Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) (8 page)

The train finally stops moving, and the noise of exiting passengers commences.

“You have to trust that I will always find you. No matter where you are, I will find you. From here on out, we will not be seen together in public. You are Amelia Night, a consultant for a lucrative hotel chain, a businesswoman in town for just that—business. Don’t look around for me. Simply get to the hotel and secure a room. I will communicate with you once you’re settled.”

I nod, saying nothing.

He lifts his hand and places it on my cheek. My knees feel like they are going to give out, but I keep them locked in place, hoping I remain upright.

Nikolai leans in and lowers his lips down to mine. “You can do this, Josslyn.”

My thudding heart stops as his soft, warm lips press against mine. I can taste the mint of his toothpaste and detect the spicy, addicting scent of his cologne as he lightly explores my lips.

The kiss only lasts for a mere second, but it feels as though time has stopped. The doom we are about to embark on is not even a thought.

“Trust me, Josslyn.”

I nod again as Nikolai turns me around until I’m facing the door of our cabin. With weakened knees, I lift my garment bag, placing it on my shoulder; pull the small carry-on suitcase behind me; and put my briefcase on the opposite shoulder of my garment bag. Then I step out of the room, locating the nearest exit.

As my feet connect with the steps, I shed the anxiousness and walk from the train. Looking out ahead of me, I repeat the mantra over and over in my mind:
I’m Amelia Night, consultant. I’m Amelia Night, consultant
. With every step I take, I feel myself relax.

The crowd is larger than I expected, and the air smells dingy, but I roll my shoulders back and take the steps toward my unknown future.

As I cross the brick platform, I am in awe for a moment of the vastness of Kievsky Station. Looking up, I see the roof is grand, made of glass and steel, and the tunnel appears to go on forever. I follow the crowd, weaving through the people until I find an exit from the station.

I keep my head focused on what I am doing, trusting that Nikolai is behind me. It wouldn’t be hard for him to blend in with the sea of people coming and going from the station.

When I walk closer to the exit, I notice the illuminated map on the wall. Not knowing exactly where I am going, I see I am only a few blocks from Red Square, and adjacent to the tourist area lays my hotel. For me, it makes more sense to walk to the Four Seasons versus riding in a cab. After all, I’m not even sure how people hail cabs in Russia. Is it the same as the cities in America? I also don’t want to look like some directionally challenged American who is attracting attention, either. The thought of walking is just a thought, however. It’s not the plan Nikolai and I discussed, and I really don’t want him pissed off because I changed it up slightly.

I step from the train station and absorb the warm air. The hustle and bustle in the train station seems to spill over to the sidewalks outside the building. I walk down the sidewalk, looking for a taxi, coming to a stop.

I guess I was picturing cabs lined up outside, looking for customers, similar to how it is when you exit an airport in the States where cab drivers swarm the airports, seeking their next fair. That is not the case at Kievsky. I don’t really see any place where taxis could be waiting for their next customer.

My gut is telling me now is the time be worried. I want to walk to the hotel, but I don’t want to deviate from the plan. However, walking might be the only thing I can do.

My mind is bouncing around, and the once hardened façade starts to crumble as I debate how I need to proceed. I want to look back. I want to turn around to see if Nikolai is behind me, but I can’t.

I push away my apprehension and get my feet moving, searching for a cab. The anxiety of the situation has transformed into a living, breathing beast. I cannot remember when I felt so nervous, even when I was on the job. Yes, the situations I walked into were terrifying, but I never felt this level of panic. I guess the adrenaline was more powerful than the fear, but this … This is altogether different. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any control over what is happening. Maybe it’s because I’m in an unfamiliar place, and if I slip up, I will be killed. Maybe it’s because I’m assuming a false identity, and I have killed men all for the sake of revenge.

My terror intensifies with every step forward. I can feel the passing individuals’ eyes on me. They are examining me, and I am examining them. Do they recognize me? Are any of them
thieves
?

