Mine to Keep Page 6

  Kir chuckled and opened the front passenger door as Roman rounded to the driver’s side. “I have a feeling we’ll be talking to our brothers in Dallas about a Louisiana expansion soon.”

  It would certainly make things easier. With how often Evie and Cassie visited the Haven women, Trevor’s crew was making monthly flights in one direction or the other already. Roman snapped his seat belt in place and fired up the car.

  “So,” Sergei said as Roman exited the loading zone and steered them toward the highway. “Tell us more about Cassie’s friend. Why are we involved?”

  Roman glanced at Kir. “We’re involved because our brother’s bride was intent on helping her friend without realizing the danger. Either I intervened, or I risked her going alone.”

  Another man with their background might have grumbled. Might have uttered a sexist comment on the lacking wisdom of females in general or vowed to make her see the light.

  Kir smiled instead, a purely delighted grin that said he’d expect nothing less of his woman. “She is fearless when it comes to those she considers one of her own.”

  “They are close?” Sergei asked.

  Kir shrugged and studied the passing landscape outside his window. “Cassie would like that to be the case. She’s invited her to a few events with Evette, but Bonnie always refuses. Only agrees to meet her for coffee or very casual dinner when it’s just the two of them.”

  “She’s ashamed.” Sharing his thoughts aloud only solidified his instinct. Yes, she’d been understandably agitated and afraid after her father’s disappearance. Had been shaken and nervous upon seeing Sergei’s home. But there’d been something else underneath it all. An emotion he hadn’t quite been able to identify.

  Until he’d seen her sitting at the dinner table, her spine painfully straight and her face pinched with longing.

  He knew that look.

  Had felt the emotion that went with it many years ago. An aloneness and sense of endless inferiority that had beat upon his soul and soured him until the only thing left inside was blackness.

  But then Sergei had found him.

  He pushed the ugly memories of his past aside and focused on his brother in the rearview mirror. “Her father’s home is in disrepair. The neighborhood he lives in is dangerous and depressing. Her apartment is in Tremé off St. Ann, and she works two jobs with nothing to show for it.” He paused a moment, remembering all too well what it was like to be someone with nothing when those around him had everything. “Compared to the life Cassie lives now, her own would seem dismal.”

  Sergei sighed and stared out the window next to him. “What lies on the surface is seldom what’s found underneath.”

  His vor would know. Like Roman, he’d learned young how to steal food and anything he could sell to survive while his father drank his life away.

  “Kir tells me her family leaves something to be desired,” Sergei said. “I don’t do favors or business with drunks and thieves. They offer nothing in return but lies and risk.”

  “But Bonnie’s got no record,” Kir volleyed back. “Cassie says she steers as clear of them as she can and wants to make something of her life. If Cassie believes in her, then so do I.”

  Roman kept his eyes trained on the road ahead, but the weight of Sergei’s stare behind him was impossible to dismiss.

  “And you?” Sergei said. “What are your thoughts on the girl?”

  That she had confidence and street smarts. That she had a keen mind just waiting to be put to good use. “She could use our help. If not to find her family, then to break free of her past.”

  “An interesting observation for someone you’ve just met.”

  It was. So much so that even saying the words out loud had startled him. But he couldn’t shake the way she’d looked up at him when he’d caught her. How she seemed to fit sitting at the table with Evette and Cassie, even with the haunting hunger on her face.

  And then there was how she’d felt against him. How her breath had turned raspy and her fingers had tentatively splayed across his chest.

  No. Those memories couldn’t be indulged. Not with him being who he was. As painful or repulsive as she appeared to view her own background, it was nothing short of a fairy tale compared to the things he’d done. “It took you mere minutes to decide to help me.”

  A low chuckle sounded from the backseat. “A fair point, moy brat.” He paused only a moment. “You say you’ve located this so-called loan shark?”

  Roman nodded. “Pauley Mitchell. He lives about a mile from Bonnie’s father.”

