Crossing the Line (5 page)

Katya thought for a long time about whether she should meet Nik. Part of her wanted to stay curled up in bed, the other part of her reminded her she couldn’t stay there forever. She didn’t trust Nik. He had no reason to help her but she was lured by the possibility of earning money. Without it she could do nothing.

When she arrived at the café, Nik climbed out of a silver car parked. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and waved her over.

“I was starting to wonder. Get in.”

She tightened her grip on her violin case.

He gave her a puzzled look. “Are you coming or not?”

What more could happen to her? She climbed in and as he lurched out of the lot, she held onto the sides of the seat.
Please don’t let me have made a mistake.

“Going to tell me your name?” he asked.

“Katya.” The moment she’d said it, she wanted it back.

He flashed her a smile. “Nice to meet you, Katya. We’re going to a restaurant called The Sturgeon. The guy who runs it, Dimitri Bresnov, wants you to play for him this afternoon and if he likes you, he’ll try you out this evening. I told him you’ve played for Putin.”

“That didn’t put him off?”

Nik laughed. “He couldn’t have been more impressed. I said you could play anything. You want the job, agree to everything and argue later.”

“Right.”

“So how about doing some modeling work for me?”

“I’m supposed to agree and argue later when you ask me to take off my clothes?”

“I knew you were smart. I pay well.”

Bile rose into her throat at the thought of the money hidden in her violin case. She was afraid to leave it in the room.

He glanced at her. “I can see someone’s hurt you.”

She pressed her lips together.

“My guess is you and your boyfriend had a fight.” He tsked. “Should have cleaned the tub. You walked out because you’re sensible, but you don’t know this area. You grabbed nothing but your violin and a change of clothes. You have no place to go and no money. Fortunately you meet a handsome stranger and he offers to help you. You fall in love and agree to take off your clothes—”

“And you were doing so well.” She was a little freaked he had some of it right.

“If we had time, I’d take you to your boyfriend’s to pick up a dress, only is he a big guy? I’m out of shape.”

“Very big.”

Katya knew she looked a mess. She’d made an effort with her hair, pinned it up but that exposed bruises on her neck. Her shirt and chinos were creased. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Too soon.
Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Instinct told her to ask him to stop the car. Desperation kept her silent.

Nik pressed her about her family and friends in Moscow and she said nothing. Eventually he stopped pushing. But silence was her enemy because it filled her head with everything she’d tried to forget. She clenched her teeth. If she allowed what happened to stop her, she was letting everyone down, but she felt as if she was caught in a whirlpool.

He pulled into a parking spot outside the restaurant and switched off the engine. Relief that he hadn’t lied calmed her racing pulse. The restaurant’s name was written in gold letters on a glass panel set over double wooden doors. Blue canopies shaded tinted windows. It looked expensive.

“Nervous?” Nik asked.

“No.” Her stomach disagreed.

It was larger inside than it looked from outside. Katya shivered in the air-conditioned chill. A woman in a short black dress stepped forward.

“Dimitri’s expecting us,” Nik said.

“He says to go through and start playing.”

Only four tables were occupied. Katya stood against the wall, tightened her bow, checked the tuning of her violin, and began.

After a few minutes, an older guy dropped in the seat next to Nik, his black hair slicked close to his head.
Dimitri?
She felt him staring but while she was playing, she could zone out. She segued from a Russian ballad into a classical piece and finished with Lara’s theme from
Dr. Zhivago
. As she took her violin from her shoulder everyone in the restaurant applauded, including the waiters. Her cheeks heated and Dimitri smiled. With a wide mouth full of teeth, he reminded her of a shark.

“Come into the office,” he said in Russian.

She put away her violin, loosened the bow and fastened it in the case.

“That was fantastic,” Nik said at her shoulder.

“Didn’t you believe me?”

“Of course. Nice girls don’t lie.”

That almost made her smile.

Dimitri sat behind his desk. “You really played for Putin?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Seven months ago at a concert in Moscow.” There had been no need to reveal that and she told herself to be more careful.

“How long have you been in America?”

“Not long.”

“How long?”

“Less than seven months.”

Dimitri stared and Katya stared back. He radiated danger in the same way that Nik oozed flirtatious charm.

“Here legally?”

She took her work permit from her violin case and flashed it in front of him. “How about you?”

Dimitri laughed. “Okay, we’ll try you out tonight, Miss Smart Mouth. See how the customers like you. Eighty dollars a night.”

Wow.
“Including a meal,” she said.

Dimitri nodded. “Meal included.”

She held out her hand. He wrapped his huge fingers around hers and held on a little too long. “You dump the guy who did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Get her something to wear.” He peeled off three hundred dollar bills from a wad and offered them to Nik.

“I can buy myself a dress.”

Dimitri smiled and took the money back. “Suit yourself, but wear something pretty. Be here by seven.”

“Thank you.”

Nik grinned once they were outside. “You should have let me take the money. I could do with a new dress.”

That won him a little smile. They crossed to his car.

