To Hell in a Handbasket (16 page)

Ivanov!
Claire turned her back to them and inched away so their view of her was mostly blocked by an outside wall angling in to artistically hide the exhausts from the kitchen below. She peeked over her shoulder to get a glimpse of Ivanov's expression, but only his eyes were visible above the glowing end of a fat cigar stub.

He took a puff and lowered his hand, shifting his face into shadow again. “I come to see you, since you no longer welcome me to your home. We must talk.”

“Haven't you extracted enough blood from our family?”

“Nickolas, you are upset.” Ivanov's tone was conciliatory, but firm. “You will see. We will provide good life for you and your mother.”

“No, dammit. It ends with Dad. He played your game. He had to, and because of it, Stephanie's dead.” Nick's voice caught, but he pressed on. “And now he's gone, too, because he couldn't live with the guilt.” Nick whirled and clutched the railing.

Claire spied the movement and chanced another quick look at the two men.

When Ivanov patted Nick's shoulder, Nick flinched. The larger man let his hand drop. “I did not think he would take his own life.” He sighed. “No one did.”

Nick bowed his head. “What would you expect a man to do who caused his own daughter's death?”

“He did not push her.”

“But he might as well have.”

Ivanov's voice softened. “Do you blame him, Nickolas?”

Nick raised his head and glared at Ivanov. “No, I blame you, Gregori.”

He pushed off the rail and strode across the balcony. He yanked the door open and went inside.

Ivanov watched the young man while taking another puff on the cigar. He dropped the stub on the concrete floor of the balcony and ground it out with his heel.

“We will talk again, young Nickolas. We will talk again.” He shoved his hands in his pocket and moved slowly toward the door, threading through knots of people.

Claire shivered. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chat
tering as she waited for Ivanov to go inside. So, Anthony caused Stephanie's death somehow, but he wasn't the mysterious black-
clad skier who pushed her. Nickolas didn't seem to be either
, because he blamed Ivanov. But the bear of a man was too large to match Boyd's description.

Stephanie's killer must have been Petrov. The ferret-faced enforcer was the same build as the Contino men—tall and thin. And he had salt-and-pepper hair. But the nagging question still lingered.
Why?
And why would Anthony want his daughter killed, then commit suicide over it days later?

Thoroughly puzzled, Claire walked to the door, massaging her arms to rub some warmth into them. She checked that Ivanov and Nick were out of sight and slipped inside.

She hurried up to Roger in the ballroom. “Where's Judy?”

He put his arm around her then stared at her in surprise. “You're
ice-cold, Claire. Did you go outside?”

Claire nodded, her teeth chattering. “Nick's here. He was talki
ng
to Ivanov on the balcony. I need to ask Judy something.” She
started to move away.

“Let me warm you up first.” He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back.

About the time she stopped shivering, Claire spotted her daugh
ter across the room. She rushed to Judy's side, with Roger close on her heels, and pulled her away from her friends.

“Judy. I found out something, and I need your help. Remember at the Continos' reception when you said you recognized a man who kept staring at you, but you didn't know where you'd seen him before? A ferret-faced man?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Close your eyes and visualize his face. Now, imagine him with some sunglasses, a black ski jacket, and pants . . .”

With her eyes shut, Judy frowned in concentration. “He took off his sunglasses to wipe them. In a lift line . . . the line to the T-bar.”

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. “He's the rude skier in black, the one who shoved past the two guys at the top of Ptarmigan.” Her hand gripped Claire's arm like a claw. “The one who killed Stephanie.”

Roger cleared his throat. “Gals, we've got trouble.”

“What?” Claire asked. “Where?”

Roger tilted his chin over her shoulder.

She whirled and saw Ivanov pushing his way through the crowd
as he made his way to the door. “Where was he? Did he hear us?”

Solemnly, Roger put his arms around his daughter's and wife's shoulders. “I saw him out of the corner of my eye right when Judy said, ‘the one who killed Stephanie.' His face went white—then he took off.”

At the door, Ivanov turned and stared at them. His dark eyes bored into Claire's and rooted her to the spot.

