Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) (26 page)

T
he next morning Vanna called to Jenny through the vent. There was no reply.

“Jenny?” Vanna raised her voice. “You awake?”

Still no answer.

Goose bumps spread up and down her arms, and her skin crawled with fear. “Jenny?”

Was she still asleep? Or down in the kitchen? Usually they were taken downstairs together. She lay in her bed, worrying a hand through her hair until she heard a tread on the stairs.

Someone knocked on the door. “Get up,” the voice said harshly. Vanna’s stomach flipped. Whoever it was spoke English without an accent.

She threw on sweats. A new guard unlocked the door and entered. Shaved head, not too tall, but barrel-chested and built like an eighteen-wheeler. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and a holster with a gun belted around his waist.

“Who are you?” Vanna asked.

“Your worst nightmare.”

“But where is—”

“Shut up. Or you’ll end up like your friend.”

What was he talking about?

“Downstairs.” He pulled out his gun and aimed it at her. “And remember this is loaded.”

Vanna made her way down the stairs. Something was very wrong. No one had ever pointed a gun at her. Where was Jenny? Where was Sergei, for that matter?

In the kitchen Zoya was on her cell. The smelly guard was by the door, but the new guard stayed only inches away, invading her personal space.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She did.

Zoya disconnected and stared hard at Vanna. “What you know?”

Vanna was confused. “About what?”

“Jinny,” Zoya said, pronouncing the
e
like an
i
. “I know you talk through vent. What she say?”

“Nothing.” Vanna looked around, her fear rising. “Where is she?”

Zoya’s lips pressed into a grim, tight line. “What she say you last night?”

“Nothing.” Panic skipped up Vanna’s spine. “What happened?”

The new guard and Zoya exchanged glances. Zoya threw him a nod, and he spoke. “Your friend managed to escape last night during the—when the other girl was screaming.”

Vanna’s eyes went wide. “Jenny?” She didn’t think Jenny had it in her to run. Especially by herself.

“Yeah, well, she didn’t make it far.”

Vanna froze.

“We eventually found her on 173 near Harvard. Let’s just say…” He hesitated. “…she won’t be coming back.”

B
efore they locked her in her room again, Vanna heard on the radio that the body of a young blond pregnant girl had been found on Route 173. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Vanna’s stomach pitched, and she ran to the bathroom to vomit. When she returned, the announcer reported that police were still investigating another murder a few days earlier in Evanston. That time it was an Eastern European man, gunned down from an SUV in a drive-by. One look at the new guard, defiant yet proud, was all it took. Sergei was dead.

No one cared whether she lived or died. Not Vlad. Not Zoya. Not her mother. Not the half sister she didn’t know but hoped would somehow rescue her. All she had was the memory of a loving father, and he was dead. She was alone. Nobody’s child. Her life wasn’t worth a sheet of used toilet paper. The first time she’d heard the expression, she thought it was just the cynicism of an acne-scarred kid she went to high school with. She knew better now.

T
he two guards hustled Georgia into the farmhouse. They stripped off her coat, her fisherman’s sweater, and her boots. They found her cell phone and her baby Glock right away, as well as the throw-down in her ankle holster. Georgia tried to concentrate on her surroundings, looking for a way to escape, but she was now wearing just a tank top, jeans, and socks, which were soaked through. Although the kitchen was warm, its heat seemed to mock how cold she was, and she couldn’t stop shivering.

The men cuffed her hands behind her back, tied her to a kitchen chair, and stuffed a gag in her mouth. Then they congratulated themselves with shots of vodka. They talked in Russian, but one rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and laughed, all the while throwing lewd grins at Georgia. The other, a dopey smile on his face, thumped his glass on the table whenever he wanted another shot. Georgia didn’t need a translator.

Someone with a heavy tread thumped down the stairs.

