Fractured Souls - Page 37

“I’ll have Maxim get photos of Dushku’s men. Would she be able to recognize him?”

“Probably.”

“Good. When are you planning on taking her to her family? She’s been at your place for a month.”

My body stiffens. I’ve always been honest with Roman. Until today. “She won’t tell me her last name or give me their number,” I lie. “I have no way of finding them until she does.”

“Perfect,” he barks. “And how long do you expect to remain on this unplanned vacation? The clubs won’t run themselves.”

“I’ve taken everything I need from the office, and I’ve been working from home. Kostya has been personally handling whatever I can’t do remotely.”

“All right. But next Saturday I need you at Baykal. I have a meeting with the Ukrainians. They want an in with us.”

“They got over the Shevchenko fuckup?”

“Everybody knows Shevchenko was an idiot. Sergei did them a favor by killing him.” Roman shrugs. “They’re sending a new guy to handle the talks. He’s coming with two other men.”

“Okay. I’ll double the security.”

He leans back in his chair and motions with his hand toward my outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. “What’s with the new fashion style?”

“I needed a change,” I say and see him lift an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“No. You’re free to go. Dimitri and I will go over the rest.”

I nod and leave the pakhan’s office.

As I’m heading down the hallway, the kitchen door on the other end bursts open, and a petite brunette in a paint-stained dress runs out. Her hands are laden withpiroshki,and she is struggling to make sure none fall in her haste. At the top of the stairs, a little dark-haired girl starts jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Her sweet giggles echo off the hallway’s high walls. Roman’s wife and daughter. Nina Petrova sprints up the stairwell, nearly reaching the top when the kitchen door swings open again and Igor—the cook—wobbles out, shouting obscenities in Russian. If Roman catches him cursing in front of his little girl, the old cook will be as good as dead. I shake my head and stride toward the front door as the chorus of Igor’s yelling and female laughter rings behind me.

* * *

“Mr. Morozov,” the security guy in the hall of my building nods as I enter. “How was your day?”

“It was good, Bobby. Thank you.”

“Oh, your girlfriend isn’t back, yet.”

I freeze in midstep. “What?”

“She left half an hour ago. I thought you’d like to know.”

“Left?” I ask as panic floods my system. “Where?”

“I’m not sure. She just walked outside. I didn’t see where she went.”

I rush toward the security desk and come around to the other side. “Show me the camera feed from that time.”

He skips the video to the moment when Asya walked out. She stands on the sidewalk, in full view of the camera for a couple of moments, then goes to the right. A few minutes later, she runs past the entrance at breakneck speed. I can’t see her face, but based on how fast she’s moving, she was scared shitless.

“Call me if she comes back!” I bark and run toward the exit.

I rush along the sidewalk, frantically looking in all directions, but I don’t see Asya anywhere. There is a grocery store nearby. I walk inside and ask the cashier if he saw a girl meeting Asya’s description, but he only shakes his head. I leave the store and continue down the street, asking people if they saw her, going inside other businesses, but no one has seen a runaway girl. When I reach the intersection at the end of the street, I turn around and head back. It’s too crowded here. I doubt she’d go into a big mass of people.

Dread and anxiety keep building within me with every passing minute. She couldn’t have gotten far, so why can’t I find her? I should have bought her a phone, so she could have called if she needed me. It didn’t even cross my mind until now since we were almost always together. Idiot!

I spot a group of kids hanging around the steps in front of a building across the street, laughing, so I sprint toward them.

“Did you see a girl run by about five minutes ago?” I ask.