Blood Trust

“Amusing,” Naomi said, though she thought it anything but.

“You have no proof.” Annika stroked the poodle’s fragile back. “That e-mail can’t be traced.”

That seemed like an opening, and Naomi jumped on it. “How do you know that?”

Annika shrugged. “Only an idiot would make herself vulnerable to an electronic trace.”

At last Naomi dropped her gaze to the muzzle of the .25. “What do you want, Annika?”

“Where’s Jack?”

For an instant, Naomi’s mind went numb. When her vision cleared, she said, “Jack doesn’t want to see you.”

“What are you, his mommy?”

In an instant, the flash of anger was gone, but it had existed long enough for Naomi to realize that there was something powerful enough to crack Annika’s armor.

“I know where he is.” Though she suspected it was both foolish and dangerous to lie to this woman, she’d had enough of feeling helpless.

“Then you’d better tell me.”

“What is that, a threat?”

“Listen, Naomi, it’s already out that Jack killed Arian Xhafa’s brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Naomi, I lie for a living. Jack’s in serious trouble.”

Naomi’s heart began a trip-hammer beat. “I’m telling you I don’t know who Arian Xhafa is.”

Annika stared at her for a long time, apparently trying to make up her mind. At last, she sighed. “I can only assume that he chose to keep you in the dark in order to protect you.”

Naomi could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her chest hurt with the desire for Annika to continue. The irony of her source being a professional liar wasn’t lost on her. In fact, it pained her.

“Did he tell you he killed a man at the Stem?”

How do you know all this? Naomi asked herself, but she was canny enough to intuit that Annika would never tell her. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, given what Jack had told her about Annika Dementieva, but she couldn’t help herself. This woman had a preternatural intelligence. A shiver of foreboding passed through her. She had the distinct sense Annika was three steps ahead of everyone else on the game board.

She nodded. “A man named Dardan.”

“Dardan is—was—Arian Xhafa’s brother.” Annika took out another cigarette, stared at its unlit tip. “Arian Xhafa is one of the most feared warlords in Eastern Europe. His power and influence are growing exponentially every day.”

“Is he the head of the sex slave trade ring that ran its auction at the Stem?”

“Ah, at least you know something.” Annika cut her eyes sideways. “Yes, Arian Xhafa is running young girls from Russia, the Baltics, Macedonia, Albania, all over Eastern Europe, in fact. He imports them into Italy, Scandinavia, and, of course, here in America. It’s a multimillion-dollar business, one that’s made easy by international law enforcement’s indifference. The girls are runaways, whores, girls sold into slavery to buy their family food and shelter. Whether they live in slavery or die of beatings, multiple rapes, AIDS, or a drug overdose, it’s of no concern to the police of any nation.”

“But there are laws, some very new, specifically put in place to—”

“Laws are only legislative pieces of paper, Naomi. They aren’t effective if they’re not enforced. These laws are not. In poor countries, they’re often ignored, even in the larger cities and particularly outside urban centers. In the more developed countries, there is a network of corruption among officials in law enforcement and government, fed by both greed and blackmail, that ensures the sex trade continues to flourish across borders.”

Naomi sat back. She had read articles about the widening international traffic in girls and the growing worldwide alarm it was causing. But she’d also assumed—idealistically, perhaps—that the new laws enacted in many countries were having an effect. Frankly, it came as a shock to her that they might be largely ignored.

“But this sex trafficking—”

“Both those terms are misnomers,” Annika said. “What we’re talking about is slavery.” She slipped the cigarette back into its pack and her amber eyes lifted to engage Naomi’s. “Let me ask you a question. Have you any idea of the worldwide number of enslaved girls and women at this moment?”

Naomi considered. “Hundreds of thousands, I would guess. Maybe a million?”

“Twenty-seven million.”

“My God!” The sheer size of the figure took Naomi’s breath away and made her feel sick to her stomach.

“To put the figure in perspective, that’s the population of New York City and Los Angeles with nine million people to spare.”

“That figure has to be an exaggeration.”

“Really? One million children are forced into prostitution every year,” Annika went on. “And that’s only prostitution. To be enslaved can mean many things, not only in a sexual sense.” She flicked her lighter open, the reflection of the flame burning in her eyes. “But in all cases enslavement entails the breaking down of the individual through humiliation, deprivation, torture, and, yes, many times, multiple rapes. It relies, in any event, on the total dependence on the enslaver. This can only come about through the annihilation of hope.”

Naomi realized that she had been holding her breath. Letting it out now seemed like only a temporary relief. “And this is Arian Xhafa’s business.”

“Yes.”

“What’s your interest in this?”

“I’m a woman.”

Naomi shook her head. “Please don’t mistake me for an idiot.”

Annika smiled coolly. “My interest is in Jack.”

“You betrayed him.”

“Whether I did or not is no concern of yours.”

“Jack is my friend.”

Annika’s smile turned icy. “Oh, I can see that quite clearly.”

Naomi looked away, stared at her hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t see how I can trust you.”

Annika wiped the corners of the poodle’s eyes. “I imagine that depends on how badly you want to find Mbreti.”

Naomi tried to make sense of the buzzing in her mind. “I want Mbreti.” She lifted her gaze, but found it difficult to stare into those extraordinary eyes without feeling intimidated, worse, somehow diminished. “What do you know about him?”

Annika appeared to consider this for some time. Then she nodded. She waggled the barrel of the .25. “I’ll tell you as you drive.”

Naomi fired the ignition and turned the wheel, checking traffic. When she pulled out onto the avenue, she said, “I drive better without a gun in my face.”

Annika smiled and put the gun down beside the poodle. “What did Jack tell you about me?”

“Enough to know that you can’t be trusted.”

“No one can be trusted, Naomi. Not in our world.” She kept the enigmatic smile on her face. “Turn right here, then make the next left, then left again.”

“The directions make no sense.”

“I want to make certain we’re not being followed.”

Naomi glanced in the rearview mirror. “Who would be following us?”

“Peter McKinsey, for one.”

Naomi took some time digesting this comment. Ever since she had recognized Annika Dementieva she had felt like Alice down the rabbit hole. “And if you go chasing rabbits, And you know you’re going to fall…” Grace Slick sang in her mind. And then the dormouse’s final warning, like the ominous tolling of a bell: Keep your head.

Without missing a beat, Annika said, “How is Alli?”

“You know Alli?” Stupid. Of course, Annika had met Jack in Moscow, had traveled with him and Alli to the