Kostya Read online

  Krisha. Roof. It was the word used to describe the protection paid for by rich Russian businessmen, politicians and mobsters.

  “What about krisha?” He wondered where she was going with this.

  “The shit in this file is the kind of stuff you pay your roof to protect you from, right? It’s the kind of shit someone in that line of work would have at their fingertips, yeah?”

  “And maybe this dossier came from someone inside Maksim’s house,” he said, piecing together her theory. “Maybe I should be looking inside—under the roof—instead of outside.”

  “Maybe,” she replied. “It still doesn’t explain how the dossier got to Eric. Who was the woman he met? How is she connected to all of it? Who paid her? Who pulled her strings?”

  For a split-second, he debated whether to tell her or not. Knowing she could keep a secret and needing her help, he said, “I got a package this morning.”

  “What kind of package?”

  He gestured toward the dossier. “Similar to this. It might have come from the same place for all I know.”

  “Do you have it with you? We could have Max run it for trace before I go through it.”

  “I’ll get it to you later. Do you still have a way to access prison records?”

  “Over there? Or here?”

  “There.”

  She grimaced. “I can get into the electronic ones without a problem, but it depends on the years you need. Some of them have to be pulled by hand from old, moldy-as-fuck files in some dank ass storage room in the middle of Nowhere, Russia.”

  “I want whatever you can get on the Black Dolphin from ’85 to now.”

  “That could take a while, K. I’ll have to find someone on the ground that we can trust.”

  “You still have contact with Denis?”

  “Your Moscow shadow?” she asked with a smile. “Yeah, I’ve got his number.”

  “Talk to him. Don’t tell him why we’re looking. Just ask for the files.”

  “I doubt he’ll ask why I want them. Like he needs anymore secrets to keep?”

  The door opened behind them. His hand went to the pistol holstered under his jacket while Fox slid her hand under the table where the girls kept a P30 suspended by a large magnet for easy use. At the sight of Lobo walking through the door, they both relaxed.

  “You’re supposed to be at home,” Fox remarked. “I’m going to tell Mom on you.”

  Lobo removed her sunglasses, rolling her eyes at that. “Snitch.”

  Fox laughed, and then as if noticing the tension in the room, cleared her throat and said, “I think I’m going to grab those tacos I promised you. I’ll be back in, like, an hour to take you home.”

  After Fox left, Lobo joined him at the worktable, leaning back against it. He surveyed the damage to her face. The bruising wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected. Her nose wasn’t broken, but she had some ugly splotches that would take some time to heal and fade. It was a damn good thing she was homeschooled. She’d have CPS and a school counselor all over her if she was in one of the public schools.

  “How are your ribs?” She didn’t seem to be guarding them anymore, but he wanted to be sure. “Do you need to see a doctor? We can get one of them on our payroll to come see you.”

  She shook her head. “I think it was just a muscle cramp last night, actually. I didn’t take a real hit or anything, but I was doing a lot of twisting and kicking.” She lifted the side of her shirt and showed him the slightly reddened area there. “I must have banged it on the shelves or something.”

  Not sure how to talk to her about what had happened last night, he decided to be honest with her. “I should have come back here to check on you. I shouldn’t have left it to the girls to care for you.”

  Lobo shrugged. “You needed to be with Holly. She’s important to you.”

  He nudged her shoulder with his own. “You’re important to me.”

  Lobo made a face. “Let’s not get all mushy and talk about feelings, okay?”

  “Sometimes we need to talk about our feelings. Other times, we need to box them away.”

  “Is today one of those days where I need to talk about it?”

  “Probably.”

  “And what am I supposed to say?”

  “Whatever you’re feeling. Anything you want.”

  She didn’t speak for a long moment. When she did, she admitted, “I had a nightmare last night, but it wasn’t about what happened at the salon. It was about Mexico. It was about my mom.”