  “Very well,” Sergei said. “Let’s pay Mr. Mitchell a visit.”

  * * *

  Located in the northwest corner of Desire just before Gentilly Terrace Parish took over, Pauley Mitchell’s home was a far cry nicer than Bonnie’s father’s. Not much bigger, perhaps, but up to date and well lit against the night to show its white paint and cheerful green trim. Two red chairs sat on either side of the modest picture window.

  Roman parked the car and the three of them strode to the front door. Per usual, Sergei took point and knocked on the front door.

  Inside, a masculine voice barked out “MaryAnn! The door!”

  “You get it,” a woman said. Presumably MaryAnn. “I’m busy.”

  “Woman, answer the damned door!”

  Sergei hung his head and shook it.

  “Sounds like a splendid couple,” Kir murmured.

  The door jerked open and a dark-haired woman in her mid-to late forties swept each of them with an irritated scowl. The frown quickly shifted to something more akin to caution. She must have deemed Kir the least threatening of the group, because she aimed her question at him. “Can I help you?”

  “You must be MaryAnn.” The way Kir said it, one would think he’d heard a million fond stories about her. He held out his hand. “My name is Kir Vasilek. My associates and I are here to talk business with Mr. Mitchell.”

  “You wanna talk business with Pauley? Here? It’s eight o’clock at night.”

  Clearly, Sergei wasn’t in the mood to fuck around, because he answered in a deadly tone guaranteed to stop any further protest in its tracks. “Will that be a problem?”

  MaryAnn’s gaze slid to Sergei, and she edged backward at least a foot. “Um.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway. “No. Of course not. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go get Pauley.” She started to close the door.

  Roman stopped her with a single hand before she could close it completely.

  Sergei clasped his hands affably in front of him and offered her a chilling smile. “Better to leave it open. We wouldn’t want Mr. Mitchell suddenly slipping out the back door when we’ve taken the time to pay him a personal visit.”

  MaryAnn’s eyes widened and her jaw slackened. “R-r-right. Let me just.” She turned and hustled toward the hallway. “I’ll get him.”

  She disappeared into the last room on the right.

  Pauley’s voice followed right behind it. “Woman, what are you—”

  “Pauley, shhh.” And then nothing else from MaryAnn. No doubt because she was recounting her run-in with the mysterious Russians at her front door.

  “Think he’ll run anyway?” Kir asked too low for anyone but the three of them to hear.

  Roman held himself poised to act just in case, but shook his head. “The woman was too shaken. She’s not used to business being brought to her door. I doubt Pauley is either.”

  Silence blossomed in the night, broken only by the drone of cars on the highway. Finally, a balding man in an undershirt, dress pants and no shoes poked his head out of the room MaryAnn had ducked inside. He frowned then stepped the rest of the way into the hall. “Can I help you boys?”

  Not the best first impression he could have made. The only person breathing in this world who’d dare call Sergei boy to his face was the man who’d all
but raised him—his own vor, Anton Fedorov.

  Per usual, Sergei kept his cool and did little more than cock his head. “No invitation to join you inside, Mr. Mitchell?”

  Carefully padding forward, Pauley took their measure and smoothed his hand over his slightly paunched belly. “Not generally a good practice to let strangers in your home. Not in this part of town, anyway.”

  “Well, then,” Sergei said. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “I am Sergei Petrovyh.”

  Recognition flared on Pauley’s face and, for a minute, Roman thought he might try to slam the door in their face and lock himself safely inside. He swallowed hard and shook Sergei’s hand instead. “Pauley Mitchell.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, as I came specifically to your home.” He motioned to Roman and Kir in turn. “These are my men, Roman Kozlov and Kir Vasilek.”

  Pauley dipped a short nod. “And how can I help you?”

  “Business, Mr. Mitchell,” Kir said with one of his most charming smiles before Sergei could lose his patience. “A matter better conducted in the comfort of your home rather than in plain sight. You are a businessman, are you not?”

