Sixty-Two

Ben knocked again, rapping his knuckles against the thick glass set into the back door that led into Sabrina’s kitchen. He looked at the kid standing next to him, Sabrina’s dog at his side, and smiled. “Kruto, malen’kiy chelovek,” he said. Be cool, little man—even though cool was the last thing he felt. He should have known his father was already stateside. The asshole prided himself on being ten steps ahead of everyone around him.

Why the hell wasn’t Sabrina answering?

The kid mumbled something, so soft he wasn’t even sure he was speaking so much as breathing.

“Ty chto-to skazal?” Did you say something?

The boy looked up at him, concern ghosting across his face. “Rebenok plachet.” The baby is crying.

Ben went still for a moment, head cocked toward the door. The modifications made to Sabrina’s house made it nearly impossible to hear anything going on inside. A small bomb could be detonated within its walls and no one on the outside would even know, but …

“Vy uvereny?” You sure?

The boy just nodded, tilting his head toward the door.

“You better be sure,” he muttered to himself as he pressed his thumb to the small scanner mounted next to the doorframe. Val hated it when he just barged in.

The scanner let out a small beep a few seconds before the door lock clicked and he pushed it open. Lucy was crying; her screams were shrill and laced with panic.

He closed the door and re-engaged the lock as quietly as possible. Sabrina’s car keys were hanging on the hook next to the back door and her backpack was dumped onto the table.

Reaching into his coat, Ben wrapped his hand around the grip of his Desert Eagle. He looked at the boy standing next to him and pulled it out, the weight of it cool and heavy in his hand. “Podozhdite zdes’,” he said. Wait here.

He started across the kitchen, pushing his way through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. The room was empty and he walked through it slowly, gun tilted at an angle that would ensure an easy fire if needed, and into the living room. Things took a jump from mildly alarming to what the fuck in an instant.

Next to a puzzling collection of flutes and a half-empty magnum of Cordon Rouge, Ben saw Sabrina’s service weapon, along with her backup piece. Both were lying on the coffee table, their magazines removed. Propped against one of them was a business card. He picked it up.

Chapel Photography
Courtney Tserkov’
415-555-9321
You’ll love the way I shoot

“Sabrina,” he shouted, darting into the foyer and pounding up the stairs. As soon as he made the landing, he started up the set of stairs that led to her room, but he stopped short when he saw what was in the second-floor hallway.

It was Val, face down at the end of the hall, halfway between her bedroom and Lucy’s.

Shit.

Ben quickly altered his route, charging down the hallway, clearing rooms as he went. “Val? Val, what happened?” he said, even though he knew she wouldn’t answer. Holstering his gun, he hunkered down next to her. No blood. No obvious signs of trauma. He rolled her over gently, careful to stabilize her neck as he checked her pulse. Her heartbeat was strong and steady. Her chest moved, her breath deep and even, as if she were sleeping. Hearing him, Lucy started screaming even louder, her confusion and distress obvious. He stood and entered the room.

“Hey, Lucy-goose,” he said softly. As soon as she saw a face looming over her crib, the baby’s screams broke off into a round of hiccupping sobs. Ben reached for her, picking her up gently. The moment she made contact with his chest, her sobs tapered off into a series of shuddering breaths, her face buried in his neck, tiny hands holding on to his shirt. “That’s right—it’s okay. You know me. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.” He was talking nonsense. Nothing was okay. Not even close.

Val let out a faint groan, her hand fluttering on the carpet as she tried to sit up. “Aleks, mne nuzhna vasha pomoshch’,” he shouted, with no real hope that the boy would come. Lucy still in his arms, Ben crouched next to Val again, smoothing his free hand over her face. It was red and welted, like she’d been laying with her face mashed into the carpet for hours. “Val, I need you to wake up. Tell me what happened. Where’s Sabrina?”

Val tried to open her eyes but screwed them shut against the bright light of the hallway. “Lucy … where’s Lucy?”

“She’s here. She’s fine. I need you to tell me what happened.” He did his best to keep the panic from his voice. Movement swayed in his peripheral and he looked up to see the kid standing at the top of the back stairs, less than a yard away, his face completely void of anything resembling emotion. Ben plastered an encouraging smile on his face. “Eto normal’no. Oni v poryadke. Mne nuzhno, chtoby vzyat’ rebenka, chtoby ya mog pomoch’ yey. Khorosho?” It’s okay. They’re okay. I need you to take the baby so I can help her. Okay?

In answer, Alex reached for Lucy, lifting her out of his arms carefully, hands planted firmly on her neck and back as he brought her to his small chest, and Lucy settled in without protest. Alex turned and stepped over Val’s splayed-out legs and into the nursery, where he settled into the rocking chair beside the crib. Lucy firmly anchored in his arms, he began to pilot the chair back and forth, humming an unfamiliar tune. For the first time since they’d found him, the kid looked at total peace.

Just when Ben thought it wasn’t possible for this situation to get any stranger …

Val let out another groan. “The light is really bright, Ben. Kill the switch, willya?” she said, her speech slightly slurred.

Ben thought about the champagne bottle on the table downstairs. “Are you drunk?” It sounded crazy, but it wasn’t any crazier than any of the other scenarios racing through his head. He stood and bent over, picking her up to carry her into her room. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the boy, still rocking the baby, still humming like he’d been possessed by a babushka.

“Ostavaytes’ zdes’,” he said—stay here—without waiting for an answer before carrying Val into her room and placing her on the bed. The room was dark and cool, and she visibly relaxed. “Where’s Sabrina?” he said, his tone harsh enough to have her looking up at him, puzzled.

“What? Sab—” Her expression clouded with confusion. “I don’t know.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He didn’t need answers as much as he needed confirmation. He’d already guessed what’d happened.

“It means I don’t know.” She looked up at him, panic rapidly replacing confusion. “Is she in trouble?”

“Shit,” he said under his breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment to give himself a moment gather his thoughts. “What day is it, Val?”

“Uhhh …” Her voice trailed off, helpless for a moment, and he looked down at her to see that panic had settled in deep. “Sunday?”

It was Wednesday, but he nodded. “Was your friend here? Courtney? Did she come by this morning?”

Nausea rippled across her face. “My—” She lunged up and turned, vomiting over the side of the bed. Directly onto his boots. “Sorry.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shaky and pale, even in the darkened room. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

She looked like she’d downed a fifth of tequila. He thought of the champagne flutes on the table downstairs. One had been empty, the other half full. “You’ve been drugged. The photographer, was she here?”

“Wait, stop for a minute.” She laid back on the pillows, a hand pressed to her eyes.

“I can’t wait, Val. Sabrina is gone and so is your new friend.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and showed her the business card he found. “Who poured the drinks?” he said, starting with the most important questions first.

“Drinks? Friend?” Val’s hand fell away from her face and she looked at the card, comprehension finally taking root. “What happened, Ben? Where is she? Where’s Sabrina?”

The questions pressed down on him, and his shoulders slumped beneath their weight. But only for a moment. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “If I had to guess? Halfway to Colombia by now.”