The Deputy’s Duty

Putting a hand up to halt Meghan from entering, he withdrew his weapon and pushed the door wider. “Dosha Meniski?”

No answer. Fearing the woman might be injured or worse, Ryan said to Meghan, “Stay here.”

He entered the apartment, dreading and half expecting to find another crime scene. He quickly went from room to room looking. No one was home. All seemed in order. He holstered his weapon and returned to the front room.

Meghan had stepped inside the spotless living room, except for the child’s toy sitting in plain sight on the plaid couch.

“Don’t touch it,” Ryan said just as Meghan gasped and rushed to pick it up.

He groaned with irritation.

“This is Georgina’s,” she said. “I’ve seen her with this baby doll before.”

Letting go of his exasperation because they were making the sort of progress that made his blood hum, he said, “Doesn’t mean Christina brought her here recently.”

Meghan stared at a group of framed photos on the mantel. He stepped closer. One was of a group of children, all dressed up. The boys wore suits making them look like little businessmen. The girls wore black-and-white fancy outfits. Some had aprons on over their dresses.

One picture stood out. A lone smiling girl of around seven or eight years old. She wore a black-and-white jumper with a ruffled white blouse beneath and her white-blond hair was parted into two high ponytails. He pointed to the huge white puffy bows on top the girl’s head. “Those are some fancy doodads.”

“They’re traditional in Russian and Ukrainian cultures on the first day of school, which is a huge production in these countries called First Bell. The kids dress up like it’s prom night. It’s quite fascinating. They take their education very seriously.”

“How’d you know that?”

She shrugged. “I’ve traveled some. I think this is Christina as a little girl. Did you know she was from Eastern Europe?”

He hadn’t. He’d always assumed she’d been from Boston or the vicinity. He looked back at the picture, really studying it. In the background behind the little girl, a white banner hung across a yellow block structure. The letters on the banner made no sense to Ryan. “Is that Russian?”

“Or Ukrainian. They’re similar enough that I have trouble remembering which is which. I’m not fluent in either.”

“Excuse me,” a sharp voice called from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

Ryan spun around. A plump woman stood just inside the open front door. “Are you Dosha Meniski?”

“No. I live next door.” The woman’s gaze flickered over Ryan’s uniform but her posture didn’t relax. “Is Dosha in trouble?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Ryan said, moving closer. “Have you seen her recently?”

“She was here last night with her great-niece and great-grand-niece. But I haven’t seen them today.”

Ryan’s heart sped up. Not a dead end after all.

“Does Dosha own a car?” Meghan asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

He admired her quick thinking in asking the question. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

“A red Cadillac. It’s not parked in its usual spot though.”

Ryan clutched Meghan by the elbow and steered her toward the door. “Thank you so much, ma’am.” He paused to offer the woman his card. “If you see Dosha, please have her call this number.”

They left the building.

“She was here,” Meghan said. “We’ve got to find them.”

“We will.” He started to dig in his pocket for his phone to call the Boston precinct who did have jurisdiction here so they could get to work.

A loud crack split the air. Gunfire!

Meghan cried out as bits of sidewalk cement puffed up mere inches from her legs. Pulse rocketing, Ryan reacted instantly, yanking Meghan down behind the back bumper of his SUV. The shot had been angled from an elevated trajectory. The shooter had the advantage of higher ground. Ryan glanced around the bumper, looking for the sniper on the building across the street. There, on the far west corner of the roof, he could just make out the silhouette of the gunman.

Not good.

In a low crouch, Ryan scuttled backward until he could open the rear passenger door. “Get in,” he ordered Meghan. She dove inside. Another round pinged off the hood of the vehicle. Ryan winced, hoping the engine hadn’t suffered, too, and opened the front passenger door and slid inside and across to the driver’s seat.

The back window exploded. Glass flew into the SUV, shards making it all the way to the front seat. Meghan let out a startled cry.

Ryan worked to get the key in the ignition. “You okay?”

“Yes. Get us out of here!”

“Working on it,” he muttered.

The engine roared to life. Slouched down so he could barely see over the dashboard, he threw the gear into Drive and gunned it. The SUV shot forward with a squeal of rubber on road. Another bullet hit the back fender. Ryan yanked the steering wheel and took the corner, putting a building between them and the shooter. He sat up and headed toward the highway.

Taking out his cell with one hand, he called Boston P.D. and reported the shooting. Were they being followed? Or had someone been waiting in case they showed up at Dosha Meniski’s apartment?

Only one person knew they were headed to Dosha’s-the patient at Elm’s Peace. Unless someone had been following them. He was positive there hadn’t been a tail on the way to Meniski’s. But someone could have put a tracking device on his rig.

Obviously the attempts made on their lives had to be connected with Christina and Georgina. He was beginning to seriously doubt Christina, the lawyer’s widow, was the boss of all this. Though how it all connected, he didn’t know. He glanced at Meghan, her hair covered in glass from the back window, her eyes wide with panic twisted him up inside.

He better find out fast.

Before someone else died.

* * *

Meghan tried to breathe. In. Out. But fear continued to shake her to the core, making the simple task of taking in air difficult.

She sat up straight in Ryan’s SUV and buckled the seat belt around her. Air swirled through the now-shattered back window, whipping her hair into a frenzy. Much like terror was whipping her insides.

She clasped her hands together to regain control.

“Someone sure doesn’t want us poking around,” she managed to say. Her voice sounded like a cartoon mouse. All high and squeaky.

“That’s an understatement,” Ryan replied, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’re not hurt?”

“No. You?”

“Not this time.”

Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t even had a chance to pray before Ryan had hustled her into the car. He’d saved her, protected her. He was strong and capable and every inch the hero she’d needed him to be.

She lifted up a prayer of thanksgiving.

Dear Lord, thank You for protecting us. And thank You for Ryan. For making him the man he is. Please show us how to find Georgina. I beg of You, Lord. Don’t let any harm come to her.

Ryan’s phone chirped. He answered, listened for a moment then said, “I’m on my way in.”

After he hung up he said, “Granddad’s press conference just aired. The tip lines are going nuts.”

A jolt of anticipation made her sit forward. “That’s good, right? Someone has to know where Christina and Georgina went.” Oh, please, oh, please.