Nikolett cleared her throat, tugged down her shirt, and smoothed back her hair.
She wobbled for a moment—damn it, naps always made her feel odd—then folded and stowed the blanket before going to her desk.
Needing a minute, Nikolett jiggled her desktop computer awake and opened major news sites in Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria, Serbia, and the Ukraine. She was fluent in Hungarian—her native language—English, and Romanian. She had basic conversational language skills in Ukrainian and Bulgarian and was working toward both verbal and written fluency.
Pulling a small toiletries bag out of her desk, she scanned the headlines as she applied some moisturizer and brushed the sleep tangles out of her hair. She’d take a few more minutes to herself, and then she’d go back into the conference room and—
Nikolett’s eyes narrowed, then widened as she clicked on “more” to keep reading an article. It wasn’t one of the top news articles—the story had been toward the bottom of the homepage on the Ekspres, a major Ukrainian newspaper, which she’d had the computer translate since she wasn’t up for trying to muddle through it.
Twenty-seven-year-old Zasha Romanov, an international trade lawyer and native of Odessa, had been missing for four days, last seen leaving her office in a city-center building.
Nikolett clicked over to read the original article from the local Odessan newspaper, but it was in Russian. Sadly, her Russian was terrible, and though predominantly ethnically Ukrainian, Russian was the main language in Odessa, as it was along much of the coast of the Black Sea.
Nikolett shook her head, telling herself to calm down. Odessa was a large city, but not on the scale of Krakow or Dublin, and it didn’t have a large English-speaking population. She glanced at the picture of Zasha—brown hair, light gray or blue eyes. Brown hair was the only similarity between her and the other victims. In fact, brown hair and a white-collar job were some of the only commonalities they’d been able to put together for victimology.
And Zasha fit both of those.
Nikolett couldn’t ignore this tense, tight feeling. Maybe it was a product of lack of sleep. Maybe she was hoping for there to be similarities because she wanted to find and stop this killer. Hesitating for only a moment, she quickly tapped the keys to translate the article, then searched for other articles, in languages she did know, on the Zasha Romanov disappearance.
Her printer whirred to life and Nikolett snatched up the papers as she stood.
Zasha had seemingly vanished, and it appeared the authorities were ready to say she’d fled the country for unspecified reasons. One article included a quote from her brother, a former Ukrainian Navy officer, now CEO of a major stevedoring company based out of the port of Odessa, vehemently denying that his sister was connected with any criminal activities and insisting that she had no reason to flee.
Nikolett marched into the conference room, sweeping her gaze around. Grigoris and Nyx were gone, Dimitri was slumped in a chair in the corner, apparently asleep, but Vadisk was there, his massive body looking ridiculous hunched over a tiny laptop. Nikolett thrust the papers at him.
Vadisk had apparently been concentrating so hard he hadn’t heard her approach. Startled, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, starting to jerk her forward before he realized what he was doing. Nikolett didn’t show any outward reaction, though internally she yelped in surprise and a little fear.
“Admiral. Sorry.” Vadisk grimaced and released her.
She waited, still holding out the papers. After a moment, he took them and started to read. His brows drew together, and after what felt like far too long he looked up. “It could be, but they don’t speak English in Odessa.”
Nikolett let out a long breath. “My exact thoughts, but the similarities were enough that for a second—”
“They do.” Maxim Kovalenko, seated at the other end of the table, was looking at them. Nikolett turned her full attention to the harco, who’d just recently accepted a position as a knight. The Ukrainian man was tall and lean, at least in comparison to Vadisk. A former Spetsnaz operative for the SSU’s Alpha Group, Maxim was quietly dangerous, fiercely loyal, and deaf and blind on his right side, though no one would know it based on his behavior. The disability had forced him out of the Alpha Group, and he’d been consulting for corporate security firms before she’d asked him to step up as a harco.
“They do?” she asked.
“Many, maybe most, people in Odessa speak some English, because of the tourism, and TV, internet.”
“Who would know that?” Vadisk asked.
Maxim was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider his answer. “Anyone who has been to Odessa. I believe the guidebooks, websites, they say you can get by speaking only English there.”
Nikolett took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Vadisk, put together a team. I want to go to Odessa.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Annalise managed not to groan as Walt kneaded her good shoulder. Letting him know exactly how good that felt would hardly be appropriate with Admiral Varda, Vadisk, and a knight from Hungary, Maxim Kovalenko, seated around the table with her, Jakob, and Walt.
They were at yet another hotel, this time in Odessa. Last night had been both physically and emotionally exhausting. As she’d said to Jakob and Walt, she was determined to focus on the here and now, rather than worry about the future, but that was easier said than done. Her heart was already beginning to crack and she was still with them. What would happen when the three of them had to say goodbye for good?
They’d been woken up after too little sleep when Admiral Varda had called to inform her that she was taking a small team to Odessa, and Annalise was coming with her. Jakob had demanded to accompany her, as had Walt.
She didn’t need Jakob’s protection anymore, but that fact didn’t make it any easier for her to accept that she could walk down a street without him. That freedom was still too new and she feared she would continue to see shadows everywhere. Maybe those shadows would never go away.
It would take time for her to feel comfortable being alone. Old habits died hard, but the truth was she didn’t want to break the Jakob habit. Even though she didn’t need him as her bodyguard, she still wanted him—and Walt—with her, desperately.
Vadisk flew them to Odessa in his six-seater helicopter, and they’d arrived by mid-morning. The flight hadn’t been the sort where she could sip wine while reviewing files, so it wasn’t until they’d reached the hotel, and the two-bedroom penthouse suite complete with the large dining room, that she’d gotten to look at the information about Zasha Romanov.
Annalise had specifically told Admiral Varda that victimology was not a good basis for continued investigation because of the patronage partnership between the unsub and Petro. The unsub hadn’t chosen Josephine, and because they hadn’t had a chance to gather more information about the potential victim in Belgium, the only victim they could work for a victimology study was Alicja.
Reminding Admiral Varda of these issues would be pointless, since they were here now. And since they were, maybe she, they, could do something to help find Zasha, assuming her disappearance wasn’t tied to the bratva, or voluntary, as the reports implied.
Maxim rose from the table, phone in hand. He spoke briefly with the admiral in what she assumed was either Romanian or Ukrainian—though for the most part they’d been speaking English for Walt’s benefit. A moment later, Maxim walked out the door.