  Kostya was surprised to hear her mention her mother. It happened so rarely that he was inclined to believe this mention had been spurred by the trauma of last night. The knowledge that she had been alone all night, hurting inside and confused, stabbed him in the gut and twisted like a knife. His morning with Holly had been something truly special, but it had come at the cost of Lobo’s welfare. Max was right. He was a total piece of shit father.

  “We were in this hotel room,” she continued. “It was nice. Clean. Not like a roach motel or anything. High end. Maybe a resort? I don’t know.” She hesitated. “My mom hugged me, and she was crying. She kept telling me she loved me…and then these gloved hands dragged her away from me. Someone behind me put something on my face. A hood maybe? And then I smelled something funny…and that was it.”

  “It was probably ether. Not my first choice for knocking someone out,” he said, “but it has its place.”

  She snorted. “You weirdo. I’m over here telling you about my nightmare, and you’re using it as a teaching moment.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugged. “I’m not good at this, okay? I’m trying.” A second later, he said, “I have dreams about my parents, too.”

  She looked up at him, surprised. “Nightmares?”

  “Yes, but not the way you’re thinking. I dream about happy things. My parents taking me to the park or teaching me to ice skate or play hockey. My mom singing me to sleep at night.” His voice was soft, vulnerable as he admitted, “I wake up crying sometimes.”

  “We are so fucked up. You. Me. Sunny. Fox. Max. We’re all broken inside. I don’t think there’s enough therapy in the world to put us back together again.”

  He shook his head. “There’s not. It makes us stronger in some ways and weaker in others.”

  “Max wants me to stop all of this. She wants me to leave Houston. Go away to a private school and then college and forget any of this ever happened.”

  “Is that what you want? If it is, I’ll make it happen.”

  “No, that’s not what I want. I’m not sure where I’m going to end up or how I’m going to get there, but I feel like this,” she gestured around the room, “is where I’m supposed to be right now. I feel like there’s something out there waiting for me. Something big and scary and dangerous.” She looked at him, her gaze far too serious for the child she was. “I need to be here. I need to prepare.”

  Awkwardly, he reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “But not today. Today, you should rest. Go home with Fox. She’ll keep you entertained.”

  “Oh God,” Lobo groaned. “Her idea of entertainment is telling me about her whacko conspiracy theories about false flag operations and the deep state and the Illuminati.”

  “Well, she’s probably not wrong about some of her conspiracies.”

  Lobo rolled her eyes. “Please don’t encourage her.”

  “I don’t think she needs any encouragement.” He walked over to the white board and began erasing it, wiping away any evidence that could be seen by the wrong eyes. If only it were this easy to wipe away memories…

  Chapter Seven

  WITH THE PULSE of upbeat pop music marking each step, I left my office and stepped onto the main floor of the salon. It was a busy Wednesday morning and nearly every station was in use. I had a break between clients, so I decided to make the rounds and get in some face time with our guests.

  “Miss Candace is here for her first color appointment,” Nisha explained to
her newest associate, a recent cosmetology school grad she’d handpicked from our hiring pool. “So, Mallory, I want you to take a minute to examine her hair and create your plan for covering the sparkles.”

  They were discussing the amount of grey—sparkles as we called them in our salon—and how to give their new client the best color experience. When Mallory started to discuss glosses and glazes with the client, I moved along to the next station. Clearly Nisha’s new girl knew her stuff.

  I drifted along the aisles, stopping here and there to smile and make small talk or to discuss services like Brazilian blowouts with curious clients. Using those waitressing skills from college, I also picked up empty mimosa glasses and soda cans and kept track of the client requests.

  After I had handed out the beverages or snacks, I noticed Andy motion me over with a frantic wave of her hand. I hurried to her side and found myself taking her shears and comb in hand and finishing the haircut she had started.

  “Is she okay?” the client asked with concern.

