“You got it, Wilder,” he said, moving to get his camera from the Taurus. “And hey, Wilder?”
I turned back to him. “Yeah, David?”
“It’s good to have you back,” he said.
“Luna,” Will said, “I think we should call a bus for Mrs. Dubois here. She’s in a bad way.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll sit with her.”
Will lowered Petra to the front steps and stepped away, using his radio to call for an ambulance.
“This is unreal,” Petra said. “First … first my Lily and now my husband.”
I bit my lip, wondering if now was the time to tell her that Nate had been the financial backer of a homicidal, magick-using mob boss who sold girls like Amway.
She started to sob again. Probably not the time. “Things are going to be all right,” I said. “We’re going to catch the people responsible.”
“What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with Nikolai Rostov,” she snarled. “He’s the one who started this poison, who lured my little girl to that awful place, and I’m sure he ratted out my husband.”
A finger of cold whispered its way across my neck, raising all of the hairs. “How did you know about Nikolai Rostov?” I said.
She sniffed. “You must have told me.”
“No,” I said slowly. “I never told anyone except Will and Natalie Lane about going to see Rostov, because I was afraid the FBI would Hex up my case.” I faced her. “But you knew.”
Petra’s eyes darted from me to Will to Bryson, to the two cars that had pulled up behind his and disgorged Batista and Lane. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. The start of a migraine was growling behind my skull. “Nate wasn’t the one in charge. It was you.”
Petra’s nostrils flared. “You have no proof of that.”
“Your financials are proof,” I said. “I’m sure when we check the bogus account you made Felix Natchez open, your name will be a signatory, and not your husband’s. The Russians needed someone to keep the were packs of Nocturne in line while they raped their daughters, and they needed someone with money. You were in bed with Rostov here, and Belikov overseas.” Gods, I hoped not literally.
“This is a very outlandish and amusing story,” Petra said coldly. “But I’ve just lost my husband, so I’m going to go to Agent Fagin and hope he can at least sit with me in silence until my ambulance comes.”
I flicked my hand out and grabbed her by the wrist. “Sit down,” I said, low. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
“Why would I kill my own daughter, Lieutenant?” She let out a frantic, braying laugh. “That’s utterly ridiculous!”
I lifted one shoulder. “I’m guessing Lily got her fake ID from Ivan Salazko, and when he knew her by sight, she tweaked to what her mommy dearest was involved in. She threatened you, like a good rebellious teen will do, and you had her killed and tried to pin it on her hophead boyfriend.”
Petra’s face was pale now, a ring of white around her nostrils, and her breath was coming rapidly. I squeezed harder on her wrist, and she let out a small sound. “Funny thing about the Russian mob,” I said. “They don’t just kill the snitch. They take care of whole families—parents, grandparents, and especially kids. You must know why.”
Petra finally dropped her eyes from mine. “So the children won’t grow up and begin a vendetta against their parents’ killers.”
“Right in one,” I said. “But you didn’t have the stomach to tear out your own daughter’s heart, so you had Rostov and Anton, your favorite test subject, do the hands-on work. Am I getting it so far?”
Petra shook her head. “You’re just telling stories and I’m listening, Lieutenant.”
“I’m guessing this isn’t something you fell into,” I said. “It takes a long time to develop this kind of stone-cold willingness to kill. What’s your maiden name, Petra?”
“Ivanovich,” she said numbly. “I guess you’ll find that out, anyway.” A smile curled around her lips, and her eyes went hard, like beads. There was an utter lack of feeling to the expression, and I knew that she felt nothing about her daughter, or her husband—she’d survived, and that was all that mattered. Animal. Uncomplicated.
“Stand up,” I said, hauling her with me. “Petra Ivanovich Dubois, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder—since you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself—and I’m sure the U.S. attorney can think of a host of other charges once Interpol catches Ekaterina Belikov.”
“Lies, from one criminal turned on another,” Petra spat. “You’ll never get a conviction, Miss Wilder. I’ll be free before the month is out.”
“Will,” I said. “Mind lending me your cuffs?”
He passed them to me, a frown turning the space between his brows into a valley. “What’s going on, Luna?”
“A crusade,” said Petra. “A pointless crusade that won’t end in anything except humiliation for you, Miss Wilder, and freedom for me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But they don’t give bail to murder suspects in Las Rojas County, Petra.”
“Jail in this country doesn’t frighten me,” she said. “I saw much worse growing up in Moscow.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “But like you said yourself, Belikov turned on you. I wonder how long you’ll last before someone decides to tie up your loose end. The Russians aren’t known for being forgiving, Petra. And then there’s your pack, and all the other packs that have lost sisters and mothers and wives to your little smuggling operation. I’d say it’d be a hell of a good betting pool on who gets to you first.”
A single shiver passed through her, and she looked at the ground. “They’ll give me protection in the jail. You have to protect me.”
“Me?” I said, shoving her at Lane, who took her arm firmly. “I don’t have to do a damn thing.”
“I’ll take her to central booking,” Lane said. “And SVU will have some questions about her daughter.”
“I’d make peace with whatever gods I had,” I told Petra. “As of now, you’re living on