The blood drained out of her face. “Oh, God.” She felt like a
cornered rabbit watching death swoop down in the form of a predator hawk with talons bared.

Sixteen: Protecting Judy

Claire gripped Roger's arm.
“Now the boss of a hired killer knows that Judy's a witness to a murder. It's no longer a question that Petrov will target Judy, it's a certainty.”

“But she didn't witness the murder,” Roger said, “only Petrov getting off the lift.”

“That puts Petrov at the scene,” Claire replied through gritted teeth. “That may be all he needs to justify killing her. Leon said Petrov never leaves a witness alive that he doesn't trust to keep quiet. And I bet that's what the two of them were arguing about at the reception. Petrov wanted to kill Judy, and Ivanov was telling him to hold off, that maybe Judy didn't see him. Now Ivanov knows she's a threat.”

Judy looked confused. “What are you talking about? Who's Petrov? What do you know that you aren't telling me?” As she
blurted out the questions, her expression changed to red-faced
anger.

“We didn't want to worry you until we had confirmation from the sheriff's office. But now you've given us our own confirmation, and it's time you knew.” Claire told her what Leon had found out about Petrov being an enforcer for Ivanov.

She laid a gentle hand on Judy's arm. “There's more, honey. I just overheard Gregori Ivanov pressuring Nick to follow in his father's footsteps.”

Judy glanced around. “Nick's here? Where?”

“He was out on the balcony. I don't know where he is now. But do you hear what I'm saying? It was obvious from the conversation that Nick knew what his father was doing.”

Eyes wide, Judy shook her head. “Maybe he couldn't do anything to get his father out, but Nick would never work for organized crime.”

“He seems to be resisting,” Claire said, “but he's boxed in, and I think it'll be hard for him to get out. The mob's already killed his sister.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm almost positive Petrov did it. I just don't know why.”

While Judy gaped at her mother, Roger said, “There's Detective Silverstone. I'll go get him.” He crossed the ballroom to where the detective stood with a woman in a long turquoise dress, whose face matched the photograph on Owen's desk.

“If what we discovered isn't enough for Owen to get protection for you,” Claire said to Judy, “we're leaving tonight and we won't be going back to Colorado Springs.”

“Isn't that a little extreme?”

“Not when a mob enforcer is gunning for my daughter,” Claire said fiercely. She realized her fingernails were digging into her palms and unclenched her hands.

“I'm not leaving Breckenridge without talking to Nick first.” Judy wiped her hand across her brow. “This is all too unreal for me. Here we are in the middle of a ballroom party, and you're talking about mob gunmen. I can't believe this is happening to me, to Nick's family.”

The string quartet launched into the “Blue Danube” waltz, and for a surreal moment, Claire felt as if she were on a doomed ship sailing toward disaster.

Roger returned with Silverstone. The detective looked distinguished in a black Western suit coat with black suede yokes, bolo tie, and silver-banded black cowboy hat.

“I almost didn't recognize you, Owen.” Claire held out her hand. “I was hoping to meet your wife.”

“She doesn't like getting tangled up in police business, especially when it's one of our rare nights out.”

Claire glanced over and saw his wife watching them with a slight pout on her face. The woman turned away and addressed the couple she was with. “Sorry about that, but this is a matter of life or death—Judy's.”

Owen looked at Judy. “Your father told me you ID'ed the skier in black.”

“Yes, I saw him at the Continos' house on Friday.”

“Viktor Petrov,” Claire added. “The enforcer I told you about.”

“Could you pick him out of a lineup?” Owen asked Judy.

“Oh, yes.”

“Would you be willing to testify to that, if this goes to trial? Remember you could be in danger from the Russian mob if you do.”

Claire gasped.

Judy glanced at her mother then squared her shoulders. “If I can help put Stephanie's killer behind bars, yes I'll testify.”

Anxious to know more about the man Judy might face in a courtroom—if she made it there alive—Claire asked Owen, “Did you find out anything else about Petrov?”