  “Just a little tummy trouble,” I lied, knowing that Andy wasn’t sharing her pregnancy news yet. Seven of our stylists were moms so morning sickness was something we all had experience with around here, but Andy seemed to be having a harder time of it than most. Savannah had already offered to give her a week or two off or let her slide to half days, but Andy seemed determined to stay at the salon until right before she left on maternity leave. I suspected money was an issue and began to think of ways we could offer her work in the back of house until she felt better.

  I had just started the blow dry for her client when Andy returned and resumed her duties. As I stepped away from her station, I caught sight of Lana carrying a stack of clean towels to the wash stations. The moment she had the cabinet restocked, she grabbed a broom and dustpan and began gathering up the clippings at the haircutting stations nearest her. Her work ethic never failed to impress. From the moment she walked through the door to the moment she left, she was busy.

  Sometimes I worried that she liked to keep busy because it kept her from having time to think about the horrible abuse she had survived. She still hadn’t confided in any of us about how she had come to be in the women’s shelter or even how she had come to this country. All her paperwork checked out so she was here legally, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

  Billie had taken to her immediately. Nisha had an affinity for her. Even Savannah, who had been less than enthusiastic about my decision to hire her, couldn’t say enough good things about her now. Just this morning, Savvy had dropped the application for the spring semester of cosmetology school in Lana’s locker. It was the only program in town with an ESL component that encouraged the students to improve their English skills and their marketability.

  I wasn’t quite sure that Lana wanted a career in cosmetology. She clearly had a flair for nail art and a love of all things related to beauty, especially makeup, but I wasn’t sure it was her passion. After seeing her playing with a client’s two kids, I had a feeling she might be better suited to nannying or teaching.

  For now, though, I hoped she stayed with us. She needed support. In the month Lana had been with us, she had been welcomed into our salon family. We were like sisters here, each of us guarding the others.

  Not a month, I silently amended. Four weeks and one day.

  I had been keeping track of Lana’s time at the salon because it was an easy way for me to keep track of how long it had been since my breakfast with Kostya.

  Four weeks.

  One day.

  And not a word from him about our arrangement.

  We had exchanged a few text messages, and a couple of awkward waves in our driveways, but that was it. I couldn’t understand when and why it had all gone sideways. I had thought for sure that things would progress quickly and heatedly, but it was as if Kostya had tossed cold water on the fire between us. We had fizzled out—and I wasn’t sure how to spark that fire again.

  Raucous laughter drew me toward the reception area of the salon. Even if I hadn’t glanced at the books this morning, I would have recognized those familiar laughs and voices as belonging to Vivian, Erin, Benny and Bianca. The four close friends were at the salon for their monthly massages and mani-pedis. I had seen Lena’s name on Nisha’s books for a color and cut, but I didn’t hear her distinctive laugh. Knowing her schedule, Lena was probably hopping off a plane and rushing to the salon via private car right now.

  When I walked into the reception area, I found Erin regaling her girlfriends with a story about her great big bear of a husband. By the look on Vivian’s red face, I had a feeling Erin’s tale was rather bawdy. The other girls were laughing so hard. Head thrown back, Benny wiped at her eyes while Bianca looked as if she might fall off the couch.

  Together, the group presented such a pretty picture. Vivian and Bianca, both pregnant, preferred more classic styles. Vivian wore a simple dress in a deep wine shade that she had paired with gold jewelry. Bianca’s dress was cut with a similar high waist from a vibrant coral fabric. She also wore gold bangles and large gold hoops to match the gold medallion dangling from her neck. Erin looked similarly elegant in her wispy champagne pink peasant dress and strappy gold sandals.

  Benny looked more casual in denim chinos and a silky blouse. Unlike the others, she seemed a bit tired and didn’t have that well-rested spark in her eyes. But she had a young baby at home and a bakery that opened at four in the morning! I couldn’t even imagine trying to run a business with a small baby and a husband. I had a hard time handling myself and the salon.

