Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (28 page)

Nodding ever so slightly ahead and to the left, Nicki plastered a movie star smile on her face and said under her breath, “When he looks exactly like the guy standing by Starbucks with the shit-eating grin, and what’s likely a 9 mm Glock nestled in his ankle holster under those $2,000 Marc Jacobs alligator boots. Oh, and, Katya the guy three people down trying to decide if he’s going to buy a doughnut or coffee cake is Sanchez, one of Rafe’s finest.”

“Damn, Nicki, I didn’t pick up on either one of them. You really are good.”

“Keep chatting and laughing. And just so you know, Sanchez is the fourth one of our guys I’ve made so far. Count on Rafe for overkill.”

Nicki shifted her designer bag, reaching inside for sunglasses. Plopping them on the top her head in a prearranged signal to Sanchez that she’d spotted the mark, she broke into a peal of luscious laughter as though Katya had said the funniest thing she’d heard.

As if drawn by her laughter, the blond-haired Adonis approached and directed his 1,000-watt smile at Nicki.

“You can only be Nicki, Mindy’s cousin.” Including Katya in his appraisal, he added, “And you must be Mindy?”

Assuming her best Valley Girl affectation, Nicki gushed, “And you must be Aiden.” She added with a giggle, fluttering her artificially extended eyelashes, “At least I sure hope you are.”

Moving between the two of them, Aiden guided the conspicuous young women down the corridor. He grasped each of their elbows—a casually threatening gesture that made Nicki’s razor instincts flare. While keeping up a bantering exchange with the tall, rock-star handsome young man, Nicki did her own appraisal. Given her acquaintances with perilous men, particularly those in her father’s far flung empire, and the badasses she worked with, Nicki was no stranger to charming men with an aura of danger. But peering into Aiden’s dark eyes that held no hint of the smile pasted on his lips, it wasn’t danger she saw—it was evil.

Chapter 31

Rafe introduced himself to Paul and Courtney Martinson, the distressed and clearly suspicious owners of the mansion next door to the confirmed party site. The pickup at LaGuardia had gone off without a hitch; the limousine carrying Rafe, Caleb, Grayson, Danny and Cam blended with dozens of others retrieving first-class passengers spilling out of the busy New York City airport. They kept a discreet distance behind the limo transporting Nicki, Katya and four obviously armed men. Blending in with the bumper to bumper traffic on the I-95 expressway leading out of New York City, they followed Nicki’s limo into Westchester County, and finally to the affluent village of Larchmont in the town of Mamaroneck. Larchmont had achieved pop culture fame when familiar fictional characters from Archie Bunker to Gordon Gekko referred to the uppity enclave with a knowing smirk. Hoping that the proximity of the party site to Midtown Manhattan signified that the auction would take place in the city, Rafe notified Abdullah to turn up the heat and “get them a fucking invitation.”

The Martinsons, a conspicuously wealthy couple in their early fifties, were singularly unimpressed with the “landscaping crew” that parked their trucks in the circular driveway of the Martinson’s palatial home. Only Rafe’s suave assurances, business card and telephone call from the NYC District Attorney—a golfing partner of Paul Martinson—convinced the startled couple to head into the city… where they would be thoroughly briefed by the authorities preparing to raid the home next to theirs.

