lab got a hit, and a name. Homicide’s putting out a BOLO for Toly.” She held her phone in one hand, and turned it so Raven could see the internal NYPD memo she had pulled up on the screen: an old, but still unmistakeable photo of Toly, alongside his name, and other details she didn’t take the time to read.

“Let me see.” Devin reached for the phone, then whistled. “Anatoly Nikolaevich Kobliska, age twenty-six, height–”

“We get it,” Raven said. “It’s him.”

He handed the phone back. “Did you also ‘get’ where it said he was a known associate of the Kozlov bratva?”

“It did? What?” She took the phone back and saw that, yes, under Known Associations, he was listed as being an active member of the bratva.

She passed the phone back to Melissa. “He was so convinced he wasn’t in the system.”Poor boy, she thought, chest squeezing for him.

Melissa’s expression was drawn. “He wasn’t.” She checked surreptitiously over her shoulder and then whispered, “I checked more than a week ago, when he first claimed that he wasn’t. I wanted to be sure, before I carried things any further. Not a trace of him on any of the databases I searched. But hewasthere an hour ago when I checked again. The same profile as what they’re about to show on the news.”

“Interpol?” Devin asked.

“No, local.”

He nodded. “That means one of your local boys” – nod to Melissa – “plugged him in.”

“A cop on the take,” Raven muttered. “Any way to find out who?”

Melissa shook her head. “Probably someone in IT could, but I’m not exactly in a position to ask for any more favors.”

“No,” Raven agreed. She took a sip of coffee, surprised to find nothing but dregs; she’d drained the cup while they chatted. “Right. So. We’ve got a dirty cop, a DNA match, likely a warrant for his arrest, and a bratva kidnapping.”

“Jesus.” Melissa shook her head, and slid out of the booth. “I need to get back. I’ll see what I can do to help, but Morozov isn’t even on the radar right now. We’re the only ones who know his name, or that he’s the Pakhan. I’m guessing some of his thugs will talk…”

“But it might be too little too late,” Raven said, grimly.

“Yeah.” She reached out, briefly, and gave Raven’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Hang in there. We’ll find him.”

“Ta.”

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