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“So, um, my name. It’s not Rebecca Jackson.” I take a deep breath, which should be steadying but isn’t. “It’s Roxanne Johnson.”
He glares daggers at me. “Which is why you dyed your hair black.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you lie?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Because there are people in my life that I need to protect. People that helped me.” Silent tears start falling down my cheeks.
“Why did you need a false identity?”
Fuck.
“To protect myself and the ones I love from Dimitri Popov.”
“Little one, you sure as hell better keep talking.”
I’m shaking so bad my teeth are almost rattling. “Because I was working undercover as Popov’s assistant.”
He becomes deathly still. His blue eyes are ice cold, showing no emotion, no hint of affection. He steps toward me, and reaches behind his back to pull a gun out. He runs the barrel down my temple and cheek before using it to lift my jaw and turn my face up to meet his eyes. My tears are flowing freely, my body shaking violently.
“If you have ever been truthful in your entire fucking life, make it now. Are you a cop?”
“No.”
He’s clenching his jaw so hard it might break. “Who do you work for?”
“TheNew York Times.”
This shocks him. “Start talking,Roxanne, and don’t you fucking stop until the whole bloody truth is out of your pretty lips.”
“I am a freelance reporter for theTimes. Several weeks ago I got a lead that there was an increased amount of unclaimed and unidentified dead bodies in New York City. All young girls, malnourished, one died of fucking scurvy. I mean really young, like teenage girls. I began to think there was an increase in human trafficking through the city. The bodies show up in clusters of similar ethnic groups.”
I’ve been babbling full speed ahead, and stop to take a deep breath before continuing. “So, because of the scurvy I figured they probably came by ship. Then I got port records and looked at what ships arrived based roughly around the time each cluster of dead girls showed up. I sorted it by customs inspector. Two ships, both owned by Black Sea Shipping, both flying Georgian flags but sailing from Ukraine and owned by a company that doesn’t even have a phone number in Delaware, plus each and every time they are signed off by the same customs inspector. Even if the ship arrives late, same inspector. Every time. What are the chances of that? So I figure that the inspector is on the take.”
The excitement of the story has temporarily overwhelmed my terror at the gangster that is probably going to kill me soon. My words tumble out, becoming closer to one long run-on monologue than a clear explanation.
“Come to find out, Black Sea Shipping is a Bratva shell company. But I needed clear evidence to connect them. So I got a job as a waitress at Glisten. Dimitri saw me there and on my second night fired me and told me I was going to be his personal assistant.”
I exhale. I feel drained. Like I just bared everything I had bottled up inside me and now that space is empty.
Sean pulls the gun away from my head and puts it back where it was. He leans back against his desk and regards me for a long time. The silence is unnerving. “How did you connect the shell company to the Bratva?”
“A friend works with refugees. She knew about Black Sea Shipping being tied to the Bratva. I staked out the docks when a ship was coming in and got photos of them unloading a specific container after dark, photos of vehicles and people. But I couldn’t tie any of those to the Bratva on their own. Also, the officer in charge of the death investigations isn’t homicide, he’s organized crimes.”
“What friend?” he asks.
“No.” I respond immediately.
“Excuse me?”
“I won’t tell you who they are.”
“Yes, you fucking will!” he roars, hitting his desk with his palm for emphasis.
I flinch, but Tasha’s face flashes in my mind. “No, I won’t. I won’t tell you who they are. They don’t deserve to be twisted up in this mess. They are a better person than I’ll ever be and one of the kindest, purest souls I’ve ever met. They help people every fucking day and the world is a better place every moment they walk this earth.” I inhale. “I’ll tell you everything about me, my work, project, whatever. But I won’t tell you about them. So if that’s what you want, just get it over with and kill me.”
He looks a little shocked. It’s nice to see an expression besides hate on his face.
