“Braffit,” Claude hissed.
Anika waited for more, but it became clear from the faint gurgling in the back of his throat that this was all Claude could manage. She pulled back. “Thank you,” she whispered. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the flat shard of plastic the scatter camera data was on. His good hand curled around it as she pressed it there.
If he lived, then maybe he could put it to good use. If he didn’t, then the world would assume she killed him, and not even the scatter camera data was going to do her much good.
He closed his eyes, and the whistling breathing slowed.
There were sirens in the distance.
Anika stood up and shielded her face with her handcuffed hands, approaching the burning remains of her home. She found the scorched, ruined, limbless body of the driver. The smell of burned flesh left her nauseous, the heat from the fire crackled and licked at her.
But she found the keys to the SUV on the man’s belt.
They burned her fingers, but she yanked them clear, gritting her teeth, and staggered back to the vehicle.
The hot keys turned the car on just fine, despite the handcuffs. After a moment of leaning over to awkwardly yank the shifter into drive, she accelerated out. She saw Karl in the rearview mirror, watching her leave.
She tensed and lowered her hands to the bottom of the wheel as she passed the emergency crews whipping their way down the road toward the base. But they paid her no mind, trying to get to the pillar of smoke as fast as they possibly could.
14
She didn’t see another batch of police until she reached the stretch of road where she fought her would-be assassin. They stood around the edge of the road near the track marks of the car she’d stolen from him.
Lights from the ambulance rapidly strobed against the back of her eyeballs as she glanced up in the rearview mirror of the MP’s SUV.
But no one even looked up or back at her, not bothering to wonder why there were no windows in the SUV, why her hair was being blown all over the place. She steered into what felt like a gale, a storm of her own making, but was just the unprotected blast from driving nearly fifty miles an hour. No one wondered why she was shivering and hunched over the wheel.
Ten miles down the mountain from them, Anika slowed and pulled to a stop along the shoulder of the road.
She took a deep breath, as if she were trying to inhale the entire vehicle out of existence, shuddering from the effort. She placed a hand against the door pillar to brace herself.
Well, here it was, she thought. She was on the run for real now. A suspect. Innocent men had been killed.
All because she wanted to double-check the port-of-call clearance on an old freighter.
“Shit!” She punched the wheel with both of her handcuffed hands. Then she punched it even harder, ignoring the stabs of pain from bruises. “Shit! Shit.”
She smacked her head against the back of the headrest. Why hadn’t she listened to Tom? Why bother with a double check if they were already cleared?
Why not just sit up in the sky and take it easy.
Why had she had to push it just that much further?
She let go, then kicked the brake pedal, and the car lurched and stopped again.
She screamed up through the open sunroof at the stars, a yawp of frustration, rage, lost choices, and fear.
Then Anika looked around until she found the phone she’d taken from the dead man’s pocket. It had been put in an evidence bag by the shifter.
“Vy … I’m sorry to call you so early in the morning, but I need your help,” she said in a flat voice, pulling her elbows close to her sides to try and warm herself up, but still shivering.
Vy had her come around to the back of The Greenhouse. A large Russian bouncer, Chernov, let her in through a service door and pointed at an industrial lift in the gloom, surrounded by boxes of alcohol. It was eerie to be in The Greenhouse and not hear music thumping. “Come with me,” he said. He glanced down at the cuffs, but didn’t say anything. None of his business.
The steel floor of the lift shuddered as it rose. Gated doors passed them slowly by as they ascended through to the fifth floor.
Chernov slid the gate aside, and they walked down a corridor. He opened the last door for her, and Anika stepped into Vy’s private office.
Unlike The Greenhouse, Vy’s office was plant-free. Wood panels darkened the whole place, and a large, computer-free desk dominated the center of it. Small leather couches were scattered around, carefully positioned in front of the desk and facing it.
In a meeting in this room, it would be clear who was in charge.
There were no personal effects. No pictures, no motivational posters. What kind of decoration would a semilegal drug dealer choose anyway? Anika wasn’t sure.
“Where’s Vy?” she asked. Chernov had taken up a position near the door, hands folded in front of him, a blank stare on his face.
“Soon,” he grunted. He smiled at her. “Violet, she likes you very much, I think.”
Anika sat on one of the couches, then leaned back into it and sighed. “Why do you say that?”
“You are not buying or selling from her, and she still lets you into the office. And you are very pretty, yes.”
The door opened. “Chernov, be quiet,” Vy said. Anika struggled to stand, but Vy pulled a small ottoman over and sat in front of her. “Jesus on a Popsicle stick, you look like shit.”
“I’m sorry,” Anika said.
Vy reached for the handcuffs and held her hands. “Don’t apologize. Chernov, get the damn bolt cutters, what are you waiting for, a formal invitation?”
Chernov shrugged and walked out the door, hulking his way down the corridor.
“Who did this to you?” Vy asked. “I have a few more Chernovs I can round up. We can fuck whoever did this up, they won’t ever want to lay a hand on you again.”
Anika squeezed Vy’s hands. “He won’t be a problem anymore,” she said. “I killed him.”
Chernov coughed from the door. They both looked at him, and he held up the bolt cutters.
Vy looked back at Anika. “Chernov’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Chernov grinned as he got the bolt cutters’ bottom blade in between Anika’s wrist and the first cuff. “It’s wax in my ears. Violet always yelling at me, yes? Do this. Do that. Don’t you hear what I am telling you, big stupid man.”
The cuff cracked apart, and Chernov grunted in satisfaction. He turned his attention to the other hand.
Vy kept holding Anika’s hands as she looked at the Russian bouncer. “Chernov smuggled himself to Baffin aboard a sealed shipping container with a shitload of scuba tanks to keep him breathing. He was trying to reach Alaska, but he miscalculated; the crew of the ship luckily heard him banging. He jumped overboard a few days later in some survival gear he found and floated to Baffin, where some friends of mine fished him out of the water. He’s been following me around like a puppy ever since.” She ruffled his hair.
“Woof.” Chernov smiled as he freed Anika’s second hand, and held up the mangled pieces of the handcuffs.
“Make those disappear,” Vy ordered, “and come back up with a doctor who’ll work for cash and owes us a favor.”
“There’s med student, um…” Chernov frowned. “Edward. He’s home from Montreal. Yes. He will do.”
And then the Russian ambled off to make arrangements.
