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Wanted for: conspiracy to murder, murder for hire, assault, arms trafficking, bribery, [continues on page 2-3]...
Status: Missing, presumed dead
I stare at their mugshots. Most of them must have been taken decades ago; there’s no way these are recent photos. The quality is grainy, the coloring questionable. The dossiers are thin, but they get the message across just fine. The rest is in Russian, borrowed from our contacts in Moscow, but I get it. These people Luka named are the worst of the worst. It’s enough to make me sick.
I’m not sure what I’ve accidentally walked into, but my gut tells me this isbig. Awful people like this don’t just vanish. If they were dead, I’m sure the Russian government would have noted it somewhere in these files. The fact that there isn’t even a footnote, not even a whisper of a conspiracy as to what happened to these people…
The hairs on my arms stick up on end.
Did Luka and his brothers have something to do with their disappearances? What on Earth is going on here? What am I missing?
My curiosity burns brighter than the sun. I have so many questions, but Luka’s too smart to give me answers without gaining something in exchange.
Gomez and Pritt have returned with their coffees, flipping through the dossiers with great interest. I glance at my watch. We’ve been here for seven hours. I haven’t given Luka his painkillers yet, and it’s really starting to show. He can’t sit still, and when he does, it’s with a lean to the uninjured side. He doesn’t huff and puff, but there’s no denying the flush of his cheeks and the sweat streaking his brow. Luka grits his teeth and bears it.
But I can’t.
“We should give him his medicine,” I say. “Who’s holding on to it?”
Pritt, unsurprisingly, snorts. “I am.”
“Give them to me.”
“I say the fucker deserves it. Let him squirm a little. He’s a fucking traitor, for all we know.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Pritt. He’s in pain.”
She gets right up in my face. It takes all my self-control not to slap her. “You’re not going soft, are you? That’d be a damn shame, Harper.”
“Give it to me,” I reply firmly, sharply. “We’re not monsters. We have to be better than them.”
“Well, aren’t you a shining fucking beacon of hope.”
My irritation gets the better of me. I’ve had enough. “You’re released.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re no longer working with me on this operation. Piss off back to your desk and don’t let me see your face again. You’ve been nothing but trouble since this case was assigned to us.”
Pritt’s face reddens, her hands balling up into fists at her side. She hastily reaches into her pocket, pulls out a small orange pill bottle, and throws it at me. I catch it in my hands, not bothering to react when she storms out and slams the door behind her like a petulant child.
Gomez chuckles from his seat, casually sipping his coffee. “I don’t know why you didn’t do that earlier.”
“Because many hands make light work,” I grumble under my breath. “Stay here, keep the mics recording. I’m going to talk to him.”
“Will do, boss.”
I enter the interrogation room quietly, slipping into the shark tank without hesitation.
Despite his obvious exhaustion, Luka grins. “Back again, I see. Did you miss me?”
“Figured you might want these,” I say, stepping forward to pass him a small cup of water and his medication. “How are you holding up?”
“My ass is starting to fall asleep. If you’re feeling generous, I could use a cushion or something.”
“Not going to happen.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” he mumbles tiredly as he pops two pills into his mouth and washes them down. “So, did you enjoy your reading assignment? I’m assuming that’s what took you so long.”
