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Had placed her in the dilemma of whether or not she should tell Casper where Martyna was. Her one opportunity to do so, on the way to the Kingston estate, had been lost when he’d reacted so viscerally to them driving past the place where he had crashed his car.
An opportunity that had definitely passed when Casper decided to kiss her!
“He killed them,” Martyna now sniffled. “He had all of them killed!” Her voice began to rise hysterically.
Persy knew exactly who the other woman was referring to. “You’ve watched the news on television since we spoke earlier.” It was a statement, not a question.
Persy had telephoned and checked in with the other woman several times during the day while standing guard outside the Batcave. During none of those conversations had Martyna sounded in the least hysterical.
Persy had deliberately arranged things yesterday so that the other woman didn’t see any live television, having put a film on instead after they had eaten dinner.
She would have preferred Martyna not watch the news at all today too, but obviously, she hadn’t been able to monitor what Martyna did while she was alone in her apartment.
Tears swam in the other woman’s deep blue eyes. “Anatoly and Sergei weren’t married or in serious relationships, but Lev had a wife and two small children!”
And Persy regretted those men’s deaths.
But she also knew they must all have been aware that working for a man like Vadim Morozov put their lives at risk every day. If not directly from possibly displeasing their employer, then from his many enemies.
Persy took that same risk every time she was assigned to the protection of a Kingston Security client. It was part of the job description and what they were all paid so well for.
Martyna’s bodyguards had been very much alive when Persy and the other woman left the alley behind the store. But, like Martyna, she could take a guess on those killings having taken place under Morozov’s orders. Probably immediately after those same three men had reported to the Russian that his wife was missing.
“I’m sorry they’re dead, Martyna, I really am,” she sympathized. “But I also know it’s a real possibility when you choose to work for someone like your husband.”
Martyna began to cry in earnest. “He wasn’t always like this. Vadim was kind to me at first, and he offered me a way to leave the life of poverty I lived in in Poland. I thought… I believed he loved me, that he just wanted to take care of me.” She trembled. “The moment he had his wedding ring on my finger, he turned into a monster. I had no family in this country to call on. He became my jailer rather than my husband. Then the beatings started. For anything and nothing,” she sobbed.
Persy allowed the other woman to talk, knowing Martyna needed this freedom to tell someone of the restricted and abusive life she had been forced to lead in her marriage. Persy had been told by other victims that sometimes talking to a stranger could be as good as an hour-long session with a trained therapist.
“I didn’t know what I was signing when Vadim presented me with that contract.” Martyna shuddered. “I thought it was just another way for him to take care of me. Instead, I signed my own death warrant and ensured I would not be alive for the fifth anniversary of our marriage.” She shook her head. “Now I’ve involved you. If he discovers that, then you could be the one to be beaten next before he has you killed too.”
“I’m really not that easy to kill,” Persy reassured her.
She hadn’t just been trained in the military but also had black belts in several martial arts. She was also such a good marksman, she’d often been the one assigned as the sniper on a mission during her year with Special Ops.
She allowed Martyna to continue talking for another few more minutes, until the other woman reached the angry stage and began to verbally berate her husband. “Have you eaten today?” Persy interrupted kindly.
“Not really.” Martyna grimaced. “A piece of toast at lunchtime.”
“I’m going to have food delivered the same as we did last night.” One thing Persy wasn’t was a cook. So much so, she usually lived on eggs or beans on toast, unless she had food delivered. “Would you prefer Chinese food or Italian?”
Choosing and ordering the Chinese food Martyna had opted for briefly diverted the other woman from her more immediate worry of her husband bursting into the apartment intent on carrying her away.
Persy removed her jacket and draped it over the arm of a chair, giving a long sigh of relief after she’d removed the band confining her hair, before shaking the long length loosely about her shoulders.
“I’m going to shower and change into something less formal while we wait for the food to arrive.” She might not wear a uniform anymore, but she still liked to differentiate between what she wore to work and what she relaxed in at home. “They said the delivery would take about thirty minutes, so I’ll make sure I’m back in time to open the door. If anyone rings the doorbell before then, don’t answer it. Okay?” Not that Persy was expecting anyone. Most of her friends were still in the army, and many of them were currently deployed overseas.
“I’ll get out the cutlery and condiments.” Martyna gave a rueful smile. “I’m really sorry about the meltdown just now.”
Persy reached out to give the other woman’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re entitled,” she comforted. “We’ll talk about what happens next after we’ve eaten.” She’d already formulated a plan, but had yet to run the details past Martyna.
This was the tricky bit. Not the rescue, but what to do next with the person she’d rescued. In Martyna’s case, that was made doubly difficult by the fact the other woman was so visibly recognizable as being Vadim Morozov’s wife, her photo often having appeared in newspapers and other social medias, usually alongside her notorious husband.
She—
Persy tensed at the sound of the harsh and intrusive ringing of the doorbell. It was far too soon to be the food delivery.
The buzz of her cell phone at almost the same time, alerting her to a message received, threw her into confusion for several seconds regarding how to prioritize the two things. She finally decided the message on her phone could wait and instead concentrated on the more immediate problem of someone standing in the hallway outside her apartment.