Owen nodded and sipped his beer. “Your contact's information checked out. Denver PD's got a two-inch file on him, mostly speculation and circumstantial evidence, a few minor convictions. They know he's done more, a lot more, but it's been impossible to get testimony against him. They were curious how I knew he was in the country, since they still had him pegged in Chile.”

“You didn't tell them about Leon, did you?”

“No, I said an eyewitness spotted him at a private gathering up here in Breckenridge.” He raised a brow at Claire. “The same eyewitness who spotted the illegal money transfers on Contino's computer. They're beginning to wonder what sort of witness you are.”

“I hope Denver PD's not suspicious of me.” Seeing Owen's smile, Claire realized he was joking. “Did they find anything on Anthony's computer?”

“Not yet. Ivanov's files had been deleted, but Contino didn't reformat his disk, so the computer geeks think they can reconstruct at least some of the contents. In the meantime, Denver PD's sending a couple of officers up here tomorrow morning to work with me. Maybe this time we can construct a solid case against him.”

Claire put her hand to her chest. “Thank God. I will feel so much better with that man locked away.”

“Unfortunately, we haven't the foggiest idea where he is now. No one's seen him since Friday. And the Continos don't know him. When I interviewed them today, they said he came to the memorial service with Ivanov, who they claim is only a client of Anthony's.”

Roger frowned. “Angela seemed pretty friendly with Ivanov when
we saw him at the house Thursday.”

“She said she's politely friendly to all of Anthony's clients, which is good for business,” Owen replied. “She truly seemed to know nothing about her husband's work, but I think Nickolas is holding something back. He knows more than he's telling me.”

Shaking her head, Judy stepped back, but Roger stayed her with an arm around her shoulders.

“Yes, he does,” Claire said. “Ivanov is pressuring him to join the mob. I told you about the conversation Ivanov and Anthony had regarding Nick on Saturday. Tonight, I overheard another one between Ivanov and Nick out on the balcony.”

Claire relayed the details of the conversation to Silverstone, concluding with, “That's why Roger asked you to come over. We have proof now that Judy's a target of Petrov. We think Petrov wanted to get rid of her before, and Ivanov stopped him. Remember the argument they were having at the Continos' when they were staring at her? She needs protection, and now.”

Owen studied Judy. “She may be our only means of flushing out Petrov.”

Claire jammed her fists on her hips. “Oh, no. You are not using my daughter as bait to lure in a killer. I forbid it.”

Judy's eyes flashed. “I can make that decision for myself.”

“You can't seriously be thinking of making yourself a target. He's a crack shot.” The terrifying image of her daughter lying bloody and dying clashed in Claire's mind with those of Stephanie and Boyd. She hadn't been able to save them. She couldn't bear to see her daughter die, too.

“Give me some credit, Mom.” Judy placed her hands on her hips, an exact mimicry of Claire's earlier action. “I'm not stupid, and I'm not a child anymore. You can't forbid me to do anything.”

Claire felt as if she had been slapped. Anger and fear warred for control of her tongue. Her mouth flapped open and closed like a fish tossed out of the water.

Owen and Roger took a step away from the battlefield and shot arched looks at each other.

Claire took a deep breath.
I will not shout at my daughter in the middle of this crowd. I will not shout . . .
Fear and reason finally won out. “Judy, I'm your mother. My instinct to protect you is natural and impossible to squelch.”

Judy glared at her mother. “You can't protect me from life itself. It's time to let go. I've got to learn how to protect myself.”

With tears brimming in her eyes, Claire reached out. “I don't want to lose you. Ever. Can't you see your death would break my heart?”

Judy surveyed the people nearby, some watching them surreptitiously. “You're making a scene, Mom.” She hesitated then opened her arms to Claire.

Claire hugged her daughter fiercely. She murmured in Judy's hair. “Sorry, honey. Sorry for being such a mama bear.”

Judy sighed. “Put your claws away. This cub'll be all right.”

“Oh, God, I hope so.” Claire glanced at Owen. “What do we do now?”

He rubbed his chin. “I'll get the evening patrols busy looking for Petrov. I'll look for Ivanov here, and see if he'll lead us to Petrov.”