  Pauley puffed up his chest, the nudge to his pride pushing fear and common sense out of the way. “Yes, yes. Of course. Come in.”

  Sergei prowled inside, openly surveying the seating options in the modest living room. An evergreen sofa geared more toward comfort than style sat flush against one sidewall, a smallish ivory armchair more appropriate for an office or a hallway was placed near the window, and a well-used recliner was aimed at the flat screen mounted on the wall. An ancient coffee table that looked heavier than anything else in the room sat between them all.

  Unbuttoning his suit coat with a casualness that belied his focus, Sergei sat in the recliner like it was his own and crossed one leg over the other. He waved toward the tiny chair opposite the recliner. “Please, Mr. Mitchell. Have a seat.”

  Roman stood to Sergei’s right and clasped his hands in front of him. Kir mirrored the stance to Sergei’s left.

  Pauley looked from Sergei to the tiny chair, clearly aghast that his throne had been usurped by a stranger. He covered the response quick enough, though, and mimicked Sergei’s pose. Which looked utterly ridiculous on a barefoot man in his undershirt. “So, you want to talk business.”

  “Yes,” Sergei said. “I understand you’ve been known to extend financial assistance to individuals. There is one in particular I’d like to talk to you about. One who is very close to a friend of mine.”

  To his credit, Pauley managed to keep his expression passive, but the quick assessment of Roman and Kir at either side of Sergei and the calculation behind Pauley’s eyes telegraphed all manner of concern. “I’ve done short-term loans for people from time to time, sure. You know—for friends.”

  Sergei inhaled slow and deep, the sound that of a man searching for patience and coming up short. “I’m afraid that’s not what my men learned. They tell me you’ve got a respectable business developed and make a tidy profit on the interest you charge.”

  Pauley fidgeted in his chair. “You said you’ve got a particular customer in mind?”

  Sergei shifted his head slightly toward Roman.

  “Jack Drummond,” Roman answered for him. “He goes by Buzz.”

  The shift in Pauley’s demeanor was instant, all signs of calm and caution evaporating beneath his scowl. “That son of a bitch?”

  “Yes,” Sergei answered dryly. “That one.”

  “Not sure who your friend is, buddy, but if they’ve got ties to Buzz, your best bet is to tell them to walk the fuck away. Never met so big a cheat in my life.”

  “So, he does currently owe you a debt?”

  “Fool that I am, yeah.”

  “And you want what’s owed to you.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Bad enough you’d be inclined to abduct him and his son from their home this afternoon?”

  Pauley opened his mouth, ready to throw out another emphatic answer, then fully registered Sergei’s question and frowned. “Say what?”

  “This afternoon Buzz Drummond and his son were taken from their home. I want to know if you were the person that took them.”

  Genuine surprise pushed Pauley’s eyebrows to where his hairline should have been. “Me? Why the fuck would I want to do that? Easier to steal his truck again than put up with that asshole one-on-one.”

  Truth.

  If he’d been lying, he’d have had an entirely different set of tells, but Pauley met Sergei’s gaze dead-on when he spoke. “You tellin’ me someone nabbed that idiot?”

  “And his son,” Kir added.

  Pauley scoffed and reclined as much as the chair would allow. “You sure it’s Buzz they’re after then? ’Cause that boy’s got a string of people he’s pissed off. Ever since he got into computers in high school he’s been gettin’ into things he shouldn’t. Buzz coulda just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or hell, maybe the two of them hooked up on some con and whoever they tried to pull it on decided to fight back.”

  “You say that like you’re intimate with their history,” Sergei said.

  “Well, yeah. Buzz and me went to school together. Go way back. He never did think rules applied to him. Neither did his wife, Joleen. Peas in a pod, those two. Born to screw the world and everyone in it every chance they got.”

