Page 90 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Your kid is missing. I get it,” she says. “Well, I can imagine, at least. I did manage to get one more piece of information out of him that could help you out. But you have to swear you will never tell where you got—”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Lauren sighs. “He memorized the address they gave. He was hesitant to even give it to me, and I repeat, you have to swear you will never tell a soul. I could be sued for this. They’d take my license away.”

“I swear on my grave and my mother’s grave. On my son’s life. I swear on everything I will never tell a soul.”

There is a brief hesitation, and then she asks whether I have a pen and paper. Lauren reads the address out, and I write it down.

“Thank you so much, Lauren.” I clutch the address against my chest. “There are no words for how grateful I am for your help. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Of course. I hope you find your son.”

As soon as I hang up the phone, I rush down the hall to the guest room where Gennady is staying. I knock on his door and then push my way without waiting for him to answer it.

“You’re supposed to knock and then wait,” he mumbles. “I could’ve been indecent.”

“Well, sounds like we both dodged a bullet. I need you to look up an address for me.”

“So much for pleasantries. I slept okay, thanks for asking. Where’d you learn your manners—from Dima?”

“Focus. An address, Gennady.”

He sighs. “Right now?”

“It’s not even eleven PM,” I argue. “Plus, Dima left you here to help me.”

“Yeah, in case anyone broke in and tried to hurt you. Not with chores.”

“It’s not a chore. It’s about Lukas.”

Gennady’s eyes narrow. Suddenly, he’s wide awake. “What do you mean? What did you find out?”

Briefly, I fill him in on what I did while I was in Chicago and the doctor I talked to. I tell him about the call I just had with Lauren and then hand him the piece of paper with the address on it. “She gave me this address, but it’s all the information I have. For all I know, it’s a fake or it’s owned by Ilyasov or… shoot, I don’t know. Can you just look into it?”

He plucks the paper out of my hand and moves quickly out of the room. I follow him, walking down the hallway, across the entryway, and into a security room lined with dozens of computer screens. Gennady sits down, pulls up a screen, and begins typing.

I’ve always laughed at the scenes in movies when people type insanely fast on keyboards and pull up top secret information in a second. But that’s what it feels like watching Gennady. He barely even pauses to think about what he’s going to do—he just does it, moving so quickly I could swear he has an extra few arms.

Within two minutes, he has all the information I could want.

“Nick and Jody Watkins,” he reads out, pointing at a screen with two photographs on it. “They were married seven years ago. No criminal histories. They live at the address you gave me. Bought the house last year. Could’ve gotten a better rate on the mortgage, but hey…”

I lean down and study the pictures. They look like passport photos.

Nick Watkins has small glasses and a receding hairline that dips back just above each of his temples. Jody Watkins is round-faced with light brown hair and pink cheeks. Both exactly as the doctor described them.

“That’s them,” I say, feeling suddenly weak-kneed. “Those are the people who have my son.”

“They aren’t listed as parents on any public birth records.” Gennady scrolls down the page, studying each line. “It doesn’t show they have any children at all. But if you ask me, they don’t look like the type who would kidnap a child.”

I wish I could disagree, but Gennady is right. Just like the doctor said, these people are unassuming. The last two people you’d suspect of something like this.

What the fuck does that mean?

“They had been going to a fertility doctor to try and have a family. That’s what the doctor said, anyway.”

“It worries me. Something’s not adding up here.

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