The night was cloaked in darkness. The only illumination came from the floodlights on the barn and the muted light from the kitchen. Still, Georgia counted eight Russian mobsters in the shadows, their weapons drawn. She made out a few assault rifles and a long gun; the rest were pistols. A different shade of black that didn’t quite belong hugged the ground near the barn, and when she squinted, she spotted two bodies. The guards. The faint odor of cordite lingered. Georgia placed her Glock on the ground and raised her arms in the air. “I’m Davis.”
One of the men, apparently the leader—he could have been the one who shot Vlad, but she wasn’t sure—barked something in Russian. The others holstered their weapons.
“Thank you. You took down a really bad guy.” The wail of sirens was loud. “Now, get the hell out of here before the cops show up.”
The men didn’t need to be told twice. They hurried to their cars, both Beemers, Georgia noted, threw open the doors, and keyed their engines. Once they got to the road, both cars raced toward the highway, passing two squad cars hurtling toward them from the opposite direction.
The squad cars careened up the driveway and screeched up to the farmhouse. Six officers spilled out, their weapons drawn. The first one out was Jimmy.
He spotted Georgia, then the two bodies near the barn. He raised a megaphone to his mouth. “Police. Drop your weapons and get your hands in the air.”
Georgia threw her hands in the air. “It’s over, Jimmy.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was ice-cold. “There are two bodies over there.”
She glanced over. A dull pain throbbed against her temples. How was she going to explain them without giving up the Russians? She owed them. She looked back at Jimmy. His face was sliced into shadow and light, but she could tell he was angrier than an F5 tornado. His furious breaths clouded the air.
The screen door behind her banged, and Savannah emerged, already shivering. Jimmy stared at her, then back at Georgia, as if to say, “This better be good.”
“I’ll explain everything at the station.”
He took almost a full minute to reply, and when he did, his voice was still tight. “Okay, men. We’re good. Back off.”
“You sure, Chief?” one of the officers called.
He nodded. “Take these two to the station. The rest of you start working the scene.”
Georgia let out her breath. She trudged over to Jimmy and handed him her Glock. “You’ll find more bodies inside. One is Vlad. I shot him. My sister stabbed the woman in the kitchen. Her name is Zoya. We were held prisoner and threatened at gunpoint. We managed to turn the tables on them. It was self-defense.”
“And them?” He swept his hand toward the bodies on the snow.
Georgia glanced over, hunched her shoulders, then gazed evenly at Jimmy.
“I guess they had an accident.”