She flashed him a grin as she stepped out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He raised his hand in farewell and she returned the wave, then he nudged his truck forward and drove away.
A jumble of mixed emotions jangled around inside Carson’s chest. What the hell was that?
At her door she fumbled inside her purse until she drew out the key ring. She was grateful to be home. She resolved not to think about it. Just jump in the hot shower and get into bed. Sleep. She just needed to sleep. Another graveyard shift was coming.
But it wasn’t the shift she was worried about.
1214 hours
Valeriy Romanov sat at the table in the corner. The Zippo lighter with the Soviet logo turned slowly in his hands. He touched it with more than an absent-minded caress, but less than actual affection. He rolled and dipped it through his fingers slowly, because slow control was the mark of a man who had mastered an act. Anyone could blaze through something with a little practice. Slow control demonstrated mastery.
Dmitri was late once again. Val had already decided that if he did not come with the converted AK-47s, this would be the last meeting the fat man was ever late for in his miserable life. If he had the rifles, though… well, perhaps he could learn from a mere reprimand.
Pyotr hovered near the cash register, watching him but acting like he wasn’t. Whenever Val glanced his way, the old man gave him an ingratiating smile and a nod. Val returned his nod with a cool gaze.
The clattering of beads announced the arrival of his waitress. Natalia slid a cup of Turkish coffee in front of him, her jasmine perfume washing over him. She placed her hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward slightly, giving him a perfect view of her cleavage.
“Will there be anything else?” she purred.
“No,” he replied.
An exaggerated pout appeared on her face and she turned away. As she walked, the sway of her hips was as pronounced as her expression.
“Natalia,” he grunted after her.
The dark-haired beauty stopped and turned around, smiling. “Yes, Valeriy?”
He waved her over. She sashayed back, resting her elbows on the table and batting her doe eyes at him.
“What is it?” she whispered huskily.
“I will gladly take you to my bed,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are most beautiful. You might even make a good wife.”
Her expression went from insulted to flattered within the space of his sentence, and her eyes grew sultry.
Val raised his finger. “But,” he said, “this is a coffee shop. Not a whorehouse. Just be pretty and a little bit friendly. That will be enough to bring the business in.”
Natalia gave him a hurt look.
Val waved her away. “Get back to work.”
The waitress turned and walked away. This time, the sway of her hips was noticeably muted.
Good, Valeriy thought.The less attention to this place, the better.
The door swung open and Dmitri strode in. He sat down without asking. After a moment he realized what he’d done and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “May I join you?”
“Of course,” Val said, waving him to the chair he’d already claimed.
Dmitri sat gratefully and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. “I am late,” he said.
“I noticed,” Val answered, injecting just a hint of disapproval into his tone.
“My apologies,” Dmitri added quickly, “but I was just finishing up the job.”
“Finishing?”
Dmitri smiled. “Da. I didn’t want to bring you anything less than your full complement of arms.”
Val nodded, impressed. He took a long, noisy sip of his harsh Turkish coffee. “Even so, Dmitri,” he said, his voice pleasant but laced with danger, “it isn’t wise to keep someone waiting. After all, I might think that perhaps you went to the police.”
“Never!” Dmitri said forcefully. “I am no stukach!”
Val shrugged. “Or perhaps it is a sign of disrespect.”
“No, no, no!” Dmitri objected, waving his hands. “I just wanted to finish the last rifle. That’s all! If I could have called you, I would have, but you won’t use the telephone.”
Val’s eyes narrowed. “Are you taking me to task, Dmitri Yuskevich?”
“Nyet, nyet!” he cried, waving his hands even more fervently. “I am only saying that… oh, I don’t know what I am saying. Please forgive me, sir. I am an armorer. I know firearms. I am not so good with people.”
Val sat back and gave the fat man a long look. Then he nodded slowly. “Very well. Tell me what you have.”
Dmitri smiled, a hint of pride shining through his previous concern. “All ten,” he whispered. “In my trunk.”
“Tested?” Val asked.
“Dry-fired, yes.”
“But not with live ammunition?”
Dmitri shrugged. “It is hard to find a place to fire such weapons. And I had thought that you wanted these as quickly as possible. Was I wrong?”
“No,” Val answered. “You were not wrong. You guarantee that they will work?”
“Absolutely.”
Val removed a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. He scrawled an address on it, then pushed it across to Dmitri. “Deliver them to the garage behind this address. Knock three times, loudly, on the garage door.”
Dmitri studied the address.
“Do not knock twice or four times, Dmitri,” Val cautioned, “or you will not like their response.”
Dmitri swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes. I understand.”
“Very well. You may go.”
Dmitri rose in his chair and started to leave. He paused for a moment and turned back toward Valeriy.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I am truly sorry for being late. Please know it was only so that I could finish the final rifle. To serve you better.”
Val simply nodded. “I accept your apology,” he said, then added, “This time.”
Dmitri smiled nervously and left.
Val watched him go, pleased. One person at a time, he was solidifying his own grip on this small empire, independent of Sergey’s power and reputation. All was going according to plan.
He sipped the Turkish coffee, his mind spinning. From the cash register Pyotr eyed him with gratitude and hatred. At the end of the counter, Natalia’s look was of lust and hatred. Neither one affected him as he examined and re-examined his strategy. His plans within plans within plans.
1239 hours
Officer Anthony Giovanni replaced the microphone and cursed. Less than two hours to go and he had just been nabbed for a special detail. And the worst part was that the dispatcher who nailed him for it was Irina, who was still mad at him for casually sleeping with her four years ago. She was as bad as Ridgeway when it came to letting things go. Ridgeway was still stewing about his messy divorce that happened around the same time Gio dated Irina. Some people really needed to let things go after a time.
Gio hung a left and headed up north toward the Costco. The heavy daytime traffic slowed his response, but eventually he swung into the Costco parking lot and pulled up next to Sergeant Michaels’ vehicle. “What’s up, Sarge?”
Michaels sighed. “Well, we’re being tapped to help the feds with a babysitting detail.”
“Babysitting?”
“Yep. Apparently they have a high-profile witness or informant or whatever, and they want extra help in keeping him safe.”
“Where?”
“At the Quality Inn just up the street.”
“So why are we meeting here?”
“Because they want you to park here and walk in.”
Gio grinned. “Are you kidding?”
Michaels shook his head. “Nope. The guys relieving you will get the word to come up plainclothes in an undercover vehicle, but you’re first on the hit list.”
“What the hell, Sarge?”
Michaels raised his hands. “I know, I know. Fuckin’ feds.”