Every single set of eyes makes me think they will shoot me dead or kidnap me.
Get a grip, Josslyn. Get a damn grip
. It does no good. The rising panic still looms just under the surface of my skin.

I start to sweat. The breaths residing deep in my chest get trapped in my lungs as I walk on weakening legs. What the hell is happening to me? I can feel the panic. It’s boiling to the surface. I am seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.

Just as the alarm takes over, a taxi rounds the corner and pulls up to the curb.

“Ma’am? Do you need a ride?” the cab driver shouts from the rolled down window.

I can’t answer him. I don’t think my voice is fully restored. Instead, I nod my head and stride as best as I can over to his car.

The air starts to even out when the driver takes my belongings and puts them in the trunk.

I’m finally in the safety of the backseat when the driver startles me by slamming the door shut.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“The Four Seasons hotel, please,” I manage to get out. Shockingly, my voice sounds normal.

We ride to the hotel in silence, the only sound coming from the tires thumping along the roadway. I inhale deeply through my nose, detecting the scent of stale food and cigarettes, but it’s a welcome smell because it’s not blood or death.
Holy shit, Josslyn! If you are going to make it through this alive, you have to get your shit together
!

I use the short trip to the hotel to take deep breaths and gather up my random thoughts of panic. By the time we turn the corner and pull up to the outside of the hotel, I feel slightly better.

.*.*.*.

August 18, 2015 8:32 p.m.

“Thank you, Miss Night,” the buxom woman behind the counter says as she passes the plastic room key across to me. “You’ll be on the tenth floor, room 1057. The grand premier suite has a spectacular view of Red Square and will accommodate all of your business needs.”

I look up at the woman and smile tightly at her as I pick up the key. “Thank you. I’ve had a long two days of travel; can you please make sure I am not disturbed?”

By the time I walked through the door of the Four Seasons Hotel, my fears had fallen away, and I had resumed my persona of Amelia Night. I’m really not sure why I was freaking out so much on the streets, but this uneasy feeling kept stirring in my gut.

“Of course. Will there be anything else I can help you with? Would you like help with your bags?”

“No, that will be all.” I lift my briefcase off the counter after securing all my Amelia Night identification away then pull the small carry-on behind me.

The lobby is enormous. The ceilings appear to reach the sky, and the light green and gray décor accents the vast space nicely. I don’t hesitate to look around, but soon remember the role I’m supposed to play.

I slide the garment bag higher on my shoulder and walk to the elevator. My head aches and my nerves are shot. I need a stiff drink and a hot bath. Maybe then I will be able to relax enough to take a breath.

The small elevator is full when I step on. The space smells of chlorine from the pool area and body odor. There is a man wrapped in a robe, cloaked in sweat. Clearly, he has just finished up with the sauna. And two older woman wet from the pool are draped in expensive hotel robes.

The trip to the tenth floor seems to take forever as I stop on three different floors before getting to mine. When the doors finally open, I step out into the hallway and navigate my way to the room. The door beeps when I pull the card key out, granting me access.

When I cross the threshold, I am once again in awe. The room is large and twice the size of my apartment at home. The area is set up like a swanky, contemporary style loft with a sitting area on the right side and the sleeping area on the left. The half-wall between the two areas has a see-through fireplace with flat screens affixed on either side. It’s stunning, and I can feel myself getting used to the accommodations that surround Nikolai’s lifestyle.

I walk to bedroom area and pull my clothes from the garment bag and suitcase, proceeding to hang them in the closet, but the anxious feeling begins to return. I don’t know if it’s the emptiness of the room or worrying about Nikolai.

Needing to keep my hands busy and my mind clear, I finish putting my clothes in the closet then step toward the mini bar. The small bottles probably cost a fortune, but I don’t care. I pull out a bottle of the top-shelf vodka then locate the ice bucket. Walking down the hall, I retrieve ice from the vending area then hustle back to the room.

I pull cubes of ice out with the small tongs and drop them into the glass with a clank. Then I crack open the small bottle and dump the clear contents over ice. My hands are starting to shake, my nerves fried.

