Jane was busy over the next few weeks doing background work on Addison’s case and putting together a list of suspects. She enjoyed the quiet no-nonsense woman’s company and had invited her to the office a few times to interview and go over the information Jane had gathered. Claudia only rarely accompanied Addison, and when she did she usually rushed off to go shopping and run her club. Jane found the woman a little high maintenance and exhausting, but likeable enough.
Jane had also come across few leads in her investigation of Vladimir Sitnikov. On that front, she was frustrated. Jane had never been known on the force for her subtlety. When she was investigating she moved like a bulldozer with the charm of a pit bull, but she always got results. Now, she had to cultivate the art of investigating a Russian mob boss without his knowing about it. He had given her time to adjust to the realities of her new life, but she was under no illusions that he was gone from her life completely. The last thing she wanted to do was draw his notice. Unfortunately, that clashed with the first thing she wanted to do, which was find enough dirt on him to nail his ass to the wall and have him arrested.
After their encounter in her apartment she was even more determined to find a way to get the man out of her life permanently. He was far too disturbing for her to allow him free reign in the city, never knowing when her time would run out and he would come for her.
Once more Jane pulled out a thick folder full of pictures of her quarry. She scanned them carefully, laying each one to the side as she tried to determine if there was evidence embedded within. She studied each one with renewed intensity, picking them up one at a time. He rarely spent much time on the street. His security detail would escort him wherever he went – often one of his restaurants or lounges – and then returned him with professional ease to the relative safety of a waiting vehicle.
There were few pictures of his face for her to study. His expression was always neutral and he kept his head tilted down as he crossed the pavement. He wore expensive suits, tailored with impeccable skill to enhance his lean form. She knew from personal experience that the muscles hinted at beneath the fabric were very real. He might look like any other wealthy businessman except for the dead look in his eyes whenever the camera captured his expression, and the tattoos covering his neck and hands, proudly proclaiming his Russian heritage.
She was about to move onto another set of pictures when something, or rather someone, caught her eye. She squinted hard at the figures in the picture. Sitnikov was standing in his usual pose, head turned away from the camera, body erect and proud. Only, in this picture, his head was turned toward someone. The figure was mostly blocked out by Sitnikov and one of his enforcers, but there was something about the breadth of the shoulders and the shoes that triggered an alarm in her brain. He was familiar.
Jane flicked through the other pictures in that series, staring hard at each one, trying to see the face of the other man. His face was never revealed and though familiar, there wasn’t enough of him visible for identification, but with a gasp she realized there was something being passed from one of Sitnikov’s men to the mystery guy. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but suspected an envelope. Sitnokov had drawn her attention completely when she was sitting low in her car, on the corner, snapping picture after picture. Sitnikov’s body language was one of casual disinterest, as though nothing of significance or out of the ordinary were happening.
Jane sighed, dropped the photos and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. She just couldn’t make out enough of the image to get a solid lead from it. She would have to go back to the same spot next week and see if there was another meet set up. Maybe see if she could ID the other guy. Besides, right now it was his image that burned behind her eyelids, distracting her. She didn’t need pictures to see him.
Since the moment they met, they’d engaged in a strange dance, obsessed with each other. He lusted, while she hated. Or she wanted to hate him. She knew what a sick bastard he was. He was a killer. Yet she couldn’t forget the way he had touched her. His hard, demanding hands bringing her body to life in a way she’d never before experienced. In a way she thought she was incapable of. Except for the few orgasms she experienced through masturbation, as a release more than anything, she thought she was pretty much frigid. The few guys she’d taken to bed weren’t much help in convincing her otherwise. She had given up even trying to discover passion a few years ago. Again, the image of one breathtakingly sexy and terrifying mob boss flashed through her mind.
Jane leaned sideways, still tilting precariously in her chair and pulled out the top drawer of her desk. She reached in and picked up a full bottle of cherry whisky. Having it there made her feel like a real PI, even though she barely touched it. She hated the taste of strong liquor. But tonight she needed it to dull the image of a certain ruthless criminal from her brain. Even the pictures, most of which were images of the side of his body, his head turned from the cameras lens as though he knew it was there, were enough to make her heart beat a little harder and ignite an ache low in her belly.
She unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle to her lips, but before she could take a sip, her phone buzzed. Jane sat up straight, her booted feet hitting the linoleum floor with a hard thump. A little whisky spilled out onto her hand. Absently, she set the bottle down on the desk and picked her cell phone up to check the text message.
Unknown number: heard ur looking for dirt on the boss. have what you want. meet me tonight.
Jane frowned down at her phone skeptically and sighed. Nice, she thought sarcastically. The text combined with the untouched bottle of Whisky and the pictures scattered across her desk were the beginnings of a very bad movie.
Okay, she was desperate enough to play.
Jane: Who are you? I’m not biting without a reason.
Unknown number: Ima friend. want to see boss go down as much as you do. maybe more. but can’t do it alone. need you.
Excitement flooded her. If this source turned out to be legit maybe she would finally get her hands on some real evidence. Fuck Sitnikov, she wasn’t out of the game yet and she wasn’t giving up.
Jane: I’ll bite. What do you have?
Unknown number: records, the ones you didn’t find. proof that boss is into more than restaurants and construction.
Jane frowned. It sounded too good to be true. She had known there would be something to vindicate her accusations, but hadn’t a clue how to get her hands on it.
Jane: Show me.
She held her breath wondering what her mysterious texter would do. Either they’d send her the proof and blow their only leverage or they’d refuse and demand she meet them to discuss details. Her phone beeped and an image filled the screen. She grinned as her eyes took in every detail. Smart bastard, whoever they were. They had sent her an image of what looked like the manifest for a shipment of illegal arms. The top of the page was cut off at the edge of the picture.
She barely dared to breath, her fingers shook as she replied.
Jane: Tell me his name is on there.
Unknown number: next best thing. a numbered company that can be traced back to his holdings.
“Oh my god!” she said out loud and grinned. “Please, guy, whoever you are, you have to give it to me.”
Jane: What do you want for it?
Unknown number: nothing. justice. meet me and I’ll give it to u.
Jane bit her lip. Everything in her was ready to leap to her feet and tear out of there in pursuit of the one promising lead she finally managed to get in all these months of searching. But she had been a cop once upon a time. And she knew better than to go meet some faceless person without a little reassurance. At the same time, she really didn’t want to lose out on what this person was offering.
Jane: Justice for who? I won’t meet you without knowing more. I don’t trust someone I can’t see.
Unknown number: justice for u. u can trust me.
Jane: Who are you?
Unknown number: a friend.
Jane was getting annoyed. She frowned down at her phone, before typing: Goes to show you aren’t a friend. If you were then you would know I have no friends.
Unknown number: haha. u have one.
Jane: Prove it.
She sat impatiently watching the screen of her phone, waiting for their next move. She tapped her manicured fingernail anxiously against the scarred wood of the old desk. Tense seconds passed before a message finally flashed across the screen.
Unknown number: do ya feel lucky?
Jane jumped to her feet and laughed out loud. Gripping her phone tightly she reached for her leather coat and texted back: Well, do ya, punk?
Unknown number: meet me Jane?
Jane: Where?
An address flashed across the screen and she recognized it immediately as one of Sitnikov’s places, down by river. She wondered if there was something there her ‘friend’ wanted her to see. Relief and happiness were her chief emotions. She knew he hadn’t deserted her completely. With a little help, she was finally going to get her hands on the evidence she needed to bury the man who obsessed her thoughts.
Jane: I’ll be there in a half hour. Don’t be late!