“Dimitri’s an important man,” Nik said. “He likes to be generous. Better not to offend him.”

“All Russian men think they’re important. Most aren’t.”

Nik sighed. “I’m wounded.”

“You’ll survive. Anyway, why would a restaurant owner think he’s important?”

“He knows important people. Makes him feel important.”

Her heart thumped. “Is he a criminal?”

“No one’s an angel. Look where we came from. The state taught us too well. Avoid paying more than you need for anything. Evade taxes. Look after number one. Don’t tell me you’ve never done anything illegal, not if you lived in Moscow. One of the few pleasures of our miserable existence was to disobey rules and rip off the government.” He glanced at her. “I’ve found other pleasures over here.”

“Eating?”

Nik laughed and took the turn for the Aventura Mall. “I’m guessing you don’t have a dress in that backpack. So do I take you to your boyfriend’s or you buying another?”

“I’ll buy another.”

Inside the mall, Nik took her elbow and she jerked away. He held up his hands. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

“You startled me.”
Shit.
If she couldn’t stand to be touched, she might as well give this up now.

He frowned. “We’ll try Macy’s.”

Katya lacked enthusiasm and energy, and let him lead. The first price tag she checked made her gulp.

“How about this?” He held up a blue sheath with a low front and lower back.

“I’d fall out of it when I play.”

“Take it.”

She scowled. “I don’t think so.”

“You have to look sexy.”

“Professional.”

“Professional and sexy. You’ll get better tips.”

“I’ll get tips?”

“Sure. The customers will give you money, particularly if you play requests. How about this?” It was a filmy red dress with a scoop neck and diagonal hemline.

Better.
She took it into the changing cubicle.

“Come out and show me.”

Nik smiled when she emerged. “That looks great.”

But Katya watched his gaze drop to the bruises on her arms, then rise to her face. She was thinking about the price. It had been reduced twice but was still eighty-nine dollars plus tax. Maybe she had to spend money to make money. Plus she’d had enough of Nik. He’d helped her take the first step, but he was wearing.

“Okay, I’ll buy it.”

“You don’t want to check every store?” he asked in mock astonishment.

“No.”

Nik watched her count her money. “Raid your piggy bank?”

“His,” she said.

“Good for you.”

She took the bag and receipt and turned to him. “Can we go now?”

Nik chuckled. “You’re a very easy woman to shop with.”

“Does your girlfriend drag you to every store?”

“Ah Katya, checking if I’m available? What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

“Because you’re too adorable not to have one?”

He opened the mall door for her. “Flirting?”

“No.” But relief that she
could
lightened her heart.

“Teasing then.”

“You’re smart for a Russian man,” she said.

He put his hand on his heart. “Now you flatter me.”

She made herself smile. “Thank you for getting me the job.”

“You’re welcome, though you got the job without my help.”

“I wouldn’t have known about it without you. So thanks. I owe you.”

“You’re such a good girl,” he said and guided her toward the car.

“No, I’m not.” The ache in her heart reminded her she wasn’t.

“What have you done that’s bad?”

“You’d never guess.”

“Did you fuck Putin?” he whispered.

“He said no,” she whispered back. “He’s also too short for me.”

Nik groaned. “I suppose I am too. Would you like something to eat? The Cheesecake Factory is just round the corner. I’ll treat you.”

“No, thank you.” Her stomach churned at the thought of food, the strain of maintaining a façade taking its toll.

“I’ll drive you back then. Where are you staying?”

“Nice try, Nik. The café will be fine.”

“You don’t trust me.” He looked disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally. I need to feel safe.”

“Safe from the guy who hurt you?”

She hesitated then nodded.

“Come back to my place and I’ll take you to the restaurant tonight.”

“I won’t go to bed with you.”

“I promise not to hurt you.”

“The café,” she repeated.

“Would it help if I told you I thought I might be gay?”

“Maybe it would help if I said I
was
gay.”

“This relationship is not going to work unless you let me be the funny one,” he said indignantly.

Katya smiled and for the first time, meant it.

Since she’d refused a lift from Nik and had no idea how to get to the restaurant by bus, Katya had to use precious money on a cab. The Sturgeon looked different by night. White lights circled the trunks of the palm trees and big cars lined the road.

The woman on the desk had been replaced by a dark haired maitre d’. He had one of the waitresses show her to the staff room where Katya removed her sandals. They looked terrible with the new dress. Barefoot was better.

The restaurant was busy, the light dim and that suited her fine. She heard Russian spoken by the diners as she walked to her spot in the corner. Next time she’d walk more slowly, listen more carefully.

Once she started to play, her agitation faded. Music could help her through this. It brought calmness when everything else failed. She imagined herself back in Moscow playing for her parents and the notes melted from her fingers as she lost herself in the melody. She chose their favorites, kept the volume low and moved seamlessly from one piece to another. One of the diners wrote the name of a song on a ten dollar bill and before long Katya had a pile of bills and a glass of wine by her side.

