Eric Lustbader - Blood Trust

Gunn sat looking at her for a moment. “I do believe you’re trying to piss me off.”

“Not at all.”

“For what reason I cannot imagine.”

Now that they were talking at cross-purposes, it was time for Naomi to go. But before she did, there was one item left remaining on her agenda. She rose and headed for the door, before turning back.

“I’d appreciate the dossiers on the three men who were assigned to guard Alli Carter.”

Gunn appeared unfazed. “Bennett will hand them to you on the way out.”

She smiled. “A pleasure, Mr. Gunn.” Her smile widened. “That macchiato was so good I promise I’ll be back.”

“THE IZMAYLOVSKAYA recruit,” Thatë said when Jack had finished explaining his storied past. “Their representatives go far afield—Albania, Romania, all of Eastern Europe, so I’m told.” He looked down at his hands, their long fingers laced together. “That’s how they found me.” He looked up. “Why should I say no? They offered me a home, training, a steady job, security—none of the things I had. It was everything I wanted—and needed.”

“I thought the grupperovka were all Russian nationals.”

“Once, maybe.” Thatë rose, got them two more beers, and sat back down. “But these days the families are under a shitload of pressure from the Kremlin. They gotta expand beyond Russia in order to survive.” He shrugged as he snapped off the bottle cap. “They don’t like it, but what the fuck else can they do. The fucking writing’s on the wall.”

The day had wasted itself in gray rain and intermittent spurts of sleet that rattled on the concrete sidewalks. Now, exhausted, day had given way to night, a darkness muffled in low clouds and swirls of icy rain. Far above, the sky was dully phosphorescent with the lights of the far-off prosperous sections of the city, but the glow did little here. Streetlights worked only intermittently; illumination was at a premium, which was just how the roving gangs liked it.

Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost showtime.”

“Time to go, no?” Thatë glanced over his shoulder. “The girl’s awake.”

Jack turned. Alli was standing in the doorway, dried blood all over her. She looked even smaller than usual, almost like a child.

“Jack…” All at once, tears rolled down her cheeks.

He rose and went to her, held her while she shook and sobbed. “It’s always worst the first time.”

He felt her freeze, almost as if her breathing had come to a halt. “He’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“I … I didn’t mean to, but he wouldn’t stop coming after me.”

“What happened?” Jack said gently.

After a shuddering breath, Alli described everything that had happened in her uncle’s study. How Rudy had waited until Uncle Hank and Harrison Jenkins had driven away before coming in and threatening her with the fire poker, how she had managed to get away and what had happened when she encountered the other two guards, how in her flight she had come across the cook lying on the floor of the kitchen, and how Rudy had followed her out of the house.

“There’s no doubt in your mind that his intent was to kill you?”

She shook her head. “When he came for me, he said, ‘There’s a fine spot for them to find you, curled in the fireplace with the soot and the ash.’”

“Was it just him, do you think, or were they all in on it?”

Alli, thinking back to how Conlon and the third guard had acted, said, “They were all in it together. I just think Rudy was the crew chief.”

The tears had dried on her cheeks, making tracks in the dirt. He could see that she had regained a good deal of her self-control. Just the fact that she could make these observations about her attackers was proof that she was heading for the right line of work at Fearington.

“It’s okay. You’ve done remarkably well.” He hugged her and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom. “Now go wash up.”

He turned to see Thatë staring intently at him. “What?”

The kid lowered his head, stared at the floor between his feet. “Nothing.”

Jack sat down across from him and took a swig of his beer, which was now close to room temperature. “Spill it.”

Thatë gave a little laugh. He sounded like a hyena nervously cackling in the bush.

“How d’you get her to listen to you?” the kid asked. “You threaten her, or what?”

Jack considered the source of these questions. “I didn’t get her to do anything. Alli takes my advice.”

“So how you make her respectful?”

Jack tried not to show the alarm that sprang up inside him. “Thatë, she trusts me.”

“She trusts you?”

Behind the closed bathroom door, the water had begun to run in the shower.

Thatë frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

As the kid jumped up, Jack, laughing, reached over and pulled him back down.

“Not now.”

“Why not now?”

“Because she’d find a way to obliterate your nuts.”

Thatë looked at him askance. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

Jack shook his head. “She killed a man today—a professional bodyguard—and maimed two others.” He let the kid go. “You still want to try?”

Thatë shook his head. “Man, I still don’t know about you.”

At that moment, the bathroom door opened a crack, and, through a small cloud of steam, Alli said, “I need clean clothes.”

Jack looked at the kid, who inadvertently gave a classic double-take before making for the bedroom. Jack heard some drawers being pulled out. He and Alli exchanged looks, but he was uncertain of either her mood or what she was thinking until she breathed: “Emma…”

“What is it?” he whispered back.

Alli gave a tiny, violent shiver. “I feel her.”

Thatë reappeared with a stack of clothes: a pair of black stovepipe jeans, a black-and-white T-shirt with WIG-OUT emblazoned across the chest, a hoodie, and a pair of sweat socks.

Alli sniffed at them.

“They’re just washed,” the kid said. “I know how to take care of myself.” He led with his chin. “Couldn’t do anything ’bout underwear.”

“No problem,” Alli said, taking the pile from him. “I’ll go commando.”

NAOMI STOOD just to one side of the entrance to the Fortress Securities building, between two columns, hidden from anyone who came and went. She was scanning the dossiers of the three guards, hoping to find some link, some anomaly that might make something click. It was chilly, the evening clanking onto the city streets like a spent shell. Lights sent smears of illumination across the sidewalk. Headlights rolled toward her, then away slowly in the mounting rush hour traffic.

She had done her best to rattle Gunn’s cage. If there was something to what she had intimated she wanted to know about it. She’d made a shot in the dark, to be sure, but she was waiting for Gunn to emerge. If he had become alarmed by what she had said he would go see Henry Holt Carson in person; he was too good at his job to risk a phone conversation.

But it had been over an hour since she had left the Fortress offices and still no sign of him. She went back to the dossiers, her eyes anxiously scanning the text while part of her attention was secured in the periphery of her vision, waiting for Gunn. There was nothing, nothing, nothing, so she returned to the beginning and started all over again.

Halfway through she caught herself wondering how Pete was faring. Digging out her phone, she punched in his speed-dial number. He answered at once. Nothing to report.

“I got the Fortress dossiers,” she said. “If you’re free, we ought to go over them together.”