KIDNAPPED, A Romantic Suspense Novel (13 page)

His question still stung. Not so much because he’d asked it, but because in his anger he’d zeroed in on her Achilles’ heel and hadn’t hesitated to use it. The man didn’t take any prisoners.

As she scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth, her eyes settled on the envelope at his elbow. Determinedly she forced herself to concentrate on eating her eggs and biscuits. Once she finished and set her fork aside, curiosity finally got the better of her. She propped her elbows on the table, her hands wrapped around her own mug of coffee. She nodded at the envelope. “What’s that?”

Jake looked at her, then at Nicky. “Files,” was her only answer before he reached for another biscuit.

Okay, that subject was off limits. For now.

Sami bit lightly on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to upset Nicky anymore than Jake did, but if he thought for one second he could dismiss her questions, and keep her in the dark any longer, he had another think coming. Once before, she let someone isolate her in a time of crisis. On the day of Aimee’s funeral she promised herself she wouldn’t let it happen again. Ever.

She turned her attention to Nicky. Half a dozen giant cinnamon rolls and nearly all his eggs gone, he rested his head on his arm on the table, while he pushed the remaining eggs around his plate with his fork, completely stuffed.

“You need to at least try and eat, Aimee,” she’d begged her daughter the last time she’d sat at the table for breakfast. Her favorite cinnamon rolls, sausage biscuits sandwiches and sliced strawberries littered the table.

“I don’t know why you cooked all this, she hasn’t eaten more than a few bites in weeks.” Michael had said with condemnation as he kept his nose stuck in the financial papers of the daily paper.

She’d bitten her tongue not to tell him that at least she recognized their daughter wasn’t dead and buried in the ground already. At least she hadn’t given up hope. Even if that hope was all she had left to cling to. That same hope had her up at the crack of dawn, making foods she thought would tempt Aimee to at least eat something.

“I can’t, Mommy. My tummy doesn’t want anything.”

“Please, sweetie, try just a little something?”

“I can’t watch this.” Michael threw his paper on the table and stormed out of the house to work.

“Can I go back to bed, Mommy?”

“I tell you what, sweetie. If you eat a little of the sausage buscuit and drink your juice, I’ll tuck you in and read the princess story to you. How does that sound?”

Aimee had smiled that courageous I-can-do-anything smile she used to face every medical test and blood draw, then picked up her food and ate three whole bites.

It was the last time she’d cooked anything until last night’s simple meal. Sami pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the tears that threatened. She couldn't change the past. Watching Nicky this morning eat until he couldn’t hold anymore warmed her heart.

“Getting tired, little guy?” She gently felt his head. Not too warm. Good.

Nicky nodded.

“How about you go take a nap, and when you wake up, we can play checkers?”

“What is checkers?” he asked, as she helped him from the table.

Sami looked at Jake.

He simply shrugged. Big help he was.

“Checkers is a very old game in America, Nicky.” She set him in the bed, and pulled the covers over him. “There’s a board with red and black squares on it, and little round playing pieces like chips, or quarters.”

“I have never played this, Sami.”

She smiled at him, tousling his hair with her hand. “Then we’ll have fun teaching you it later, okay?”

He grinned at her with one tooth missing. “Okay, Sami.” He started to turn, then looked at her once more. “You are good cook.”

She couldn’t help it, she brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Nicky. And you are a good eater.”

He giggled, then yawned. Sami stood beside him a moment, listening to his breathing ease as he gently fell asleep.

Clattering and running water sounded in the kitchen. She turned to see Jake filling the sink with dish soap and the dirty dishes. The man does dishes? Without being asked? The man tempted her way too much. She’d better remember he lived life as a lone wolf. And he was just as dangerous and wild as one.

She inhaled, then exhaled hard.

Time to face the wolf in his den. He might not want to discuss what that envelope contained. Too bad. She did. Her game plan set, she carried her own plate to the sink.

“What’s in the files?” she asked without warning. With three older brothers, she'd learned early on a frontal attack with the element of surprise on her side usually got her the results she wanted. Subtlety was lost on men.

