Enemy Within (Vampire Born Trilogy, #2) (41 page)

It’s the kitchen of a small bakery. “Is this yours?” He always did want to open one.

“Yeah. I finally quit blowing my money and saved enough to buy out the previous owner. It’s small, but it’s mine.”

“Well done,” I say and clap him on the back.

“Thanks.”

“You know him?” Brooke asks.

“Hi, I’m Andric,” he says and walks over to Brooke. When he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, she pulls back.

“Sorry, I’m a little on edge right now and would rather you not touch me.”

“American,” Andric says and looks at me with a knowing grin.

I shrug. I’ve lived in America for a long time. I’ve come to appreciate the women. Especially this one.

“I’m grateful for your help out there, but we should go before they turn back.”

“The least you can do is tell me why they’re chasing you.” Andric always liked a good fight. And to know everyone’s business.

“We’re here without clearance,” I say and lead Brooke toward what I hope is the front of the bakery.

Andric steps in our way. “Whoa. Why are you here without getting clearance?”

I shake my head. I don’t have time for this. Telling him will be the fastest, easiest way to get him out of our way, though. “We’re looking for Kresimira, but she can’t know we’re here looking for her.”

I put my arm out and try to push him aside, but he steps back in front of me. “Kresimira? Why?”

“Dammit, Andric. Because she’s a melez.” I point to Brooke. “Zladislov’s daughter, and we have a meeting with the Commissioners in two damn days, and Kresimira has evidence that Emerik is one as well, which we need for leverage within the Commission.”

“No shit?” Andric says and studies Brooke again. “Well, I don’t know where Kresimira is, but I do know of someone else who had melez kids with Sandor. And I know where she is.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I take a step back. All right, now we’re getting somewhere. For once, I’m glad Andric is a nosy little bastard.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Brooke

Mirko is certain Andric’s word is good and that he’s someone we can trust, so we’re waiting outside the main square early in the morning for him to pick us up. He’s taking us to the woman and the kids she had with Sandor who Andric mentioned last night. If we can’t find Kresimira and our evidence against Orell, maybe we can discredit Sandor. Not as good, but it’s something.

It
’s chilly this morning, and a low fog has rolled into the area. We’re wearing our coats, but Kaitlynn and I still huddle close to share body heat.

Andric pulls up in a red hatchback Volkswagen. I’m not surprised by the color. Red cars here are as common as white cars are back h
ome.

Mirko takes the front, and the rest of us climb into the back.

“Good morning, good morning,” Andric greets us and then we’re off. He’s a nice enough guy, but he knows something about everyone. For the whole half hour it takes for us to get to Šćitarjevo, an area of one of the oldest settlements in Croatia, he updates Mirko on a ton of people.

It seems gossipy to me, but I’m sure Mirko regards it as intel. Some of it’s in English, some in Croatian.

I catch bits and pieces of the English stuff, and hear enough to know the woman we’re seeing, Cila, is older now and might be cranky about our stopping by.

The neighborhood we arrive in is a mixture of low-class and lower-class homes. They appear to be from different time periods, some large, some shacklike, some in good condition, and some worn with age.

Andric stops in front of a tiny green home on a medium-sized plot of land. You could fit three of the smaller-than-a-single-wide homes on the property. There are two-story houses on each side, making the little one seem even smaller. And the plaster is crumbling away, exposing reddish-brown bricks near the corners.

Andric knocks on the maroon door, and a short, old woman answers. She’s wearing a purple, long-sleeved blouse with lilies on it, and her gray and white hair is pulled back and mostly covered with a white scarf. Her tanned face is wrinkled, probably from years of working outside in her yard and garden.

Mirko speaks to her in Croatian.

She grumbles something back, but moves out of the way to let us in.

I follow behind Mirko and Andric, and Kaitlynn and Ace follow me. The inside is as small as it looks from the outside. It’s an open floor plan with no walls separating the living area from the kitchenette and the bedroom. There is one small door in the corner, which I assume is the bathroom because I don’t see a toilet or shower in the space.

Cila says something in Croatian, and Mirko smiles and shakes his head. “She’s offering us water.” Cila then walks over to the fridge that reaches the top of her short height, probably a full five feet.

Mirko offers the floral, lightly aged sofa to Kaitlynn and me. There’s a rocking chair off to the side of the room’s center, not far from the dresser next to bed, but Mirko leaves that for Cila.

“What did she say before the offer of water?” I whisper while Cila hands a glass to Andric.

“She asked if we wanted any rakia. It’s a fermented fruit, alcoholic drink.”

The legal drinking age here is eighteen. Do we all look at least that old, or does Cila not really care?

She hands out the last glass and sits heavily and stiffly into her rocking chair. She speaks with Mirko in Croatian, and he replies the same.

She drops her head, shaking it. She looks agitated and sad as she speaks. The wrinkles in her chin deepen as her frown intensifies. She puts her arms out and lifts her sleeves, revealing nasty scars.

Mirko reaches over and grabs a tissue from the box on the dresser and hands it to her. He says something when she takes it. His tone is gentle and comforting.