“
Chto proishodit?
” a sandpapery voice called out. Georgia knew that voice. The guards quieted, and a moment later Zoya came into the kitchen. When she spotted Georgia, she halted midstep. At least Georgia had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s jaw drop.

“You!” Zoya’s eyes narrowed to slits.

Georgia didn’t answer. The guards exchanged worried glances. Evidently they were afraid of the woman.

Zoya folded her arms, and her expression went flat. She stared at Georgia for a long moment. Then she said in clear English, “Put in dead girl’s room.”

Georgia flinched. Had that been Savannah’s room?

* * *

Great PI she was, Georgia thought after they dragged her upstairs, threw her into a bedroom, and locked the door. Unspeakable things were happening in this place, and she was powerless to do anything about them. She hadn’t seen her sister and had no reason to think she was at the farmhouse. Savannah could be anywhere: downtown, uptown, in the suburbs, in a ditch. She had no way of knowing if her call to the Russians went through, either. It was possible the cavalry wouldn’t come. She had screwed up. She wouldn’t make it out alive.

It was late, but a silver moon threw luminous stripes across the room. Bars hugged the windows, and the double lock on the door was out of reach, since her hands were cuffed. The guards had, however, taken the gag out of her mouth, believing, apparently, that she wasn’t the type to scream. They were right. At first she thought she might be able to work the cuffs off, but she couldn’t, and even if she could, she had nothing to help her pick the lock.

She lay on the bed on her side and let out a dejected sigh. She must have dozed off, because the moonlight was weaker and the stripes had disappeared when she opened her eyes. A quiet hiss was coming from across the room. Was it the heat flowing through a vent? She squeezed her eyes shut to focus. The hissing stopped. Then it started again, and she realized that was what woke her. She rolled toward the sound. The bedsprings squeaked.

The hissing stopped abruptly, and a tiny voice whispered. “Hey, is anyone there?”

Instantly alert, Georgia bolted from the bed. The words were coming from the corner, nearly at floor level. She tiptoed over, found a vent, and squatted next to it.

“Who’s there?” she whispered back.

“Who are you?” the voice whispered.

No cat-and-mouse game here. “I’m Georgia Davis.”

“Oh my God. I’m Savannah.”

“Y
ou’re alive!” Georgia breathed. “Are you hurt? How long have you been here?”

Savannah giggled through the vent. At least Georgia thought it was a giggle. “I can’t believe it! Is it really you?”

“It is.” Georgia felt her throat get thick. She blinked rapidly. “Tell me everything.”

Savannah breathed in through her nose, and Georgia realized what she’d thought was a giggle was actually a sob. “It won’t do any good.”

“Don’t say that.” Georgia felt her eyes fill. She wished she could wipe her eyes with her sleeve but her hands were tied. “Tell me what you look like.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty. Blond. Blue eyes. But I’m too thin.”

“I wish I could see you. How old are you?”

“Almost sixteen.”

“How long have you been in Chicago?”

“Since last March.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Denver.”

“I never knew about you, you know.”

“I just found out about you, too. Mom told me.”

Long-buried memories surfaced for Georgia. Her mother holding her hand in the supermarket. Taking her to school on her first day of kindergarten. Watching her rip open Christmas presents. And then the long days and nights after she’d gone and Georgia waited for her to come back. She wanted to ask Savannah what her mother was like, but now wasn’t the time. “Why’d you leave?”

Savannah hesitated. “Long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

Savannah explained how she’d run away, how she’d ended up in Chicago, how she’d met Lazlo, which led to trafficking and heroin, which led to Vlad. Then she stopped. “Wait. Why are you here? Didn’t Sergei warn you?”

Surprised, Georgia sat back on her haunches. “About what? I got your note a while ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“But I told you not to.”

Georgia frowned. “No, you told me to find you. That you were pregnant and you needed me.”

“Oh fuck. I told Sergei to tell you to ignore it. He forced me to write it. I— ”

“Sergei?”

“No. Vlad.”

“You know Vlad?”

