Becoming Lost Read online

  Becoming Lost

  New Haven Nights

  Book Two

  Ophelia Sikes

  Cover design by Ophelia Sikes

  Book design by Ophelia Sikes

  Visit my website at OpheliaSikes.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Ophelia Sikes

  Minerva Webworks LLC

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  - v1 –

  Half of all author’s proceeds from this book benefits battered women’s shelters.

  Believe

  Becoming Lost

  Chapter 1

  No wind is too cold for lovers

  - Ukrainian Proverb

  I stared at the TV screen, at the eyes which bore into my own. Eyes which held pure evil.

  Mikhaylo.

  My hand dove for my phone. I hit the button as I brought it to my ear. Laryssa picked up on the first ring. Her voice held laughter. “You came up for a breath? What, did you have to take a break for some Khortitsa? For fortification?” She chuckled.

  I snapped, “He’s here.”

  She was all business. “What? In New Haven?”

  “Just landed at Tweed. With Colonel Sokolov. You need to find them.”

  “On it.”

  “Don’t spook them,” I warned. “We can’t lose him. Not now. Get Sasha, Karl, the others, but tell them to be careful.”

  “We know. Believe me, we’ll be as delicate as a morning mist.”

  I raised my phone, switched to camera, and zoomed it in on Mikhaylo’s image on the monitor. Seeing his face grow larger on my screen sent shivers of emotion down my body. I snapped the shot and sent it to her.

  Her voice was rough. “Jesus Christ.”

  “I know.”

  “You ok?”

  “I will be when we get the bastard. Call me the second you track him down.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  I hung up and jammed the phone back into my pocket.

  My tone was sharp as I spoke to Marcia. “Got any more photos of him?”

  She stared at me, her mouth open.

  I realized all of them were looking at me with stunned faces.

  I bit in my impatience. They had no idea, the fools. They were oblivious to what they’d stumbled upon.

  I pointed at the screen. I reined in my frustration and strove to speak more calmly. “Please. Please cycle through the photos of him.”

  Alex repeated my question, which was completely inane of him, but Marcia nodded and looked down at her pad. She selected another photo of Colonel Sokolov. Then a third from a closer angle.

  I growled, “What are you doing? Not him!”

  Alex stepped between me and the TV, which further twisted my anger.

  He held my gaze. He said to me, low and quiet, “Nadiya, you’re speaking Ukrainian. They don’t understand you.”

  I stared at him.

  Realization hit me. Clearly he was right.

  I nodded and drew in a breath. I said, in English, “I’m sorry. It was a … a shock, seeing him. Do you have any more photos of him?”

  Alex said, “Clearly you don’t mean Colonel Sokolov.” He turned to Marcia. “Marcia, go back to that first photo.”

  I knew it was coming, but the force of that stare slammed into me like a fist. It was all I could do to hold my ground. To keep breathing.

  Alex saw it now. He looked between me and the man at Sokolov’s shoulder. He asked, “Nadiya, who is he? Who is the man behind Sokolov?”

  My throat closed up.

  He took my hand. “Look at me, Nadiya.”

  I pulled my eyes away from the screen. But I knew he was still there.

  His evil could not be stopped.

  It was all-powerful … all-reaching ...

  Alex said, softly, “Nadiya, who is he?”

  I wet my lips. I kept my eyes solely on Alex.

  My throat was closing up. I could barely whisper the words.

  “Mikhaylo Vladamir Krushny.”

  Chapter 2

  The room went dead silent. Somewhere distant, I could hear the whirring of an air system. A phone was ringing. But it was as if the people within these four walls had become frozen in a separate dimension.

  One where monsters like Mikhaylo had the power to destroy lives.

  Kale spoke first. “There are no known photos of Mikhaylo Vladamir Krushny on file. In any organization.”

  My gaze went back to the monitor. I could almost look at him without flinching now. Now that I knew he was there. Now that I had reassured myself that he could not spring, banshee-like, through the glass to destroy me. To destroy all I held so dear.

  I stated, “We have some now. What other views are there?”

  Marcia’s eyes immediately went to the pad in her hands.

  Click.

  Alex was alongside me now, and it took all my strength not to press up against him. To stand stock still while I took in the closer view of Mikhaylo. The man almost looked like a normal human being. Almost seemed average height, with a muscular build which could have spoken to a fondness for soccer or rugby.

  I knew better. I knew the evil he enjoyed inflicting on others.

  I said, “Again.”

  Click.

  I fell back a step. His gaze was full-on at the camera. I could see the scar now. The jagged scar that traced along his neck.

  I growled, “Olga gave him that scar.”

  All eyes went to the screen.

  My throat was closing up again. “He had this way. This was of ferreting out what a person hated most in life. What they feared. And then he would wriggle his poison down that route.”