  Of course, from what I little I knew of Benny’s husband, he seemed to be a very hands-on father. More than once, I had seen Dimitri at the grocery store handling the shopping and the baby with ease. Benny seemed to have chosen well when she had picked Dimitri to be her partner in life.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Lena exclaimed as she hurried into the reception area, a mimosa already in hand and an outrageously expensive handbag dangling from her arm. I had to smile at the way she so easily paired her designer shoes and accessories with a pair of black leggings and an oversized University of Houston baseball tee. “My flight from Moscow was delayed and then we hit traffic coming from the airport.”

  Erin was the first to jump up and hug her best friend. Lena moved down the line, hugging and smiling. As the group of friends finished up their reunion, Billie gathered them up and led them back to spa area for their mani-pedis.

  When they left, I noticed the heavily tattooed giant sitting in the corner of the waiting area. There was an iPad on his lap and an earbud firmly stuck in his left ear but the right was empty, probably so he could hear Vivian if she needed him. She called her bodyguard Ten, and wherever she went, he was right there beside her.

  Like Bianca and Erin’s husbands, Ten towered over everyone else. He had tattoos on his hands, arms and peeking out the top of his fitted black T-shirt. The snarling Siberian tiger on his arm was one of the nicest pieces I had ever seen. Not that I would tell him that.

  As I made my way to the reception desk to check my appointment book, I watched the way Ten couldn’t take his eyes off Nisha as she came into the waiting area for her next client. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him looking at her like that. His intense focus on her every move betrayed his interest.

  It was misplaced interest, unfortunately. Nisha had sworn off men for good. She had gotten married straight out of high school—like two days after graduating—to her sweetheart who turned out to be a violent monster. He regularly beat her so badly he put her in the hospital. Luckily, he had screwed up a drug deal and ended up going away to prison. Not long after he was locked up, she had him served with divorce papers and never looked back.

  But something about Ten made me wonder if he might be the man who changed her mind about relationships.

  “Your client had to cancel and reschedule,” Billie said as she returned to reception desk where I clicked through the appointment book on one of the computers there. “She w
as held over in a closing and had another house with two offers that she needed to negotiate.”

  “Oh, well did you find a day to work Susan back into my schedule?” My books were nearly as tight as Nisha’s, but for a client like Susan who had been with me since the day I opened, I would come in early or stay late.

  “You had a slot tomorrow morning, but you’ll have to duck out of a vendor meeting ten minutes early.”

  “That’s fine. Savvy makes the final decisions anyway.”

  “When I was taking the girls back, Benny mentioned that she needed to book a trim and Vivian needs a haircut. I thought maybe we could work Benny in with Peyton and then slide Vivian into the second half of Susan’s empty slot?”

  “Works for me.” I clicked out of the appointment book screen. “I’ll be walking the floor if you need me.”

  Before I left the reception area, I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the beverage cooler and walked over to Ten. He glanced up as I approached him and tugged the lone earbud from his ear. I handed him the water. “Are you on the salon’s free Wi-Fi? No reason to burn through your data while you’re waiting for Vivian.”

  “I am.” He accepted the water bottle from me. “Thank you.”

  “Vivian is going to stay after her spa appointment for a haircut with me.” I glanced at his iPad. “If you get low on battery, ask Billie for a charger. We keep a few different ones in the drawers at the reception desk.”

  After making sure Ten was comfortable, I made my way across the salon, stopping at the color bar, at the shampoo basins and at each cutting station to chat with guests. Noticing the hampers for capes and towels were getting full, I carefully maneuvered the rolling bins out of the shampoo area toward the staff hallway.

  When I passed the guest bathrooms, I heard crying and slowed down to see if someone needed help. Almost immediately, I began to worry that one of our guests hated her haircut or the color. I tried so hard to make sure my crew knew to communicate and be conservative when it came to big changes or new clients, but sometimes we missed the mark and missed it by a lot.