  “And their apples didn’t fall far from the tree?”

  “Not with Kevin. Boy’s smart as a whip. Got all A’s in high school and didn’t even try. Heard he did good in all his tech classes, too. But common sense? Ain’t got a damn lick of it.” He paused a moment and his gaze narrowed. “Don’t know much about Bonnie, though. Quiet girl. Seemed to mostly stay to herself growin’ up. Cut out of her daddy’s house before she graduated.”

  Instinct prickled along Roman’s shoulders and his gut clenched. “Why?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. Probably ’cause her daddy was an asshole. Always was a short-tempered son of a bitch, but after Joleen died, he drank twice as much and fought every chance he got. Least up until that liver of his decided to fight back.”

  Sergei nodded then looked to Roman and Kir in turn. When neither of them added any additional questions, he stood and buttoned his coat. “You’ve been most helpful, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll look forward to doing business with you in the future. Let’s start by you providing a full accounting of all past and current loans. Roman will be your contact going forward.”

  Sputtering, Pauley stood and, unwisely, blocked their departure. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because I told you to.”

  “You think I’m just gonna hand over everything on my business to a bunch of high-falutin’ foreigners? Are you out of your mind?”

  Sergei prowled forward, the menace pulsing off him jumping exponentially in mere seconds. He paused, not quite nose-to-nose with Pauley but well into his space and lowered his voice. “As of today, we are no longer strangers. You loan money to people in this city. Foreigner or not, this city is under my protection. So, we will either be business partners, or we will be adversaries. The choice is up to you.”

  Not pausing for an answer, Sergei started forward once more, and Pauley scrambled out of his way.

  Roman and Kir followed, but Roman paused and handed the shell-shocked man a card on his way out. “You have three days to gather your records. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Five

  Bonnie had heard once that the casinos in Las Vegas piped extra oxygen into their gaming areas to keep people happy and throwing their cash around longer. Maybe the good people of the Garden District had done something similar and found a way to fill the atmosphere with a whole lot of fairy dust and happily-ever-after juice. It was the only explanation she could think of for seeing this many happy people all at one time in one tiny sp
ace.

  On every wall of The Freezing Cow, little Post-it notes in varied colors wavered each time the front door opened. And wow, was it opening a lot. The place was packed and all so people could watch staff members spread ice cream out on a cold metal surface just to roll it up and turn it into a fancy work of art.

  Fortunately, her four-man crew was near the back of the line, which meant she had enough time to figure out what the hell she was supposed to order. She’d have had an easier time learning how to crochet than she would figure out the menu on the massive chalkboard overhead.

  Evie, Emerson and Cassie each stared at the options, every now and then calling out a topping or combination that sounded interesting. The two guards they’d brought with them sat at a table in the corner, but kept a watchful eye on their charges.

  And didn’t that drive home the extent of what she’d gone and gotten herself involved in. Yeah, she’d known the rumors about Kir and his brothers and had seen the guards following Cassie around before she left the TV station, but somehow the long game and the consequences of her actions hadn’t factored as vividly when she’d been buzzing on adrenaline this afternoon.

  You should’ve caught the streetcar when you had the chance.

  Bonnie adjusted her backpack and forced herself not to look at the now empty track through the storefront’s glass doors. She’d sure as hell contemplated hopping on the St. Charles ten minutes ago. It’d come for a stop outside the ice cream shop just as they’d been piling out of the car. It damned sure would be more comfortable than standing in what appeared to be the happiest ice cream shop on earth and pretending to fit in.

  But how would that have gone?

  “Hey, Cassie. I really appreciate you and Roman riding to the rescue today, but I’ve thought about it and I just don’t think the mercenary approach is for me. Thanks for the trip to Wonderland. Gotta run now!”

  “Hey, Bonnie,” Emerson said. “What are you gonna get?”

  To her left, Evie and Cassie twisted and raised both eyebrows, both waiting for her answer.