  I waved a hand. “Olga had a fear of dogs. She had been attacked by one as a child. And so he made sure there were guard dogs in the rooms where she had to service her men. Dogs which would growl. Snap. And as she broke down, as her defenses crumbled, he would escalate. Two dogs. Meaner dogs. Dogs which had to be held back on stout chains.”

  My hands were shaking now, but I could not take my eyes off the man. Off that scar.

  “It amused him to watch the later stages of his psychological tortures. He set up a bed in one of his warehouses and he had four dogs on chains, each barely stopping at the bed’s edge. And then he had his soldiers come in to user her. With the dogs growling and snapping. She pleaded for him to stop. To take the dogs away. But he just laughed. He laughed and laughed.”

  My throat was dry.

  “There was a bottle of Khortitsa on a table. She dove for it. Smashed it on the table’s edge. And then she drove it right at his face. She had gone insane. Wholly, completely out of her mind. She carved that one twisting wound before they had her pinned to the ground.”

  I looked into his eyes. His soulless, depraved, evil eyes devoid of any humanity.

  Kale asked, “What happened to Olga?”

  My breath left me. “She died.”

  Alex said, “I’m so sorry, Nadiya.”

  I shook my head. “Her death was a blessing. A joyful, sacred blessing. Because for three months, for three long, agonizing, heart-rending months, Olga was brutalized. She was made an example of, day and night, every minute of every hour. She went far beyond sanity. Far beyond thought. Her existence
was solely excruciating pain. And he was there for all of it. He directed and participated in every moment of it. If he had been a monster before that event, after he became a demon. A demon of the lowest levels of Hell.”

  The fan whirred.

  At last Marcia spoke. “I’ll track down all the photos and mark them as –”

  I snapped, “No. Don’t mark anything. Don’t email or sort or text or catalogue or anything. Not one item.”

  Now all eyes were on me again.

  I slowly shook my head. “The man is a ghost. A wraith. He has survived this long because he has fingers everywhere. My guess is he had ordered the cameras to be under repair for the day and someone failed him. That someone is now undoubtedly dead. So his next plan is to assume he goes unidentified and that the photos merely become part of the massive data warehouse which is our government’s monitoring system. The moment we single out any of those photos – in any way – he will take action. The police systems here will be hacked. Servers destroyed. He has that kind of reach.”

  Kale said, calmly, “I assume you do want to figure out where he is.”

  “I’ll know that soon enough.”

  Alex nudged his head toward my phone. “That call she made earlier, the one in Ukrainian. She set the ball in motion.”

  Kale waved a hand toward the screen. “But surely, while we are waiting for your friends to figure that information out –”

  My phone rang.

  I brought it to my ear.

  Laryssa said, “He’ll be at the Kalinikov Club tonight. 9:30pm.”

  “Nobody is to approach him. Nobody. I’ll have Alex and Mark go in at nine and set the scene. You can have a few people in for backup. But nobody spooks him. Nobody disturbs him. And when I leave with him, no trackers. No trailers. I don’t want anything to go wrong here. I’ll carry a USB drive and I’ll find a way to use it, when we get to our destination. Understand?”

  Laryssa’s voice held concern, but she didn’t argue. “I understand. Be careful.”

  “For Olga.”

  “For Olga.”

  I hung up.

  Alex had his gaze on me. His look was serious. “Where are Mark and I going?”

  “The Kalinikov Club. 9pm. Dress high end. There needs to be a reason I single you out. You’ll be the Kiev businessman. Mark can be your target. Flirt with the girls – when I come in it’ll give me credibility when they scatter. And then I’ll hook you.”

  His eyes shone with attention. He nodded.

  I glanced at Mark. “When I’m sure we’re being observed, and the timing is right, I’ll take a break to use the bathroom. That’s when Mark will lay his hands on me, saying it’s his turn.”

  Mark glanced at Alex.

  Alex said, “I’ll explain it later.”

  My brow creased – and then I realized I was speaking in Ukrainian again. I had switched over automatically when Laryssa had called back.

  I gave up on worrying about it.

  I continued to Alex, “The sight of Mark laying hands on me? Those men are avowed white nationalists. That’ll get their full attention. And it should be easy after that for me to join their party. For me to get them to take me to wherever it is they’ve set up their base of operations.”

  He glanced around. “Then we’ll need tracking devices, GPS units –”

  “No.”

  His eyebrow raised. “No?”

  “This man has detection equipment the likes you’ve never heard of. And he’ll spot any tail. These men are experts. There will be no trackers. No units. No nothing. We do this the old fashioned way. I go in, he takes me, and then I get out again.”

  Tension lined his jaw. “Nadiya –”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Swear it to me.”

  He held my gaze …

  He nodded. “I will swear, if you will swear something to me.”

  I eyed him with trepidation. “Swear what?”

  He glanced over at Mark, Kale, and then rest. And then he looked back to me. “Nadiya, I realize how much you must hate this man. But I swore an oath. We all did. We are not assassins. We need to focus on taking him in. Alive.”

  My eyes stayed on his. “Done.”