Minutes after the furtive departure of the Martinsons, the ISA team turned the antique-laden home into a teeming command central, a mini version of their state of the art compound in the Poconos. Within an hour of their arrival, the ISA agents had the blueprints of the 19
th
century forty-room Victorian mansion next door, and secured a three block perimeter. Throughout the early afternoon, limousines deposited scores of partygoers into the tree–lined, almost park-like setting. By two o’clock, the quiet upscale neighborhood had been invaded by a boisterous collection of privileged young people—and a silent crew of heavily-armed ISA operatives.

~~~

Nicki and Katya managed to hide their amazement at the incongruity of the drug-laced bash they were participating in, with the armed fortress they knew was next door. They’d seen the “landscaping” trucks pull up, and had easy radio contact with the team. If anything it had all been too easy. I guess Rafe’s OCD attention to detail, while annoying at the time, had been worth it, Nicki thought with a shrug.

Never having lived in a college dorm, neither Nicki nor Katya was prepared for the pandemonium of the women’s private suite, as the flock of Gen Y’s or Y-Not’s? (as they often dubbed themselves) put finishing touches on their astonishing attires. The shrieking young women were decked out in every type of dress imaginable… and in some cases, undress. The only consistent element was that every outfit was straight out of a well-known design studio, and screamed of overindulgent parental money. Even among such frivolous excess, Nicki’s outfit stood out. She became an instant hit among the young women. While some were openly envious, most were simply in awe. Her obvious knowledge of couture quickly made her the go-to expert on everything, from which lip gloss to wear to whether panty lines were showing.

As excessive as the clothing and other accessories were, they were nothing compared to the array of designer drugs decorating every available surface in the central living areas and along the pool deck. Drug paraphernalia, much of which even Nicki didn’t recognize, along with enough hallucinogens and prescription drugs that, had they been legal, they’d have filled a Walmart pharmacy. The only item in relatively short supply was alcohol. Nicki concluded that that these overindulged young people disdained their parents’ customary medicating substances for the instant gratification of a line of coke, a vial of crack or some other quick-acting designer opiate.

Expecting to see obvious thugs, or at least a few Russian-speaking mafioso types, both Nicki and Katya were surprised that the guards looked more like Aiden than they did the multi-racial gangbangers that the Volkov had used to terrify the parents of the kidnapped girls. While none of them could compete with the sheer gorgeousness of their leader, the men that Nicki quickly identified as armed and dangerous ranged from All-American jock types to downright prepsters. Only the tell-tale bulges at their ankles, and their darting eyes, gave them away. Nicki conveyed to the team next door her count; there were twenty to thirty armed, shifty-eyed pretenders among the 100+ guests. Notably absent were Sophia, Hillary and Cindy.

Under Nicki’s watchful eye, a pattern began to emerge. The larger, more muscular of the guards began focusing their attentions on a particular type of girl. They were beautiful, of course, curvy with large breasts and showgirl legs. But their defining feature was their hair color. Almost all of the girls had blond hair. Nicki was the only redhead in the group. The dark haired girls getting attention from the watchers were exotic like Katya, and met all the other requirements of mature men’s fantasies. Nicki was confident these were the girls being considered for auction. She snapped their pictures on her bracelet camera and relayed them to Rafe’s team along with pictures of the men she’d identified as Aiden’s muscle.

It was a good thing she was as skilled at subterfuge as she was, because Aiden became her shadow. Clearly intrigued, he peppered her with dozens of questions. About her background, her parents, where she went to school, where in the world she had travelled, etc. etc. Answering the barrage of questions Nicki once again sent a silent thank you to Rafe. He’d insisted that she absorb the details of an entirely new persona complete with a facebook, twitter and pinterest presence as well as a family, academic and travel history that would fool even the most enterprising spy. She’d been annoyed and frustrated by Rafe’s attention to minutia… nevertheless she’d learned to spit out the facts of ‘her life’ as glibly as if she truly was Mindy’s twenty-two-year-old second cousin. Aiden appeared to buy it wholesale.

Feeling the operation could not be going more smoothly, and with Aiden’s curiosity pacified, Nicki looked to slip away. She found an alcove, near a doorway to an empty hallway, and managed to slide inside, escaping Aiden’s hovering presence for the moment. Then she saw a man moving toward her. She was immediately struck by how out of place he seemed; oh, his clothes were expensive enough, and he wasn’t ugly… but compared to the young beautiful crowd, he looked… odd. Tall, heavy and swarthy skinned, he appeared to be at least fifty. His features were coarse, Slavic, and, Nicki realized with a jolt, Russian. A shiver of fear mingled with excitement raced through her. He had to be Volkov. If she was surprised to see him, it was nothing compared to his reaction when he saw her. His eyes widened, his jaw slackened. He blanched, then visibly swallowed before he spoke. The word he whispered changed Nicki’s life forever.