“She said
she did have twins with Sandor, a boy and a girl. When they were eleven, Sandor came to their home and tied the kids up in the house while she was away at the market, and he lit the house on fire.

“She arrived in time to see his stražar running from the
property and the house go up in flames. She tried to get in and save them, but the flames were too high and too thick. Her clothes caught fire and her arms burned. There was nothing she could do to save them or put out the fire, so they burned to death. They’d be in their thirties now if they were still alive.” His voice is sad as he translates.

“Oh my gosh.” I cover my mouth. How horrible. Sandor’s evil goes far beyond what I ever thought possible. To burn his own kids alive seems like the worst way he could’ve killed them. It’s so cruel.

It’s not lost on me that this also means we won’t have any of Sandor’s melez offspring to bring back as evidence. But I feel so bad for Cila, I can’t find it within me to be sad for myself.

“Does she have any proof Sandor fathered her kids?” Ace asks.

I look at him with my eyebrows stitched together. Insensitive of him, but I can’t be too mad because I know he’s only doing his job. He must realize it is somewhat rude because he asked Mirko in English instead of asking Cila directly in Croatian. It’s Mirko’s call if he thinks we should ask her that.

He waits for Cila to drop her hand with the tissue into her lap before he speaks again.

She replies, and then Mirko translates. “She doesn’t. All she has is her story.”

“Well,” I say, the pieces falling together like a perfect line of dominoes, “if we thought Kresimira would’ve testified about Emerik, we could’ve used that instead of the journal or painting, right? So if Cila will come back with us and testify, that should work too, wouldn’t it?”

Mirko speaks to Cila again.

She shakes her head sharply as she talks.

They go back and forth for a minute before Mirko translates. “She says she doesn’t want to travel, nor does she want to see Sandor again.”

“Please,” I beg her. “This could be your only chance at justice for your kids. It will really help me too, because they want to hurt me. And my family. Things are not good there now with Sandor and his friends. We need you. And the least that would come of your testimony would be that you can tell everyone what Sandor did to your poor babies.”

Her face softens as I speak. I’m not sure if she understands any of my words or just the emotion within them and on my face, but something shifts within her.

Her lip quivers and she tells me something in Croatian.

Mirko translates. “She’s afraid.”

“I know you are. And I am too. But Sandor is a terrible man. He shouldn’t be allowed to have any power over people. He should be punished, or in the least shunned, for what he did to your kids.”

Mirko translates what I said to her, and she responds.

“She said she wants the world to know the evil things Sandor did to their children.”

“So she’ll come?” I ask hesitantly.

Mirko says something to her, then to us. “Yes, but we have to pay for her travels there and back, and ensure her security.”

“We can do that, right?”

“Yes, she’s coming with us.” Mirko grins.

My lip twitches but that’s the most I can work up toward smiling. Her loss benefits me, and I hate it.

Cila packs a bag while Mirko makes some calls. He arranges for Pavao to pick us up where he dropped us off, and Andric agrees to drive us there.

We’ll be leaving our clubbing clothes at the hotel, but Mirko says it’s not worth it to go all the way back for them when we’re closer to the pickup site. Mirko calls the hotel and arranges with them to check us out remotely.

When Cila is ready, she makes a sweep of her house and then locks up when we leave. She has a limp in her gait. We give her the front with Andric, and the rest of us sit in the back, with Kaitlynn on my lap. Things are still in a weird limbo stage with Mirko and me as we haven’t really talked about last night, so I figure having little Kaitlynn sit on my lap will be the least awkward of our options.

We make it to the pickup site and get out to stretch our legs while we wait. After an hour, the plane lands.

Pavao drops the stairs as Mirko thanks and says goodbye to Andric. He’s actually been really helpful. I say goodbye and let him kiss my cheeks this time.

He smiles at Mirko before he gets back into his car and drives away.

Pavao gets us in the air, and we’re on our way to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Mirko hands me his phone and I call my mom.

“Oh, honey. I’m so glad you guys are all right.”

“Mirko says you and Garwin are meeting us in Pittsburgh?” They won’t be allowed inside with me, either, but there’s no way they’re not coming.

“Yes, we’ll be there before you land, along with Vasek. I’ll have a dress for you. You get some rest and try to relax. We’ve done everything we can.”

Great, I’ll have to wear a dress? If I had the balls, I’d arrive in jeans to show them how stupid I think their customs are. “I’ll try,” I say. “Um, have you heard from Jaren at all?”

“No, honey. I’m sorry. He hasn’t come back and he’s not answering his phone. He probably wants to cool off for a while.”

I can’t help but worry about him. He left after our argument and hasn’t returned. Something could’ve happened to him. “Well, let us know if you do. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too.”

I hand the phone to Kaitlynn so she can call her parents. After she does, we recline in our seats and fall asleep.

I’m not sure how long I’m out when Mirko wakes me. “You’re scratching your stitches. It looks healed to the point we can take them out.”

I gawk at him. “
You’re
going to do it?”