Threat: Follow up to Stranded but not Alone (Dragoslava Connection) (3 page)

“And what’s your relationship like with Ms. Cansler, Mr. Faerber? Would you say she’s easy to get along with or a trouble starter?”

Mark stroked his chin between thumb and forefinger. “She’s a consummate professional, Detective.”

“Yet others view her as a problem?”

The air swelled with tension.

“You can say that,” Mark agreed. “Her numbers rank with the veterans, and her German is broken at best but her clients respect her judgment. She’s real competition. It happens on all levels of corporate business.”

Mikhail let those words sink in. “That happens in all companies, Detective. Until she’s found everyone’s a suspect.”

Munson nodded.

“I’ll do another employee sweep and check any who have taken an advance on their paycheck or a loan against their holdings. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention, you’re the only one that views Ms. Cansler as missing and not just not in her office. What makes you believe she was kidnapped?”

She’s missing
.

This person admitted in the email that they’d take something from him. Bethany’s a vital part of his staff. “Until we find her, she’s in danger.”

If only he knew from who.

Mark raised a brow. “The list I forwarded is my professional opinion of those with the most to gain from threatening you. Not many. The regular background checks made it easy to eliminate ninety percent of our employees. And from the criteria the detective gave me to search from, the only names that stand out are employees who swiped their cards the minutes preceding or succeeding Ms. Cansler from lunch and also have access to this floor.”

Mikhail eyed the names on the right hand side of the screen setting them to memory…Two officers, a rep, and the head of marketing.

He could eliminate one off the top, as she came in with him and was in the same meeting. The other was Glenda, one of Bethany’s closest colleagues. According to Glenda’s statement, Bethany stayed home last night to share a ride to the winter games at his family’s resort. The other two men he’d check into. “Have either man reported internal complaints on Ms. Cansler? Somebody’s not talking and knows where she is.”

“No, but have you considered a jilted lover? Shredded lingerie screams fatal attraction. And I do know she’s turned down several date requests since arriving a year ago and hasn’t dated since your breakup.”

Suspicion rode Mikhail hard. “How would you know that?”

“Men talk. Bethany’s been labeled as—easy,” he drew the word out, his lip snarled up on the corner in a grimace. “She’s Mikhail’s toss-off.”

He stopped pacing to stare at Mark and lean over his desk, his breathing labored. “Was she being harassed?” he forced.

“Ms. Canlser has admirers, both in and outside of Heinemann’s. I professionally handled the improper invitations within the company. However, she receives legitimate business offers monthly as any good financial representative does. Whether she entertains them is out of my control.”

“Are any of these outside offers of a romantic nature, Mr. Faerber,” detective Munson asked.

“I can’t say outside of our company who’s interested in Ms. Cansler, romantically.”

Disturbed, Mikhail took a minute to assess their relationship, and he could see why she hadn’t wanted him to know. She didn’t trust him. Safety trumped everything.

“And what if I hadn’t asked?” Mikhail swore, demanding an answer from the man.

Mark appeared disjointed when his body jerked toward the paper settled between them on the desk. “Their names are on the top of my list, investigated and cleared. I want Ms. Cansler returned safely as well.” He stared accusingly at Mikhail, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the white collar. “She’s a good employee; clients trust her intuition implicitly and value her knowledge.”

Why was he wavering with his support? Watching Mark, Mikhail reclined in the leather chair, one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his fist. “I’m glad we agree on her importance.”

“Mr. Shamochernyi, were you and Ms. Cansler living together? The media is reporting you’re going through a nasty divorce, and she’s unhappy with the settlement.”

“Media stunt, detective. Ms. Cansler and I dated that’s all.”

Munson shrugged his big body. “I don’t judge the sexual proclivities of my suspects, Mr. Shamochernyi. Public arguments could be a form of fetish between you two.”

“What about the condo search, Munson? What did you find?”

“Her home was trashed. Broken flat screen, overturned tables, emptied drawers.”

“So you know someone’s after her, why is she still a suspect?”

“That proves someone broke into her home, not that she didn’t send the threat.”

This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. His brother and his family came all the way from London to spend the week with him, and he had a stalker and a missing employee.