I walk to the fruit basket and find a couple of limes inside. I use the letter opener from the desk to slice them open. The citrus smell fills the air when I squeeze the fruit then drop the lime wedge into my glass before gulping down the drink.

My throat burns, but I chug it down and repeat the process. Again and again.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Nikolai

August 18, 2015 7:53 p.m.

J
osslyn walks from the sleeper coach, her legs wobbly, but she manages to go out on her own. I know she wasn’t prepared for this—the journey across Moscow alone—but there is no time. From this moment on, she and I are no more in public. Like I promised, I will follow her, but I can’t watch her every second, because I need to see who has interest in her, if anyone. I need to draw out the
thieves
if possible, and Josslyn is my live bait. She will not go unnoticed on the streets of Moscow.

Any hot-blooded man would be a fool not to gaze in her direction. However, a woman of Josslyn’s beauty will definitely attract the attention of the criminal underworld. The human trafficking trade was just starting to become popular when I was locked away in prison, and from what I have read over the years, it has become an epidemic.

This is where dangling my sexy, American bait will come in handy. She is a little old for some men’s liking, or the wrong sex for that matter, but I know several men involved in the auction would love to have a taste of Josslyn.

The scouts for these large auctions will undoubtedly zero in on her. And, with any luck, I will find a
thief
on the other end.

The hatred runs deep for Americans, and Stravinsky is one of them. He would especially love breaking her.

Josslyn steps out onto the street and freezes. She holds her belongings, struggling with what to do next.

I try to let the aggravation roll off my shoulders when it’s clear she is on the verge of having a meltdown. Keeping a low profile, I move over to the side of the building to observe, tucked into an alleyway between two old, brick buildings. I inwardly scream for her to move. She’s doing the exact opposite of what I told her to do. If anyone looks frightened and lost, it’s her.

She turns to the side, looking down the street, trying to find a taxi.

I can’t watch this happen any longer. Yes, I wanted her to be bait, but she is putting herself in too much danger by standing there in a panic on the streets.

Setting my suitcase down, I pull my cell phone out and dial the number for a local cab company. The operator comes on the line, and I tell them the location and to look for an American girl in a gray suit. The operator assures me someone will be over in a couple of minutes. Hopefully, that is true.

As she starts moving down the street, a man tucked next to a building steps from the shadows. My gut stirs in warning when he walks out onto the sidewalk and blends in. I don’t know this man, and from what I can tell, he doesn’t appear to be part of the
thieves
. His ethnicity is wrong; he appears to be of Middle Eastern descent. I won’t be able to tell for sure until I get a good look at him, though.

I come out of my alcove and cross the busy sidewalk, keeping a good distance behind to remain unseen. I flank him on the left as I travel coolly down the street, keeping my feet steady, walking as casually yet as assertively as possible.

The people walking in the opposite direction take note of my demanding stride and move to the side. I don’t need to move my eyes anywhere except between Josslyn and the strange man.

He is dressed out of place for this time of year. It’s nearly seventy-five degrees, and the man is wearing a heavy black leather coat, boots, and dark denim jeans. I’m certain people would say that about my leather gloves, but I have found no one really notices them until I raise my hand to shake theirs or wrap them around someone’s throat. However, a heavy winter coat is something else entirely. He’s an amateur.

I sidestep a hole in the concrete, diverting my eyes momentarily to the ground. When I raise them again, it’s then I see the bulge under his jacket. It may fool some, but not me. He’s strapped and on the hunt.

The distance between the two of them is dwindling. He picks up the pace, reaching inside his coat.

Swiftly, I step diagonally across the sidewalk, getting directly behind him. He’s only a few feet from Josslyn, and when I look at her, she has no fucking idea what is about to happen, which pisses me off. Does she not have any self-awareness for danger? She is a cop, so you would think she would have some kind of alarm going off. She seemed to know every step I made when I was hunting Boris in Blythe Harbor.