I’ve barely fallen asleep when my ringing phone wakes me up again. Somehow, it’s light outside, which is hard to comprehend. But when I glance at the time, I see six hours have passed. Which is also hard to comprehend. I flip on the light and grab my phone.
“‘Lo,” I croak, wincing at how out of sorts I sound.
“Boss, is it possible that Tremblay was involved with your sister’s disappearance?” Alyssa asks, sounding more awake than anyone should.
Ever.
I clear my throat and sit up, running my hand over my eyes to clear them. “Anything is possible. But it’s never looked like it before. Why? Did you find something?”
“I did. It was buried deeper than anything else, but I just had a feeling there was more to this guy.”
“Good work, Al. You at the office?”
“Affirmative.”
“See you soon.”
I start a small pot of coffee, then jump in the shower. After which I power through one mug as I’m dressing and twisting my hair into a messy bun. I pour the rest into a to-go cup and am out the door in less than fifteen minutes. After another ten, I arrive at the bar, which doubles as our office. I head inside, deactivate and then reactivate the alarm system, and head through the secret door to the upstairs area we use for any Dirty Darlings work.
Alyssa is typing rapidly on the computer we use to access the dark web when I arrive. She points to a stack of papers with one hand, continuing to slap away at keys with the other. I grab the pile and make myself comfortable on the couch. I’m not even to the third page yet when I realize that David Tremblay has got to be involved with my sister’s disappearance and murder.
I don’t care how I found her; Katya was murdered. If not by someone else injecting the needle to her arm that day, then by introducing her to the heroin to begin with. My sister may have been a party girl, but she was afraid of needles. No way was she the type to overdose.
The info starts with trips and transactions, including some outside of our city, that link David to places on dates and times when we know women were outright kidnapped. And when I say kidnapped, I mean taken off the street. Not necessarily drugged while on a date or coerced at a party, but while innocently walking down the street.
It’s horrifying how quick the kidnappers are, under ten seconds if the timestamps on the pictures are true. I’m not even sure if someone with my defense skills could prevent it from happening to me.
Frame one: woman walking down the street. Timestamp: 12:02:23
Frame two: van pulls to the curb, side door already open. Timestamp: 12:02:27
Frame three: two men grab the woman and pull her into the van. Timestamp: 12:02:29
Frame four: the van has pulled away and is driving down the street. Timestamp: 12:02:32
I sip from my coffee mug as I think about how many women could be taken in a given day when the actual abduction part is that fast. The numbers could be in the hundreds of thousands in months. And that’s not including the women that are snatched from clubs or dates, the way David was operating.
Alyssa’s fingers slow to a stop, and she shuts the laptop and unplugs the ethernet cable. “Jesus Christ, this stuff can be depressing.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Did you see it all?”
“Not yet. But it’s clear Tremblay is not as innocent as he’s led the FBI to believe.”
“What are they going to do? I mean, can the fat bald idiots even do anything?”
I try not to laugh at her interpretation of the FBI acronym, but it’s hard. Even though both Mack and Reed are far from fat, bald, or idiotic, Alyssa does not have a high opinion of anyone in law enforcement. Not that I can blame her, with what’s happened to her, but that’s a story for another time.
“I know they have him under surveillance,” I tell her.
“So do we.”
I nod. “And one of them is in his wedding later this week.”
“Right, the best friend. I forget about him sometimes. He’s cute. Think Quinn would lend him to me for a night?”
“If she ever gets him for a night, I doubt she’ll let him go,” I say with a laugh.
Alyssa motions for me to continue perusing the paperwork. Which goes from how random women are abducted to my sister, Katya, specifically. Dozens and dozens of emails, text messages, and even voicemail transcripts about her attractiveness and appeal, as well as the price she would command. Questions about which types of restraints would work best, which accessories could prove most effective, and, finally, just how many men could be pleasured at one time.
Their answer was five if her hands weren’t bound.
Part of Katya’s allure was her beauty, no doubt about that. But another part of it, I’m sure, was that she’s Viktor Limonov’s daughter. And the only people that would make any kind of difference to are fellow Russians. Which means that whoever is behind this is someone I already know or know of from back home.
Ronan Sinclair being the first person that comes to mind.
In addition to being one of the wealthiest, my father is an incredibly powerful man in Moscow, feared and admired by all. He employs hundreds of thousands of people in legitimate businesses all over the world. And several thousand more through underground mafioso activities. His real estate portfolio is larger than the entire acreage of some smaller US states; he’s had rulers of entire countries brought down with the blink of an eye. Yet, Ronan Sinclair is the only man ever to intimidate him.
My theory is validated over the next few pages. Pictures of David with Andrei Turgenev, one of Ronan Sinclair’s men who prefers to spend his time partying to anything else. How he stays in power within Sinclair’s organization baffles me.
The photos show David at Andrei’s home, participating in much more intimate parties than those I’d ever been to. I flip through them: David with women, with drugs, with men—that surprised me—raping women, raping young girls, tied up while pegged by a dominatrix. That one might be my favorite. Mostly because the look on his face is the perfect blend of surprise and pain. And if there is anything I want David to feel a lifetime of, it’s pain.
Then came something that was even worse. As though Alyssa had ordered the information from bad to horrific. Emails from David with pictures of Katya attached. Emails to David with pictures of Katya attached. Email commentary about Katya, including things that could only be known to someone who had been intimate with her, who had raped her. Making me wonder what kind of a sick monster this friend of Reed’s is. And if Reed has any clue just how bad it is.
David had us convinced last night that he is just a pawn in someone else’s game, but it’s clear he’s more than that. He’s a player in the game as well. Possibly a big player.
I don’t bother to look at the pictures attached to the emails, knowing they can’t be worse than what I saw that day on the DVD.