“Tatiana.”

Nicki’s mother’s name.

Grasping for control, Nicki clung to the door frame.

“Who…who are you?”

He ignored her question and stepped closer. The emotions on his face ranged from horror, to shock and then to stunned recognition.

“
Bozhe moy
! You…you are her.”

Nicki’s mouth was too dry to swallow. She battled to maintain her cool professionalism, but couldn’t find her breath. Gasping for air she forced herself to speak calmly.

“I asked you, who are you? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He put up his hand as if to reassure her.

“I.…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to frighten you. It is just that you are so much like her. Your hair, your eyes. They are hers.”

Nicki asked, afraid of the answer.

“Who? Like who?”

“Your mother, Tatiana. Tatiana Petrakov.”

Nicki’s heart pounded so hard, she was sure it would burst through her chest.

“No. No. You are mistaken. My mother is dead. She died when I was born, giving birth to me.”

The Russian man shook his head so violently, his thick black hair fell across his forehead.

“No, no, that is a lie. A lie your father told you.”

Nicki stared at him. She felt drunk, or drugged. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Rafe, the mission, the girls… everything else flew from her head, save for an uncontrollable need to know.

“What are you saying? You know my father? My mother? Please, please, tell me. Is…is my mother alive?”

The big man grabbed her by the arm. Sweat beaded on his lip. His hands were shaking. He dragged her into the hallway. His voice was gruff, harsh.

“Listen to me. I don’t want to frighten you. I’m sorry. But you must come with me. Now. I will take you to your mother, but you must come now. You…we…we can’t let him see us.”

Nicki tried to free her arm, but he held tight. She peeked into the living room and saw Aiden weaving his way through the crowd, looking from side to side. Nicki was certain he was searching for her. Relief flooded her when he walked past the alcove out to the pool area.

Nicki knew that she shouldn’t go with this stranger. She’d promised Katya and, oh God, she had promised Rafe. But she couldn’t make sense of what the Russian man was saying. He knew her father? Her mother? Oh God, please help me. Her prayer ricocheted around in her fevered brain.

The Russian man led her quickly down the long hallway. When they heard someone coming behind them, he jerked on her arm and ducked into a sitting room, yanking her after him like a ragdoll. Giving her a little shove he closed, then locked the door. When he turned back to Nicki he was holding a gun. Pointed at her.

A thousand thoughts and recriminations raced through her head. She forced herself to focus; not to think about all she had done wrong, but instead what she had to do now. She struggled for calm, sizing him up, determining how to attack a deranged man pointing a military grade Sig Sauer at her heart. Buying time, she glared at him.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?”

An ugly grin puckered his face.

“What do I want with you? I want redemption. No, Nikita, I want revenge.”

Nicki didn’t know what was more frightening—the sudden glee in his voice, the manic gleam in his eyes, or that he knew her name. Knowing she had no time to decipher the meaning of the crisis, she eased into a crouch.

He nodded to something behind her but Nicki didn’t dare turn away, she had to keep him in focus. There was a rushing sound and a loud, ugly crack. A hideous pain brought her to her knees as something struck the back of her head.

Aiden stared at the woman on the floor, blood seeping from the gash on her head. He’d seen Boris drag the red-haired woman into the room, and was stunned to see the big Russian holding a gun on her. Rather than let the asshole kill her, he’d decided to take her down. He hit her with the handle of his gun, not hard enough to kill her, but enough to give her a hell of a headache when she woke up.

He glared at Boris, aiming his gun at the big man. Boris had lowered his own gun, not paying any attention to Aiden. He was gazing at the woman on the floor, almost in wonder. Aiden was taken back at the frenzied look in Boris’s eyes.

Ignoring Aiden, Boris rushed over to Nicki’s slack body. The Russian pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket… and commenced tearing at her clothes.

Aiden scowled. “What the hell are you doing, Boss Man? Are you nuts?!”

Boris snatched the bracelet off Nicki’s arm muttering gleefully.

“Aha! A clever little camera. Hello, little camera. And where there is a camera, there is a recorder, yes?”

After ripping her tank top, Boris cut off Nicki’s bra. Holding up a tiny microphone, he shrieked triumphantly.

“You see! And look, there is more!”

Groaning with perverse excitement, he sliced open the seams on her pants, exposing a second microphone. Using one of Nicki’s high heels as a hammer, Boris smashed both microphones into powder. With a growl, he stripped off her remaining clothes, leaving only her panties.

Aiden was staring at him as though he were a mad man. “Are you as crazy as you look, asshole? Who the hell is she? And how the fuck did you know she was wired?”