Jake continued to soap and rinse a plate. For a minute, she thought he planned to ignore her.

“The envelope contains all the information I have on the Kreshnins’ organization. I’m hoping somewhere in there is a clue to who the mole is in the police department.”

“Maybe I can help.” She took the plate he handed her, drying it and setting it on the counter.

He handed her another. “I don’t want you involved any deeper in this, Samantha. The less you know, the better.”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on the favor.”

“Quit calling me Samantha. I prefer to go by Sami. When I was growing up the only time anyone called me Samantha was when I was in trouble.”

He gave her a grin that would melt a popsicle at the North Pole. “Well,
Samantha
, in case you hadn’t noticed, we are in trouble. Hip-deep-in-alligators trouble.”

She glared at him.

“But if it will make you more comfortable, I’d be happy to call you Sami.”

“Thank you.” She stacked the dry plates in the cabinet and counted to ten to reign in her temper. “As for keeping me in the dark for my own good, the minute I drove you away from that gun battle yesterday, I got involved in this right up to my chin. If you don’t mind, I’d like to know exactly who it is we’re fighting.”

Jake studied her a moment, then nodded. “I see your point. Let’s get these finished, then you can look at the files.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Yes. You’re right, I dragged you into this. The least I can do is give you a good reason for it.”

Sami looked at the bed in the alcove where Nicky slept. “You’ve already given me that, Jake. But information can be a powerful weapon.”

He laid his soapy hand on hers. “I’m sorry for that crack earlier about your daughter.”

“It’s okay. You’re right. Nicky isn’t Aimee. Her’s was a losing battle, his isn’t.”

* * *

Jake watched Samantha study the papers on her lap. She hadn’t said a word while she read each one.

After a few more minutes, she looked up from the files. “Oh my God. Nicky is the
only
witness to this murder?”

“Yep.” Jake sat across the couch from her. “The minute he told me what he’d seen, I knew I had to get him out of there. Only I didn’t count on the whole raid blowing up in my face. The only reason I can think for them not killing him immediately, is that they were trying to get out of him who he’d told about the murder and how much information he’d given about their organization.”

“Why didn’t they just torture you? Why go after Nicky?”

“My cover wasn’t blown yet. As far as they knew I was a low level member, recruited because of my family’s Russian background and my need for work.”

“Did you ever hurt anyone?”

Might as well let her know he wasn’t some kind of knight in shining armor. In order to be part of a criminal gang he’d had to act think like a criminal and act like one, too. He shrugged. “Depends on your definition of hurt. Did I kill anyone? No. Mostly I was a driver. I drove Petrov to meetings upon occasion. Other times I’d go with Ivan to make collections from their victims. If someone was short on what they owed, I’d rough them up a bit to remind them how their families back in Russia might be treated.”

“You beat people up?”

He winced inside at the censure in her voice. For the first time in a long time, it mattered to him what someone thought of him. He hated disappointing her, but he kept his face void of any emotion. Best not to let her know how much her question and his answer hurt him.

“Yes, I beat people up. These are dangerous men and I was pretending to be one in order to move up in their organization. If I’d been a real thug, I would’ve done more than throw a few punches and bruise a few faces. Some enforcers cut off fingers or ears.”

“And some kill.”

“Yes. This isn’t some Mickey Mouse group you see on TV, Samantha. If they catch us, they
will
kill us.”

The words filled the silence of the cabin.

Samantha nodded and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She focused on the packet in her lap and flipped though it until she came across the immigrations papers. “The Kreshnins came in on diplomatic papers twelve years ago, then got green cards?”

“Back then the rules were not enforced as much as they are now. Seems no one bothered to do a thorough background check on them at Immigration and Naturalization Services.”

“They would’ve found out they were ex-KGB agents.” Sami looked at him. “Bribes?”

“Probably. Sloppy paperwork and easy entrance smells of bribes to me.”

“Is this what the media calls the Russian Mafia?”

