Exposed Target, page 13
“There’s so much color in between and around those lines, Ciara.” He dried his hands on a paper towel and went to her. He captured her face in his hands. “I want to learn everything about you.”
“I don’t think black and white gives either of us a good look.” She smiled. “Like law enforcement officers. You can’t read anything from your facial expressions.”
“That’s right.” Beck let his hands drop away from her. “Because that’s exactly what we want the public to see. We don’t need them to know if we have families, wives, girlfriends, in-laws. We don’t need them to know if we have a mortgage or credit cards. We don’t need them to know anything personal. We don’t want them to.”
“It could make you vulnerable,” Ciara said. “Or make you seem that way.”
Beck nodded. “You hit the nail on the head.”
Ciara used plastic wrap to cover the cheese and vegetables while she cooked the meat and tortillas. “You have to wear a mask of sorts.”
“I wouldn’t call it a mask.” Beck looked both thoughtful and direct. “People see what I want them to see.”
“I never thought about it that way.” Ciara took the guajillo chiles she’d cooked and let sit. “What did you do in the Marines?”
“I served as an MP,” he said. “I’d planned on going on the front lines, but my test scores put me firmly in the law enforcement bracket as far as ability, aptitude, and specialty. The powers-that-be encouraged me to be an MP. I found it to be unexpectedly rewarding.”
She smiled. “After the service, how did you become a deputy marshal?”
“Since I’d been an MP in the Marines, and I had an aptitude for the field, I looked at different branches of federal law enforcement.” Beck finely chopped a few green onions she handed him. “The U.S. Marshals Service has been around since 1789—I like being a small part of that history. I’m proud to be in a branch of law enforcement that protects federal judges and others, like yourself.”
She made dough from the masa harina, salt, and warm water. “Even those who are criminals hiding from other criminals?”
He set the chopped green onions aside. “It’s part of the job. By protecting these individuals and getting them to court, I am helping save lives because they testify against individuals who would commit even more murders than they already have.”
“I hadn’t really thought of it that way.” She rolled the dough into balls. “I’ll be doing the same by testifying against Niko.”
“That’s right.” He took the garlic cloves she handed him.
“Please slice those.” She set the dough balls aside and started making the sauce. “What about other duties?”
“We track down dangerous fugitives and we’re responsible for locking away the bad guys.” Beck finished slicing the garlic. “We also work with the international law enforcement community on apprehending fugitives abroad.”
“You are part of a tremendous organization.” Ciara threw the onion, garlic, some spices, tomato sauce, water, and the drained peppers into a blender. “I’m sure grateful for you,” she said just before she turned on the blender.
Beck gave her a quick kiss while the appliance whipped up the ingredients.
Ciara felt a little lightheaded when he finished the kiss, and she turned off the blender.
She gave a happy sigh as she heated oil and started cooking the tortillas once the oil grew hot enough.
Right now, danger seemed so very far away. It was okay to feel a little happy, right?
Yet the danger waited out there, somewhere.
“When is Elmo getting back?” Ciara put her hands on her hips as she looked over the finished makings for the enchiladas. “Everything is ready to put together as soon as he gets here.”
“Anytime now.” Beck retrieved three plates from a cabinet, along with silverware and napkins.
Ciara selected tall glasses and put them on the table before bringing the pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge.
The door that let onto the kitchen level banged open. Ciara looked up to see Elmo with an armload of red and black fur.
Wiggling fur. Then Ciara realized he had puppies in his arms. Two—no, three.
He set the bundles of fur on the floor, and they scattered. A ball fell and bounced across the floor, and Elmo dropped a couple of toys.
“They’re adorable.” Ciara knelt as one of the black-masked, brown-haired puppies charged her. She laughed as the little thing jumped on her and begged for kisses. “What kind of dogs are they?”
“Belgian Malinois.” Elmo braced one hand on the breakfast bar. For a man who never seemed to look tired, he appeared exhausted. “I had them flown in from a breeder in North Carolina.”
“What gorgeous puppies.” Ciara settled on the floor and picked up the one that decided it wanted to be in her lap. “Have you named them?”
Elmo pointed to the two other puppies, now playing tug-of-war with a small, braided rug. “I named those boys Tom and Jerry.”
Beck crouched near the other two and grinned. “Yep. Gonna have your hands full with these three.”
Elmo nodded to the one Ciara held. “I haven’t picked out a name for her yet. You go ahead.”
“Me?” Ciara looked at the puppy. “Tiffany,” she said almost at once.
Elmo appeared perplexed. “Tiffany.”
“As in Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Audrey Hepburn.” Ciara slid her fingers over the wriggling puppy’s soft fur. “She’s one of my heroes. Not because of her acting abilities, but because she was such a great humanitarian.”
“Always liked her.” Elmo nodded. “Tiffany it is.”
“Thanks for letting me pick it out.” Ciara smiled. “Are you ready for dinner? With this crew, I think everything is going to be more challenging, including dinner.”
“I bought a baby fence so I can have two minutes peace and quiet if I need ’em.” He cut his gaze to Beck and jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s bring it in. Got a bunch of puppy food, too.” He looked back at Ciara. “You keep an eye out on these monsters.”
