Lindsay continued holding Dot hostage to her furry cabaret show. “Sha-sha-sha…shake it, girl, shake it!”
“Let. The. Dog. Go. You can do it, Lindsay,” her dad ordered.
With an exaggerated pout, Lindsay sighed. “Fine.” She handed Dot back to Ben, and he held her close to his chest. “But we
are
getting a dog soon, Dad. Just like Dot.”
“No way, sweetheart,” he said as he strolled away. “We’re getting another Lab.”
“But, Dad…” Lindsay trailed after him, turning around from ten feet away to wave. “Bye, Ben! See ya at swim practice tomorrow!”
He waved back, unsure of what had just happened. Their father-daughter interaction was so breezy and playful, so different from anything he’d known with his parents. Dot yelped as she watched them leave.
“Do you like Lindsay, Dot?” he asked. He snuggled his nose into her fur. “I do too.”
Maybe a little girly dog wasn’t
all
bad.
17. Congress
A
NITA’S
D
OOR
S
TOOD
partially open, and Sophie wondered if she should knock. As Anita’s colleague, it would be fine to pop her head in the office. But part of her still thought of herself as Anita’s former grad student, who would need to show respect.
When she finally knocked, there was no answer, and she was just about to walk away when she heard Anita say, “Wow.”
“Anita?” No response. She knocked again, still getting no answer, and finally pressed on the door until it opened wide. Anita sat facing her computer with her back to the door. When Sophie saw black wires running from the hard drive to Anita’s ears, it all made sense.
She spoke louder this time. “Anita!”
With a flinch, the redhead swiveled in her chair. “Hey!” She yanked the earbuds out. “Speak of the devil.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Of course not!” Anita laughed as she gestured to the chair across from her. “I was just listening to your interview of prisoner number six. You did a fantastic job.”
“Oh! Um, thank you.” Sophie closed the door and took a seat.
“Nora transcribed the interviews for us,” Anita said, holding up some papers.
“I’m glad she joined our project.”
Anita nodded. “You can never get too many pubs when you’ll be on the job market soon. Anyway, I was reading the transcript for prisoner number six, and I was impressed at the depth of her responses. You got some good stuff, here. I wanted to know your secrets, so I decided to listen to the interview myself.”
She felt a blush. “Aw, Anita, you should listen to
your
interviews if you want the good stuff.”
“Are you kidding? I can write a cogent story with the data, but
you’re
the one eliciting such rich data from the prisoners. I don’t know how you connect with them so well.”
A fire now raged in Sophie’s cheeks. “It might help that I also spent time at Downer’s Grove.”
Anita shook her head. “That’s not what I meant at all. You need to put that behind you and realize what a talent you have.” She grabbed the transcript. “Listen to this.” She read aloud:
“
Prisoner: Then I found out I got a better chance of getting back my kids, once I get out, if I go to counseling. That’s why I keep going, even though it was stupid at first.
Sophie: What parts seemed stupid to you?
Prisoner: Uh…(sighs). Thinking about the past again. Telling Dr. Ashby about it, too. I didn’t want her to know what he did to me and my kids. What I let Tyrone do.
Sophie: Tyrone—is he the father of your children?
Prisoner: No—he long gone. Their dad’s a loser, but he’d never hurt him like Tyrone did. And I just sat back…didn’t do nothin’ when Tyrone punched them…backhanded my babies…
Sophie: How awful for you to have to witness that. You feel tremendous guilt about Tyrone beating your children, when you were unable to stop it?
Prisoner: Dr. Ashby keep telling me it’s not my fault, what Tyrone did to us…Tyrone told me he’d kill me if I fought him. I shoulda stopped him, though. I shoulda stopped him
.”
Sophie took a slow breath as she remembered Dominique’s self-blame—exactly what Logan had experienced. She shook her head and tried to focus on Anita’s voice as she continued reading the transcript.
“
Sophie: He threatened your life, but you feel ashamed you couldn’t stop the abuse. It still haunts you. The traumatic memories give you nightmares.
Prisoner: Well, I don’t get nightmares as much since I started with Dr. Ashby.
Sophie: I’m glad to hear that. I wonder, what makes it hard to believe Tyrone’s actions aren’t your fault?
Prisoner: They…they’re my babies. He beat them. He…he raped my little girl. (cries) I’m the one who brought Ty into their lives. I’m the one.
Sophie: (pauses as the prisoner cries) I’m so sad you and your children had to go through that. Simply horrifying. (pauses) Where is Tyrone now?
Prisoner: (sniffs) Six feet under.
Sophie: I see. That’s why you’re here at Downer’s Grove?
Prisoner: He can’t hurt my babies anymore
.”
Anita lowered the paper and stared. “That’s an
appalling
story. She trusted you in such a short time to tell you what happened. How’d you manage to track her so closely without reacting in shock? How’d you keep going with the empathy? I mean, this woman killed the man who’d raped her daughter!”
“I…” Sophie swallowed. “I’ve heard a version of this story before, I guess.”
“And
that’s
why I never wanted to become a therapist.” Anita shuddered. “But why did number six go to prison? Wasn’t it self-defense?”
“I asked the CO the same question after the interview. He told me she’d stabbed her ex in his sleep…forty-three times.”
“Oh.” Anita cringed. “I guess that’s not self-defense.”
