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Roxie followed him over and into the tiny closet Bob called an office. The older man had paled from his usual color. “What’s up, boss?”
“The niece you spoke to?”
“Sierra Turner?” Roxie asked.
Bob nodded. “She was mugged on the way from their parking lot to the hospital this morning. She’s in the ICU in critical condition. Someone bashed her head in.”
Roxie winced. “Because we talked to her.” Peter turned to look at her, so she said, “It’s not a coincidence.”
“No,” Bob agreed. “It isn’t a coincidence. It means we’re getting close to something.”
“And if people are going to get hurt,” Roxie said, “then is it really worth it? Someone could get killed. Sierra could still die.”
“So we should quit?”
Roxie shook her head. “That’s not what I said. But we need to be smart and make a plan.”
Peter’s jaw flexed. “I need to show you something.”
A cold pulse of dread spread through her gut. What now?
TWENTY-THREE
Officer Gutierrez knocked on the huge oak doors at the front of the Obolensky house. Liam spotted the camera doorbell, though both he and Gutierrez were at the edge of the view with where they were standing.
Not that they’d be blindsiding Raphi, showing up here just past breakfast—for the crowd who’d stayed out until three.
He had dropped Roxie off at work and done a couple of hours of briefings, meetings with his chief, and paperwork. Now he held himself back from calling to see how her day was going. There was a case to work, like always. When was there not a case to work? But being a professional, not a guy who just thought about a beautiful woman all day when he was supposed to be focused, was a better plan.
The door swung open.
The older woman who answered wore pants, a white blouse, an apron, and flat shoes. “Can I help you?” Her voice held the accent of the Obolensky mother country. “Officers?”
Likely that was a signal to anyone in the house who might be unaware there were cops at the door.
Gutierrez said, “We’d like to speak with Mr. Raphael Obolensky.” He didn’t ask if Raphi was in because they all knew he was. Liam had ordered a squad car outside the house all night, so the officers had seen Raphi come home alone in the car—except for his driver—just before three.
“Right this way.” She stepped back and admitted them.
The inside of the house smelled like candles, cigars, and like someone had thrown up port on the rug at some point. This housekeeper had probably been trying to get rid of the smell since.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Gutierrez turned on the professional charm. “We appreciate you allowing us in. We won’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Please follow me.”
That likely meant Raphi knew they were here even before they knocked on the front door. Liam scanned the hall as they followed the housekeeper to an open door at the end. They passed a cracked door with a couple of people inside muttering in conversation. Liam heard, “While,” but nothing else, so that was nothing regarding surveillance.
Not that anything they overheard would be what they needed for a warrant. It would never be probable cause for a search. Not unless they had reason to believe Karina was being held here against her will.
The housekeeper stopped at the door. “Mr. Obolensky, the police are here.”
“Spasibo, Maria. That will be all.” He waved her away, a king on his throne behind the desk.
Maria shut the doors, closing them in the study. All wood and old books. A fireplace, empty right now except for ash. A state-of-the-art computer completely at odds with the old-world feel of the room and its velvet high-backed chairs.
“Sergeant O’Connell.” Raphi took a drag on a cigar.
They stopped about six feet in front of the desk. No one wanted to get within arm’s reach of a guy like this, even if he had no visible weapons.