Mikhail, with Munson breathing down his back, crossed the hall to his office and left his brother a message to post security around the resort. The winter games started tomorrow and guests would start arriving tonight if they hadn’t already.

~~~CB~~~

Together Mikhail and Detective Munson jumped to their feet when the lights began to flicker. The computers died and people screamed up and down the corridor.

“What the hell now?” He bolted down the hall to the elevators; Mark hustled from his office to follow shoes pounding over the floor. “That had to be a manual shut down or the generator would’ve automatically started. This is too coincidental.” Munson kept up as they ran down to the computer floor. Mikhail shoved his hip against the metal bar on the steel door. The locked held. “Shit,” he complained, remembering the code, punching it out on the keypad. It opened. He ran full out down the hall suit jacket flapping behind him. Hooking a hand around the wall, he bolted down the second corridor shoes slapping over the tile, while his chest burned with every breath.

Computer technicians stood at the security box manually typing in the codes to access the room.

“What happened?” Mikhail ordered shuttling his hurried stares around the room, looking for the cause of the power failure.

The tall man said, “I don’t know. We were still being interrogated when the lights started shutting down. We just got down here. The system doesn’t go down in one sweep. It shuts down by grid. One at a time. Someone did that manually, Mr. Shamochernyi.”

Four polizei rushed down from the other end of the hall brandishing guns, boots pounding the tiled floor, the sound echoing off the walls. “Move, move, move,” the first polizei directed, nodding toward them. Mikhail gave a nod. The tech backed away.

They stalked the room past the black screens and rows of components stacked to the ceiling. “All clear on this end.”

“Check the mainframe room at the back,” Mikhail ordered, ushering his tech toward the door two officers leading the way.

“Let me open it,” the polizei in front said reaching for his weapon. “It could be a set-up.” He held his gun in the air one handed, manually typing in the code as the tech fed him the numbers with the other. “This is the polizei. Put your hands in the air. I’m coming in.”

A muffled cry came from the other side, only it was weaker now. Mikhail stepped closer behind the other polizei, listening to the sound coming from under the door. A woman’s muffled voice… He knew that moan.

“Open the other door,” he ordered his pulse racing; thudding in his temple.

The gray door swung in and …Nothing, but an open cage with the keyboard flipped down and the icons still on the desktop. Whoever shut down the system just left, so they could still be in the building with Ms. Cansler.”

“Mr. Shamochernyi, someone was here. That cage is always closed,” a tech said getting in beside Mikhail to look at the computer. “See here, someone hit the emergency shutdown icon. That didn’t happen on its own. She was here.”

Bethany’s perfume filled his nose. He whirled around bumping the open gate to the control panel.

“That’s her perfume. Where is she? I know I heard a woman’s voice,” Mikhail cursed coming out of the cabinet to run to the other tall cages forcing the doors open one by one.

“Nothing in these either, Mr. Shamochernyi,” Mark said. The polizei did the same.

Munson held the outer door open. “Was this a trick, Shamochernyi?” he accused.

Ignoring his words, Mikhail ran from the room, Mark on his heels down the hall. He ran to the second elevator at the end of the hall, a weak muffled voice filled in overhead. He slammed his body into the steel doors of the stairs leaping the steps two at a time his watch slammed against the wall as he rounded the levels to the door.

On the main floor, he exploded onto the parking lot. Cameras snapping pictures left and right as he ran around to the loading dock in the back. A white SUV sat idle with the back door open and stocking feet stuck out past the doors, delicate ankles tied together.

Men swarmed the area as he got into the truck pulling Bethany into his arms. She fought his hold, eyes wide, then slowly as recognition pulled back her fear, she settled against his chest.

Holding the blanket to her, he got her inside the front lobby’s guest lounge. Polizei, Mark, and the cameras huddled around the door.

“I want the media out of my building now,” he shouted as Mark opened a second glass door to an interview room away from the many eyes peering into the room.

Shivering, she wouldn’t look at him. A piece of torn cloth was tied around her head, holding her hair trapped over one side of her face.