Ciara laughed. “You bet.” She stayed with the three and rolled the ball Elmo had dropped when he set the puppies down. They sprang after the ball as it rolled across the room. Tom snatched it first and ran off with it, Tiffany and Jerry chasing him down.
The puppies made Ciara think of Ella, and how adorable the lab had been when she was small. One of these Belgian pups was larger than Olivia’s full-grown Cujo, which made her laugh.
She would have to find a way to check up on that pair, as well as Ella.
Beck and Elmo returned with a cart weighted down with bags of puppy food, chew sticks, and toys, food and water dishes, pet beds, and who knew what else.
Elmo set aside a pile of mail he’d picked up in town, along with a stack of newspapers. “I bought those clothes you wanted,” he said to Ciara. “And the backpack, belt, and holster you asked for. The bags are on that chair.”
Ciara smiled. “Thanks, Elmo.”
While Elmo and Beck settled down the puppies as much as they could, Ciara washed her hands then heated dinner and made the stacks of enchiladas. She dipped the tortillas into the warm sauce and set them on a plate then added cheese and a mixture she’d made with green and white onions, lime juice, and salt.
She repeated the process until she had two plates stacked with five enchiladas each, and one plate stacked with three for herself. She’d noticed Beck and Elmo’s appetites ranked considerably higher than hers. She topped the enchiladas with cilantro, tomato wedges, and lettuce.
Ciara set the plates on the table, put ice and tea in the glasses. “Dinner is served, you two.”
“Fantastic.” Beck went to the kitchen and washed his hands.
Elmo did the same. “I’m hungry as hell. Thanks for making dinner.”
She smiled. “My pleasure.”
“Damn, girl,” Elmo said after eating his first bite. “This is one hell of a dinner. I hope you made seconds.”
“They are terrific.” Beck shoveled in another bite. “I’ve never tasted better, Ciara.”
She beamed as the men praised her enchiladas and cleaned their plates, all to the music of puppies barking, yipping, and howling.
“You are going be busy with that crew,” Ciara said after they finished eating seconds.
Elmo nodded. “It’ll be nice having some life around here.” He looked from Beck to Ciara. “It’s been a pleasure having you here.”
“Thank you for letting us stay.” Ciara smiled as she gathered the dishes. “I’ve enjoyed it.”
She glanced at one of the newspapers as she started to pass by.
The dishes slipped from her fingers. She barely heard the crash over the buzzing in her ears.
Her legs buckled and she dropped to her knees.
In the distance, she heard the men and felt someone help her to her feet. Her knees wouldn’t hold her up.
She stared in horror at the headline:
DISABLED WOMAN TAKEN AFTER BRUTAL MASSACRE
With a picture of her mother below it.
14
Natalia smiled as Viktor performed the barynya effortlessly with a Russian music and dance ensemble in an afternoon performance of a folk dance. Viktor executed the squats and kicks easily with his finely muscled body. The man’s anatomy never ceased to heat her blood. Even more so as she watched him perform.
Dancing was his true love, and he had hinted that it wasn’t the only love of his life. But that could wait for a better time, when things weren’t pressing down on her.
The Russian community held diverse cultural events every year in Brooklyn. It made her feel closer to her past and more in touch with her future.
Sunshine beat down on her. The heat and humidity made her skin sticky with sweat, despite the sleeveless blue and white top she wore with her white capris. Even the sapphire necklace she always wore felt heavy, the chain hot around her neck. She withdrew an elegant clip from her purse, pulled her long hair back, and secured it. A light breeze cooled her head where perspiration had accumulated beneath her hair.
She truly didn’t mind the heat or the humidity. She loved being here for the experience, whenever she could make it.
The dance ended and Natalia applauded along with the rest of the crowd. Her heart rose as light as a balloon today. She refused to let anything dim the enjoyment she had spending time with Viktor during a celebration of their culture.
The program stated one of her favorite dances to watch, the khorovod, would be up soon. Too bad she couldn’t bring Raisa to the folk dance event. The sick girl would have loved it, but health concerns dictated she remain in the hospital. Natalia would tell her about it on her next visit. She might even find a book on their culture, including folk dancing.
A tap on her shoulder caused her to look behind her. Cold flushed over her skin when she saw Roman.
“What are you doing here?” Natalia tried to keep her voice even. She did not want to be seen with a suspected former KGB agent.
“I must speak with you, Miss Sokolov.” His features could have been carved from granite—if one could speak with a rock face. “Now.”
“I will meet you outside the changing rooms in five minutes.” She turned away from him, dismissing him for the moment.
Natalia waited three minutes before slipping through the crowd, toward the back of the performing arts center.
She clutched her purse, her knuckles aching with the pressure. What could Roman need to speak with her about that couldn’t wait until later?
For that matter, how had he found her, in the middle of a crowd? Only Viktor knew her location, and he belonged to the dance ensemble.
She glanced at the sky. Did Roman have one of his drones follow her? She narrowed her gaze. If he did, she would find a way to make him pay.
She walked so quickly her sandals almost slid on the grass as she rounded the building.