She ate alone in the employee’s room. The first food in over twenty-four hours and it looked beautiful, the chef an artist as well as a cook but she had to force herself to swallow.

By the end of the evening, she was amazed to have almost a hundred and fifty dollars in tips. After she’d packed away her violin, she knocked on the door of Dimitri’s office.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’d like to be paid?”

“Please.”

He took out his wallet and gave her two fifties. She offered him twenty and he laughed. “Keep it.”

“But you said eighty.”

“Buy some shoes, Cinderella.”

As she stepped outside, she spotted Nik on the sidewalk.

“Need a ride? I was in the neighborhood.”

Her heart thumped. Had he really just been in the neighborhood? But she was reluctant to waste money on a cab.

“How did it go?” he asked as he pulled away.

“Fine.”

“Does he want you tomorrow?”

“I—he didn’t say.”

“Then he does. So where am I taking you, my bed or your place?”

“You can’t be this desperate.”

Nik laughed. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Is it the challenge? Has every other girl found you irresistible?”

“Not every girl. You’re special.”

“Please,” she said. “You’re not even trying to sound sincere.”

“I am. Don’t tell me you’ve never slept with a guy the first day you met him.”

Joy and sorrow clogged her throat. She thought about asking Nik to drop her away from the hotel, then decided not to bother. He was all mouth.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said. “I hope you’re not upset I don’t find you irresistible.”

“I expect I’ll survive until tomorrow and I don’t give up easily.”

As she began to get out of the car, she twisted to face him. She might as well ask. “Do you know a man called Petrenko?”

He shook his head. “Who is he?”

“Someone my uncle knew. I thought I’d look him up.”

“Don’t know anyone of that name.”

Katya had the distinct impression he was lying, but was that because she wanted it to be the case?

Up in her room, she put a chair against the door, showered and lay naked on the bed. She still could hardly believe she was here. Battered, bruised but a step further toward finding Petrenko, the man who had killed her sister, and her family, and destroyed her life.

After Galya’s murder, her crazy father had persuaded her to go to the FSB and offer to do the same job as her sister, work undercover, but her first assignment had to be finding her sister’s killer. Katya couldn’t help but think he didn’t love her as much as he’d loved Galya. She’d been so scared, and they’d laughed at her. Her father thought she’d given up, and knowing she’d disappointed him, she kept returning, pestering them to listen. She pointed out that as a woman, she was emotionally and psychologically better suited to work for them than a man. Not perhaps the most sensible thing to say to a group of bigoted chauvinists.

Finally, one officer offered to give her a formal interview and she’d dressed up, thinking it was her chance to impress. She knew she had an orderly mind, was practical, had excellent interpersonal skills and most important of all she was willing to do whatever it took. But the guy had unzipped his pants. She’d walked out.

Then her family had been killed and in a small way, she went mad and understood how her father had felt, what had driven him to risk his living daughter for a dead one. There was no one she wouldn’t try to see, no one she wouldn’t pester to get at the truth. She lost all her fear, walked into the security headquarters and demanded people listen. They turned her away time after time, but she kept trying because she thought they’d tell her what she needed to know just to get rid of her.

One evening, an FSB officer called Platov followed her from the building and offered her a lift home. When he said he could give her the name she wanted, she’d climbed in his car. She remembered exactly what he’d said, that she’d have to fuck her way to the answers she wanted anyway, so why not start with him? She said she’d kiss him and he smirked, but he’d kissed her, put his tongue in her mouth, made her feel sick and then pushed her head down onto his lap. She made him give her the name first.

Viktor Petrenko. Platov told her they were sure he was behind Galya’s murder and that of her family but couldn’t prove it. Petrenko’s name wasn’t familiar.

She spat Platov’s cum onto the floor of his car without him noticing. It was a miracle she didn’t throw up. When they reached her street, Platov said he’d give her Petrenko’s address next time but she’d have to do more than suck him off. She slammed the car door in his face with her heart pounding, hoping she’d never have to make that choice. To her relief, it wasn’t hard to uncover Petrenko’s address.

Katya went to his house straight from the Conservatory, her violin under her coat, pretending she was pregnant. She had a story all ready but didn’t need it because he wasn’t there. A woman told her he’d gone to live in Miami. As she walked home, her heart slowly returning to normal, she wondered what the hell she’d been doing. What would she have done if she’d seen him? Talked to him rationally? Asked him about her sister and her family? Stabbed him? What with? Plus she only had Platov’s word that Petrenko was the one she sought. Why should she believe him?

So she did more research, found a photograph of Petrenko in newspaper archives and remembered seeing him with Galya at a charity concert. Galya had whispered he was sort of a boyfriend. A boyfriend who’d not come to her funeral or even sent flowers. Katya was certain he was the one her sister had been spying on, certain he was the one who killed her.

Now here she was, taking little steps toward him. Her only plan that if she got to know the wrong sort of Russians, she’d come across him sooner or later.

And if he’d killed Galya, then she’d kill him.