Page 5 of Scarlet Promise
Melor and Simonov could have moved her five times by now. Since the fucker stole my car, it’s the only clue we have, and if Melor’s even half as intelligent as he seems, he’ll have dumped it as soon as he could.
My head still thumps sickeningly, and Albert creeps in and presses against the leg of my chair. I gently try to get him to leave because Demyan may scare him if he gets loud. But Albert turns into a small, very heavy boulder, unwilling to leave me since his mistress isn’t back.
“Go back to Svetlana,” I whisper to the dog. “She tried to kill that fuck. Bullet missed, and she’s beside herself. She loves our Alina, too.
He ignores me, pressing closer.
“What is that?” Demyan asks.
“Alina’s dog.”
“Fuck…” He pinches his nose. Speaking in Russian, he says, “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you. I’ll flail you alive and feed you your entrails, and then I’ll break every bone in your body. And maybe then I’ll let you die. Maybe.”
Then he turns and leaves, his phone pressed to his ear again.
I hit another number on my phone, a low-end gossip runner. He hears things. From bars, from low-end jobs. He’s so small-time that he often has stories to tell and to sell to the right buyer. I’ve used him over the years for all kinds of things. But this is the biggest thing yet. It’s a risk, because if he sells to me, he sells to others.
The thing I hold on to, as I carefully lay out the things I want to know to him, is this: the man would be dead if he pitted people against each other or backstabbed.
“Call me,” I say to him, “if you hear anything about Demyan’s sister. Or anyone with the Simonov family.”
“Will do.”
“And Oleg? If it’s good, it’s worth your while.”
If he gets something, he’ll tell me; if not, he’ll tell me.
He doesn’t ask about how much I’ll pay, and he’ll take my offer. He knows the hand will keep feeding him if he doesn’t bite it.
Oleg’s a long shot, but always worth a call.
Beyond him, I have other contacts, including my PI. I have him out looking at all the places he followed Melor to. But no call means he’s found nothing.
Thing is, contacts work if there’s something to report. Right now, there’s nothing.
Which leads me to believe she’s off grid somewhere.
Off grid doesn’t mean out in the middle of nowhere; it just means low-viz, private property, probably industrial.
Off grid, where the comings and goings are hard to follow.
But someone will be spotted.
Someone will lead us to her.
I know it.
I believe it.
I have to.
Otherwise, I’ll lose my fucking shit.
“Okay,” Demyan says from the door of my study as he gazes at me, his pale-blue eyes like ice, “explain again.”
I stand and lean on my desk. “Any word?”
“No one’s seen her.” He stalks into my office. “Explain.”