Roman waited for her, his face dark with what she thought might be anger. Or perhaps something had happened?
“What do you want that can’t wait for later?” She snapped every word.
Roman cleared his throat. “We have taken steps to ensure our success.”
The tone of his voice and the way he said the words caused Natalia’s perspiration-dampened skin to grow clammy. “What have you done?”
He raised a brow. “You no longer want to capture Ciara Cruz?”
“I asked you, what have you done?” Natalia gripped her purse even tighter.
“I told you I would get Ms. Cruz, and that is what I am doing.” He narrowed his gaze. “I seem to remember you stating to do whatever it took to get her to you. I have taken the next step. We have Isabella Cruz—the mother.”
Natalia’s skin went from clammy to icy as a news report flashed in her mind. She spoke the words almost incredulously. “You kidnapped her from the long-term care facility. You murdered the elderly and those who care for them.”
“Da.” Roman gave a nod.
“You fool.” Natalia’s fist tingled with the desire to punch the man. “You had your men murder innocent people.”
Roman brushed away her comment with a wave. “I did what my job required of me. It will aid in securing Ciara.”
Memories slammed into Natalia, memories of her and Niko’s mother. Mamochka had lived in a similar care center before she died, when they were still young.
If someone had kidnapped Mamochka, if anyone had hurt the elderly and disabled people she lived with, Natalia would have wanted them dead.
“How dare you hurt those who cannot defend themselves.” She spoke in rapid Russian. “How dare you involve a disabled woman. Who will see to her care?”
Roman’s features tightened. “I dare because your uncle ordered me to do whatever is necessary. I deemed this necessary and explained it as such to your uncle.”
Natalia reeled, as if she’d been slapped. Uncle Oleg had interfered with her assignment? He should have come to her if he had an opinion or suggestion. He should have discussed it with her, not this bastard, Roman.
Roman continued, “We are conducting a social media campaign designed to flush out Ms. Cruz. With this attack, we are raising public sympathy and outrage. We will fuel that outrage, which will encourage more social media sites to engage. News sources, television—everything has gone as planned. All of the coverage will bring her out of hiding.”
Natalia barely restrained herself from slapping him. “No matter what, you will not hurt the woman. That is my order.”
Roman shrugged. “Your uncle said—”
She cut him off with a slice of her hand through the air. “You listen to what I say, and you listen carefully. You will not hurt the woman. We will use her to flush out Ciara, but we will not hurt her. Do you understand?”
Roman narrowed his gaze while he still looked smug. He said nothing.
“How will you care for Ciara’s mother?” She shook as she clenched her hand.
“We took an aide.” Roman shrugged. “She will care for the woman.”
“See to it she does, and that nothing happens to Isabella Cruz,” Natalia ordered Roman. “And the caregiver is to remain unharmed. That is my order.”
“As you wish, Miss Sokolov.” He gave a bow that reeked of insolence and sarcasm before he turned and walked away.
By the time she remembered her concern over whether or not he had assigned a drone to follow her, he had already vanished around the corner of the event hall.
Natalia put her hand to her chest and tried to slow her rapid breaths.
Family is everything, she reminder herself. If this is necessary then so be it.
The backs of her eyes stung, and she wanted to scream. Niko and Oleg were her only family. She had no one else.
She had been born only minutes before Niko, yet she had taken on the role of older sibling, as if she was years rather than minutes older. She had thought nothing of it until recently. Niko had grown up weak while she had developed into a strong woman. Fact, as far as it concerned her. Niko would agree she was the stronger of the two of them, although he would not admit it to anyone but her.
If Niko hadn’t been trusting of Ciara, none of this would have happened. Why had he not listened to her and made sure to keep the ledgers and the Zvezda Rossii safe. Didn’t he think?
What would their parents have done if they still lived?
She missed their father and mother, Shura and Dina Sokolov, so very much. Dina had named Natalia after a close friend. Dina’s faith in God had been important to her, and she liked that Natalia meant “birthday of the Lord—Christmas.”
Mamochka died before she could fully instill that kind of graciousness in Natalia.
Dina had taken ill not long after another family murdered their father. Oleg had believed she needed more care than the Sokolovs could provide her at home.
Natalia hadn’t thought a lot of it at the time because she’d been so young. Recently, she had started to question everything.
Oleg had stated they could not have cared for Dina at home. Yet he had threatened Ciara by bringing her mother to the mansion and hired a personal caregiver. He wouldn’t have done that if he thought he had Ciara under control.
The sun beat down on Natalia, yet cold sank through to her bones as her mind turned over everything.
Her uncle could have hired someone to care for Dina just as easily. He had enough money—no one could question that fact. Dina might have survived if family had surrounded her.
Family is everything.
Oleg had acquired most of his wealth from her father. Shura had built the Sokolov family’s small empire while Oleg whined on the sidelines.
Yes, whined. She had patches of memories of overhearing Oleg complaining to Shura. She remembered that more than any other specific thing about Shura. She resented that. She wanted to remember her father, not Oleg’s whining.
Shura had served as the head of the Sokolov family, until another faction murdered him. The murder had caused a war between families in New York, a war that the Sokolovs had won. The other family denied the hit to the end.