Jake watched her flip through the papers once again. The lady didn’t miss much. “There’s no centralized group like with the Costa Nostra. It’s more like a loosely woven web of small groups. Occasionally they work together, occasionally they work with others, such as cells from Japan, China, the Italians, even the Hispanics. The Kreshnins seem to be the most organized Russian clan this side of New York.”

“They’re money laundering for both the Japanese and the Sicilians?”

Jake nodded. “They’re extorting bankers with ties to the old Russia. They deposit their drug money into the banks, the banks invest it, then deposit clean dividends into dummy companies. Everyone benefits from the system. The old mafia system has no ties to these bankers so they stay off the feds and IRS radar, the Kreshnins get a big cut, and the banker gets to keep his life.”

She handed him the pile of papers. “I thought Nicky just worked in the restaurant the Kreshnins owned, like a bus boy or something.”

“Right after his grandmother died, I think he did start out doing something like that. But after a while his duties changed and became more dangerous.”

“What exactly did the Kreshnins have him doing?”

Jake fought the sudden rage that surged through him. “They had him carrying messages from the restaurant to their lieutenants. Sometimes into the ugliest parts of town. I’d go along as body guard.”

“Weren’t they worried that someone would find the message on him? That he might leave evidence in the wrong place? He’s a child after all.”

“It seems our little friend has a unique qualification for the job of messenger. Something that wouldn’t leave a paper trail back to them.” He watched the dawning light her eyes.

“Nicky has a photographic memory?”

Her response surprised him. “Yes. How did you figure it out?”

“When he was delirious from the fever he quoted a list of Russian names and numbers. At the time I didn’t know what it meant. Now it makes sense. He knows everyone the Kreshnins were extorting money from.”

“Yep.” Not to mention each cell that traded drugs for them, the names and places of the sex-slave operations. The kid is a walking talking indictment for the prosecution. If they ever get to talk to him.”

“So, they have more to fear from him than just the murder?”

“Oh yeah. Nicky can identify them as the leaders of the cell operating in the central Midwest area. He can also identify their under-chiefs, lieutenants, and the leaders of the other criminal groups who had dealings with them. He can list financial transactions for the past two years.” The kid had more deadly secrets, but Jake wasn’t going to tell her unless she figured it out on her own.

“The Kreshnins exploited him and his abilities to stay out of court?”

He nodded.

“Let me ask you something?” She pinned him in place with her clear innocent gaze.

Jake wasn’t buying her act for a second. She had a point to make and he wasn’t going to like it. His stomach clenched. “Shoot.”

“What makes you different from these criminals? Aren’t you willing to put Nicky in danger to serve your own purposes?”

“I’m not using him like the Kreshnins do.” Jake’s body tensed with anger. “I’ve never laid a finger on the kid. Remember, I’m the one who got Nicky away from them.”

“But aren’t you doing the same thing? Using his memory to put the Kreshnins behind bars?”

“You don’t understand.”

Samantha laid her hand on his arm. “Then explain it to me so I will.”

The warm touch of her hand on his flesh calmed him. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at where Nicky lay sleeping.

“The kid’s life is hanging by a thread with this whole mess, Samantha. His testimony in the money laundering would only put the Kreshnins in prison. But since he witnessed the murder…”

“Since he witnessed the murder,” she prodded.

“If I can’t find out who on the force is helping the Kreshnins, the kid is as good as dead, no matter where or with whom I hide him.”

His words hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine. Sami’s hand tightened on his arm. He reached for her. Pulling her into his arms, he held her against his chest, breathing in the fresh scent of vanilla on her hair.

Visions of Nicky’s bleeding, tortured body the night he rescued him from the Kreshnins flashed through his mind. If Nicky ever fell into their hands again, Jake knew the little boy’s torture would seem like a birthday party compared to what they’d do to him. Jake forced his mind away from those dark thoughts to the day he met Nicky.

“The kid was so alone the first time I saw him.” He continued to stroke Samantha’s hair as the words poured out. “He was sitting in the corner of the kitchen of the Kreshnins’ restaurant, KAPTOREB. All he had on was this ripped t-shirt and a pair of baggy pants. I don’t think he’d had a bath in a month.”