“If Ivanov's not still at the party,” Roger said, “you might find him at the Hilton. That's where Angela said he was staying.”

“I know. She told me, too.” Owen pulled out a cell phone and tapped it in his hand. “And I'll get an officer assigned to guard Judy. In the meantime, you three stay together in this ballroom. Don't even leave to use the restroom until I return.”

“But I need to find Nick,” Judy said.

“Let him find you.” Owen shot a worried glance across the room
at his wife. “Now, to break the news to Faith that I've managed to ruin another of her social evenings.”

As he strode off, the master of ceremonies announced that the
evening's program would begin, and people should find seats. The sounds of shuffling footsteps and scraping chairs surrounded Claire.

She motioned for Roger and Judy to follow her to a table near the back of the room. After they sat, Claire said to Judy, “If Nick's looking for you, he'll find you here. So will Petrov, but hopefully he won't risk harming you in front of hundreds of witnesses.”

Roger glanced at the bar. “I'm tenser than a tax dodger being audited by the IRS. I need a drink. How about you two?”

With her head pounding and her insides twisted into knots, Claire realized she needed to release some of the pressure boiling inside her. “White wine for me this time.”

Judy gave a nod. “Me, too.”

While Roger went to fetch the drinks, Judy said, “I still find it hard to believe that a Russian mobster is out to gun me down. The whole story is too surreal. This isn't the wild, wild West, you know.”

Claire leaned forward, anxious to convey the seriousness of the situation. “You're a witness to a mob killing. How many times have you read in the paper about a witness mysteriously disappearing before the trial of an important criminal?”

“I'm not stupid. Deep down I know there's a real danger, and that's got my stomach in knots. But you've got to admit this whole situation is freaky. And why aren't you and Dad worried about
yourselves? You saw Petrov at the Continos. You know who he is, too.”

“Yes, but you're the only person left alive who can put him on the ski slope when Stephanie was killed. Believe me, he'll stop at nothing to keep you from testifying against him.”

Judy's gaze had left her mother's face, along with her attention.

Damn, how can I convince her to take care of herself if she's not even listening?
Claire turned to see what Judy was looking at and spotted Nick striding toward them, his lips clamped in a tight line, his eyes strained. He wore the same dark blue suit he had donned for Stephanie's funeral.

Judy rose as he approached, and the two clasped each other in a desperate hug. Wordless, they both seemed to struggle against tears as they buried their faces against each other's shoulders.

Claire tried not to stare at them. She listened while the emcee recited a long list of sponsors to thank.

Finally, Nick pulled away to look at Judy but continued to hold her in his arms. “I missed you.” He gently caressed her hair. “I needed you.”

“Oh, Nick. Me, too, but Mom and Dad made me stay away yesterday, and you were tied up with Detective Silverstone today.”

Nick shot a sharp glance at Claire. “They made you stay away?”

Claire jumped in before Judy could reply. “We thought you and your mother should have some private time to grieve, Nick. I'm sorry if we made an error in judgment.” She threw a “keep your trap shut” look at Judy.

He took Judy's hand and started to pull her from the table. “Let's go somewhere we can talk.”

Judy pulled her hand out of his. “I can't.”

Claire took advantage of Nick's startled paralysis to urge both of them to sit. “Judy, Roger and I need to stay here, together, until Detective Silverstone returns. You two will have to talk here.”

“What?” Nick glanced at Judy, who nodded miserably. “What business does Silverstone have with you?”

Before Claire could respond, Judy said, “He's arranging for me to have a cop babysitter.”

Nick looked from one of them to the other. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Petrov,” Judy replied. “I saw him on the ski slope before Stephanie was killed.”

“Who's Petrov, and what does he have to do with Stephanie's death?”

“He's that ferret-faced man who was with Ivanov at the reception at your house. I saw him get off the T-bar and ski down right before Stephanie was hit.”

Seeing a frown of disbelief cross Nick's face, Claire added, “Silverstone has positive information that Petrov is Ivanov's enforcer.” She laid a sympathetic hand on Nick's arm.