“No, I guess not.” Sophie looked down at her hands in her lap. “I can see why she did it, though. After hearing her story,
I
wanted to kill Tyrone.”
“Hmm. It sounds like counseling has really helped this prisoner.”
Sophie nodded. “It’s dangerous to show any vulnerability on the inside—those nightmares could’ve gotten her in trouble. The fact that her nightmares decreased is a big help in itself. Dr. Ashby did a good job.”
“
You
did a good job with this prisoner, Sophie. You helped her.”
“I…I was only with her for an hour.”
“And in only one hour, she wanted
you
to be her psychologist instead of Dr. Ashby!”
She squirmed. “Um, so I came here to see if you’d like to get lunch?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Anita sat back in her chair and sighed. “You know, I was sad when you didn’t follow my footsteps into academia, but I always understood why. You have a gift for therapy. And as much as I love having you here at DePaul, have you thought about going in front of the board to get your license back?”
Sophie pressed her palm to her forehead, feeling the beginning of a hunger headache. Or maybe it was a career headache. A regret headache.
“Sorry for badgering you,” Anita said softly. When Sophie looked up, she was smiling. “I promise I won’t say anything about therapy
or
research at lunch. C’mon.”
***
“Warm night,” Andrei said as he stomped out his cigarette on the pavement.
Grant nodded. They stood outside a bar in West Town. Agent Bounter had told him this was one of the Russians’ favorite hangouts, but they’d never taken him here before. He wondered what that meant.
Andrei inhaled the night air. “Would not be so warm in home country in March.”
In Solntsevo, you mean?
“Just wait—it’ll get cold again. Where did you grow up?”
Andrei glared at him, then headed into the bar.
Apparently personal questions weren’t allowed. With a deep breath, he followed.
He heard some welcoming shouts as Andrei stepped inside, but once he came through the door, the reception cooled. Dark eyes studied him.
“Is my friend Mick,” Andrei said to his buddies at the bar.
Though a few men nodded, the hard set of their jaws and coldness of their eyes revealed ongoing suspicion.
Andrei beckoned him to a booth. “Come.”
Grant swallowed and slid onto the cracked plastic cushion on the bench, wishing his back wasn’t facing the door. A stooped, gray-haired man arrived a second later with shots of vodka.
Andrei raised his shot glass. “
Budem
.”
“
Budem
.” When Grant felt fire slide down his throat, he finally exhaled.
You can do this
. “You’ve never taken me here before.”
“Is good place for talk.”
Grant nodded as he listened to the faint sounds of a Cubs spring training game on a TV hanging over the corner of the bar. Likely it wasn’t the atypical quiet of this place that made it good for a chat. Instead, the Russians had probably swept it for bugs that very day.
When another round of shots arrived, Grant tensed. If they kept up this pace, he’d soon be on the floor.
“Leave us now,” Andrei told the man. “To your success,” he added, lifting his glass. Grant clinked his glass to Andrei’s and knocked back the second shot. Andrei wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in. “Vladimir like you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I not say that to many men.”
Grant wasn’t sure how to respond.
“But you still in debt.”
“When I get my next paycheck—”
“Shut,” Andrei ordered. “We all know once you pay, you lose again. You pathetic.”
Grant found himself strangely wounded by the insult, as if he cared whether he won or lost at cards. Perhaps he was playing the role of gambling addict a bit too well. “C’mon, you know I’ll pay up. And one day I’ll win big…I can feel it.”
Andrei blew out through his nose. “One day might never come, but today…is
here
. Now.” Black eyes stared him down. “You do jobs for us, pay debt.”
Here it comes.
“What kind of jobs?”
“The kind we tell you to do.”
Now Grant leaned in. “Listen, if you expect me to break the law —”
“Who say break law?” Andrei’s eyes gleamed.
Grant suppressed a snort. “All I’m saying is if you expect me to…take
risks
, you better pay me a percentage of what we take in.”
Mischief vanished from Andrei’s eyes. “You in no position to bargain.” His hand darted under the table and seized Grant’s junk, squeezing his balls like a vise.
Following the sharp slam of pain came a flash of nausea. Grant couldn’t breathe, and he definitely couldn’t speak.
The pain
. His hands itched to break Andrei’s damn wrists, but he didn’t want to reveal the moves he’d learned at Quantico. His vision started to cloud, and he squeaked, “Okay.”
Andrei held on for a few sickening seconds more, then finally released him. Grant sank back in the booth, sucking in air. Warmth flooded his injured groin.
“We have understanding now,” Andrei said, his voice low.
He opened his eyes, the spots fading from his vision. “Yes, sir.”
A small grin spread on Andrei’s face. “You work submarines in Navy,
da?”
“Uh…” Grant cleared his throat. “They trained me on subs, but I mostly worked on aircraft carriers.”
“You know how to drive subs.”
“I…” He shrugged.
Two black slits stared back at him.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, feeling his heart flutter. “I can figure it out.”
“Good. Go south, drive sub here. Leave in one week.”
South?
He remembered learning the Russians were probably using defunct submarines to transport drugs to the U.S. from several South American locations.
Columbia? Ecuador?
“South? Where are we going?”
Andrei ignored the question. “But first, we need cash—pay for product. That where you come in.”
I thought I was already
in.
“Break into safe at hotel.”
His mouth dropped open. “I couldn’t do that to Mr. Remington, after all he’s done for me…and I don’t even know how to get to the safe!”