“Of course I know Vlad. I’m pregnant with his baby. He and I—hey, wait. How do you know Vlad?”

“Hold on. Are you saying that Vlad forced you to write me that note?”

“Yes. Exactly. It was a trap. I even tried to call you. But the guard snatched the phone away.”

The call she’d gotten while she was investigating the flash rob. It hadn’t been a butt dial. She frowned, remembering something else. “But your DNA was on the napkin. I had it tested.”

“He pricked my finger and made me smear it on the wrapper. He knew you’d do that. He’s been trying to reel you in.”

Georgia remembered Boris talking about Vlad playing cat and mouse. Leaving bread crumbs to trap his prey.

“The next day I begged Sergei to set you straight. Instead he was killed. Vlad must have found out I’d sent him and had him killed.” Vanna let out a strangled sob. “Oh fuck. Now he’s going to kill me, too.”

“Stop. Sergei’s murder wasn’t your fault, Savannah. Sergei was a double. A stoolie. He was working for someone else in the Russian mob. One of Vlad’s enemies. Vlad killed him to send that guy a message.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been trying to find you for a few weeks. In the process, I’ve discovered a lot of things.”

“How did you know it was Vlad?’

“I saw him in a car two nights ago.” She ran her tongue around her lips. There was one piece of the puzzle she still didn’t understand. “But how did
he
figure out you were my sister?”

Savannah hesitated. “It was my fault,” she said. “When I first met him, I bragged. I told him you’d get me out of here.”

“You told him my name?”

Her voice cracked. “I—I told him I had a sister here and he asked your name. Then…” This time her voice broke. “…he asked if you were a cop.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t know. But then I remembered Mom saying
she’d
been married to a cop in Chicago, and I figured…well, it was possible.”

A cold weight settled in Georgia’s chest. “I was. A cop.”

“I thought so. As soon as he heard your name, he began to plan. And then later, when he was fucking me, he started talking all this crazy shit. About dangling bait on a hook. Figuring out how to get you to come to him.” She was sobbing now. “I’m sorry, Georgia.”

With a rush of comprehension, the scale of it all became clear to Georgia. She’d told Boris she suspected she’d been played. She had. Set up from the beginning. Everything she’d done or discovered about Zoya, Chad Coe, Lotwin, and the baby-breeding and organ businesses had been orchestrated by him. The DNA, the note, Claudia Nyquist, too. It was an elaborate trap set by a vindictive thug. The irony was that against all odds, it had worked. Her jaw clenched.

She was about to ask Savannah more  when someone with leather soles on their boots clattered up the stairs. Seconds later a key twisted the doorknob of her room.

G
eorgia threw herself back on the bed just as the door flew open. A man she hadn’t seen before was silhouetted in the doorway. He gazed around with suspicion, as if he thought she’d been up to something but wasn’t sure what. Then in perfect English, he said, “Vlad is on the way. He wants to see you.”

“Will you please uncuff me? I’m harmless.”

The man hesitated, then shook his head. “Only if he says so.”

She wanted to ask the guy if he always did exactly what Vlad said but thought better of it. He seemed like the type who’d tell Vlad she was trying to drive a wedge between them. Which, of course, she was.

He closed the door and relocked it, then banged on Savannah’s door with the same message. His boots clomped as he went back down the stairs.

An assortment of emotions roiled Georgia: relief, joy, a sense of achievement that she’d found her sister. But they were tempered by mounting apprehension. How was she going to get them out of here? She had nothing to work with. The man she was up against had every advantage.

She went back to the vent.

“Savannah?”

“Yeah?” Her sister sounded desolate.

“Tell me something,” Georgia asked. “You’re sure Vlad is the father of your baby?”

It took her a moment to answer. “Yes,” Savannah breathed. “He fucks all the girls. I thought I was special. And I was. For a while.” She paused. “Georgia, are you a blonde?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Her sister sucked in a breath. “Never mind.”