  His brow creased in concern. “You’re willing to do that?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t want him to escape justice that quickly. You know what his worst nightmare is? Losing control. Not being able to set every last detail of his world around him. If he went to a maximum security prison? Where others controlled when he woke up? What he ate? What he wore?”

  My gaze hardened. “That would be torture for him. Agonizing torture, every single minute of every single hour of every single day.”

  He looked at me for a long, long minute.

  At last he nodded. “Then we have a deal.”

  I put a hand to the side of his face. I knew how hard this was for him, to send me off alone. I knew the ache of wanting to do something – anything – to help. Instead, he would have to trust me.

  To believe in me.

  I gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you at ten.”

  I ran my thumb down that strong, determined jaw. I looked into those steady eyes.

  I turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter 3

  I stood outside the nondescript doors of the Kalinikov Club. The only indication that something unusual lay inside were the black-on-white signs on either side warning that all cell phones had to be in the off position before entering the room. Offenders would be prosecuted.

  The men within took their privacy seriously.

  I glanced at my phone as I pressed the power button. It was nearly 10pm. Exactly the right time. I drew in long, deep breaths. Everything mattered. Every step mattered. Every turn of the head. Every curl of the shoulder. My entire life had led up to this moment. It needed to go flawlessly.

  For Olga. For the thousands of girls and women like her.

  I took one last look at myself in the reflection of the curtained-off window. The dress was silk, crimson, with a flowing motion which both emphasized and hid my curves. Not too obvious. That was the secret. Tantalize and intrigue.

  My blonde hair was brushed out until it shone and flowed like a golden river. It would draw men into running their fingers through it.

  Add in the six-inch matching heels, the cascading diamond jewelry, and the smoky makeup, and I was ready.

  I had been trained for this since I was six years old.

  I walked up to the doors.

  I pushed them open.

  I stood in the classic model’s one-foot-forward pose in the entryway, letting the pulsing music wash over me along with the thick aroma of smoke and the hearty conversation of a night out. I calmly surveyed the scene, starting methodically on the right.

  I evaluated each man in turn.

  It was two seconds before the first heads turned, and then more joined in, and the conversation became appreciative mutters and comments. The men here were used to being the wolves. The pursuers. To have a woman so blatantly evaluating the herd intrigued them. Thrilled them. For now they wanted to be the one chosen. The one singled out as the prime stallion in a field of mustangs.

  My gaze considered, evaluated, moved …

  A bulky man in a gray suit straightened up in his chair. Another flexed his arm. I considered … let my eyes keep moving …

  Alex.

  He was sitting at a curved booth near the center of the room. Mark was at his side. Both men had dressed to the nines. Alex was stunningly handsome in a well-tailored black silk shirt and black pants. On his wrist shone a Rolex Oyster Perpetua.

  My lips curled up in a smile.

  There was a garishly made up redhead purring at his side, dressed in a hot pink sheath which might have been painted on. I barely gave her any notice.

  His gaze was on me, eyes wide, as if he almost didn’t believe it was me.

  My smile widened further.

  I let my perusal of the room continue. I slid right past Mark
, then looked up toward the back of the room.

  It took all my years of training, all my hours of preparation, to hold the serenity on my face.

  Mikhaylo.

  Mikhaylo sat at a raised booth along with the Colonel and two other men.

  I gave Mikhaylo a quiet nod, as if acknowledging the club owner and giving him his due respect. And then I continued my slow sweep of the room.

  Nobody else came even close to comparing with Alex.

  My smile reached my eyes. He had done well.

  I brought my gaze back to him and stepped down into the room. I could feel a hundred eyes on me, their attention flicking enviously between my slinky approach and Alex’s widening eyes as it became clear I had chosen him. He drew to his feet and made a dismissing motion to the two girls.

  They scampered away, not even considering making a stand.

  I put out a hand to him. “Sofia.”

  He gently wrapped his fingers around my hand and brought it to his lips. “Taras. Please, have a seat.”

  A waitress, blonde and blue eyed, hurried over. “Welcome to the Kalinikov Club! What would you like to order?”

  I ran a finger along Alex’s arm. “Let’s start with the Krug 1995.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she glanced at Alex.

  He nodded.

  She scurried off.

  He turned his attention to me, his eyes drawn in to mine. “That accent. From Rivne?”

  I let a delighted smile raise my lips. “You are very good! It’s actually a small town just south of there. Kopany.”

  “I know Kopany well. I had a relative who lived there. Beautiful gardens.”

  My gaze shone. “Indeed there are. And the fields of grain? It was like the flag come to life. The blue skies above, reaching as far as the horizon. The rich yellow beneath, symbolizing the great fertility of our soil.”

  The waitress returned with two Riedel flute glasses, and the bartender brought the Champagne in a silver ice bucket. He placed the bucket at the center of our table and then carefully removed the cork’s outer wire cage. That done, he wriggled the cork until it eased off with a soft sigh.