Guns drawn, the polizei crowded the doorway.

Furious, Mikhail lowered himself to his knees cautiously, so as not to upset her. In front of Bethany, he settled his hands on her knees, then touched her shoeless foot. She drew it back under her. He didn’t fight her, he just untied the rope from around her waist and rubbed her flat stomach, ignoring her hand pressing his hand away.

She sucked in a breath when he touched her skin beneath the silk blouse, but he ran the tips of his fingers around and felt the lines where the rope dug into her skin.

“Shit!” The feel emblazoned on his fingertips warped his sanity. “Did he touch you Bethany?”

She cut a look at him full of pain and anger he’d never seen on her face before.

Unwrapping her wrists, he nodded to the officer. The man slipped on rubber gloves then dropped the ropes and rag inside an evidence bag. Anger flared through him seeing the red rings the rope left on her wrists. “Bethany, who put you in there? What did they do to you?”

The cold look in her eyes said stay the hell away from her, but she’d lose that plea because she was his regardless of their fight.

“Ms. Cansler, I’m Detective Munson. Do you need a doctor?”

Going out of his mind with thought of what happened, Mikhail waited to hear she was okay, blocking the image of not getting to her before a killer drove away with her to kill or worse.

“No,” she replied with a slight cough. “I just need a minute, if you don’t mind.”

In the flurry to get her inside, it finally dawned on him she had no boots on. His gaze settled on her legs then down to her bare feet. Shock roared through him. “Where are your shoes?” Mikhail questioned with his heart in his throat dragging his stomach along with it praying she hadn’t been assaulted.

She swallowed. “Go away, Mikhail…Just go away,” she croaked under wide eyes and an irritation he didn’t understand. Bethany sniffed back her tears. “The man knocked me out and locked me in there because of my relationship with you. I’m not even with you anymore, and I’m still paying for it,” she argued then licked out her tongue over her swollen lips.

What was she talking about; she was still paying for it? “Who locked you in there, Bethany? Tell me who did this.”

No eye contact.

“Can I get some ice?” she asked in a weak voice dabbing a finger over her cracked lip.

Munson nodded to one of the officers then stepped up and her dark pained stare tore at Mikhail’s heart. The officer left the room. He came back minutes later with a paper cup and crushed ice from the mini drink station on that floor.

Bethany held a piece of ice to her lips.

“Ms. Cansler, when you’re ready I need to ask you some questions.”

Bethany’s lashes fluttered before she looked up. Her voice came out small. “Okay. I’m ready now. I just want to go home.” Her slightly blue lips trembled, and her teeth chattered.

“Who did this Bethany?” He fought the rage setting his body on fire knowing someone had done something to her, but he didn’t know whom. Bethany would hardly look his way.

“Detective, can I go upstairs please. I need my ski jacket I packed for the trip. It’s in my office, and I’d rather not look at the media frothing like dogs outside the door.”

Shit, Mikhail shucked off his suit jacket seeing her shoulders trembling from having been outside, tucking it around her trembling body. He didn’t bother asking if she wanted it, slipping her arms into the sleeves tugging it over her shoulders he tugged her to his face, letting the blanket puddle over her lap. “Who did this to you? Talk to me, Bethany.”

Tension held her shoulders close to her ears and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Ms. Cansler once we get you up stairs I need to ask you about how you got in that closet then left the building. Why send Shamochernyi a threat?”

Bethany jerked her head up. “Threat…I didn’t send a threat to Mikhail,” she forced her words. Huddled into his jacket she let her shoulders drop when Mikhail released her.

Munson grinned suspiciously. “I never said who it was sent to, Miss. How did you know?” he asked pulling out his notepad.

She still refused to look at Mikhail. Frustrated, he waited to hear what happened.

“The man…he had a thick accent. He told me about the investigation going on upstairs. Said you thought I shredded my lingerie and sent it to Mr. Shamochernyi and emailed a threat to his office.”

“The person at the door…what do you remember about him?”

Let her catch her breath
, Mikhail thought. “Is someone searching for the driver, Detective?”

SWAT is all the detective said before returning to Bethany. “Is there anything you can remember distinctive about your capture, Ms. Cansler?”