Georgia sat back. Vlad was impregnating girls, sowing his seed, creating tiny beings who might be adopted and whose mothers were later murdered for their parts. What kind of monster runs such an evil three-ring circus? What kind of person harbors such deep hatred? Was Savannah going to be killed after she delivered? She had to come up with something to save them both.

Savannah cut into her thoughts. “What are we going to do?”

Her voice was small and desperate. She was waiting for Georgia to take the lead. To be the big sister. To save her. But how?

“Tell me about the layout downstairs.”

“Well, you already saw the kitchen and the stairs. If you cross the hall instead of going up, there’s a living room. Vlad put track lights in there for inspections.”

“Inspections?”

“When he gets a new girl, he makes them parade around the room while he decides which ones he’s going to fuck and which he pimps out.” She hesitated. “I was his girl longer than anyone else.”

Georgia frowned. “You sound like you’re proud of it.”

“He wasn’t all bad. He got me off dope. And had a doctor examine me.”

Georgia jerked her head up. “A doctor?”

“He took my blood. To make sure I didn’t have an STD. Or AIDS.”

And figure out what your blood type is,
Georgia thought.

“Vlad gave me a pair of earrings for Christmas,” Savannah went on. “And you know, sometimes I used to catch him staring at me. I was never sure whether he wanted to hurt me or love me. But then he would break into that strange smile of his and make a joke. Or throw himself on top of me and make love.”

“Make love? Are you kidding?”

“It wasn’t always just sex.”

Sure,
Georgia thought. Her sister had a case of Stockholm syndrome. “Except that he impregnates whoever he wants and kills them afterward.”

“You know about that?”

“Yes.”

“I just found out,” Savannah said. “A girl, my friend Jenny, used to have your room. But she couldn’t handle it and tried to run away. She”—her voice cracked—“she’s dead now.”

Georgia put it together. “Was she the girl they found on Route 173 a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“She was your friend?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, sweet—” Georgia cleared her throat. “So what do you know about Zoya?”

“She works for him. She’s around a lot, especially when girls go into labor.”

“Is she a midwife?”

“A what?”

“Never mind.” Georgia was quiet. Then, “Didn’t you used to be at a warehouse in downtown Chicago?”

“Vlad moves us around a lot. Apartments, warehouses, the farm. We’re always coming or going.”

Of course they were. Vlad had to stay one step ahead of the law as well as the johns, whores, and guys like Bruce Kreisman.

Savannah cut into her thoughts. “Georgia, are you still there?”

“I’m thinking.”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. What are we going to do?”

“Can you handle a gun?”

“I—I…no,” Savannah said, her voice crestfallen.

“Well, you’re in for some on-the-job training. I assume he’ll keep us under tight guard. And he’ll probably keep my hands cuffed. I’ll do my best to think of a diversion, and if it works, you’re going to have to find a gun. They took my Glock and my revolver. Do you have any idea where they’d be?”

“They usually keep them in the kitchen.”

“Good. If you can find them, go for the revolver. You know, the one that looks like a cap gun. It’s smaller and easier to use. All you have to do is aim and squeeze the trigger. Try to shoot your way out, then run like hell. Hitch a ride to the police station and have them call Jimmy Saclarides in Lake Geneva.”

“Who’s he?”

“A friend. Say the name so I know you know it.”

“Jimmy Saclarides.”

“Good.” But it wasn’t good. Not at all. Savannah didn’t know it, but you couldn’t really call what she’d said a plan. All they had was a wish and a prayer.

* * *

The crunch of tires on snow and gravel signaled Vlad’s arrival. A car door slammed.

“Oh fuck. He’s here!” Savannah cried. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Her sister was losing it. Georgia had to keep it together. Tension tightened her neck and shoulders, but she forced herself to think. They needed to create a diversion so Savannah could look for the gun. But what? Finally, an idea came to her. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

“Savannah, listen to me. I have an idea.”