Stalking Steven Read online

  Zachary nodded.

  “He’ll probably stop by later, to talk to you about it.” In fact, I’d give him a call and make sure he did. “Meanwhile, I’m taking Rachel back to the house in Hillwood for a day or two. Until she’s OK to be on her own again. We thought maybe, when you’re released, you’d like to join us.”

  The parts of Zachary’s face that weren’t scabby or bruised, flushed red. “I guess Detective Mendoza told you about my mother, huh?”

  “Just that you’re not living with her anymore,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

  He pleated a corner of the sheet between his thumb and forefinger. “She got angry when I quit my job at the Apex to work for you. She said I shouldn’t quit a real job to play detective.”

  “You’re not playing detective,” I said. “You were instrumental in stopping a human trafficking operation and saving three Russian women from a life of prostitution. You put your own life and health at risk for someone else. That makes you a hero.”

  He flushed again, but shook his head. “I don’t think my mom’s gonna see it that way. And anyway, you were the one who told me what to do.”

  “But you were the one who did it. You’re the one who got beat up for it. But you don’t have to take my word for it. When Mendoza stops by, he’ll tell you the same thing. So would the guys from ICE and vice, I’m sure.”

  He didn’t answer, but he looked a little more cheerful.

  “So would you like to come stay in the house in Hillwood until we can figure something else out? At least until you feel better physically?”

  Zachary allowed as how he might see his way clear to doing that.

  “Good.” I got to my feet. “I’ll go get Rachel settled. Any idea when they’re likely to let you out of here?”

  “They said tomorrow morning,” Zachary said.

  “Then I’ll be back later today to see you. And tomorrow we’ll get you out of here.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Gina.”

  “No problem,” I said and wheeled Rachel out of there. You lose a husband; you gain a whole, makeshift family, dog included.

  Chapter 18

  The house I had shared with David for the past eighteen years of my life squatted like a malignant toad on top of a little rise. I had expected—or let’s say hoped—to see construction vehicles on the parking pad, and maybe hear some banging or sawing from inside.

  There was nothing. The driveway—twice as long as Griselda Grimshaw’s—was empty, and so was the parking area at the end of it.

  There was no sense in pulling into the garage—I’d have to leave again later, to go see Zachary—so I just pulled the car to a stop outside the house and turned the key in the ignition. “Here we are.”

  Rachel nodded. She’d been here before, of course. Both before and after the fire. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

  It didn’t. Most of the exterior damage had been repaired, to keep out the elements. We were into fall, and going into winter, which in the South means a lot of rain and maybe some snow. I’d been insistent that the roof and exterior wall be done first, so at least the rest of the interior wouldn’t take any more damage than it already had.

  I reached into the back and grabbed Edwina. “Here you go, sweetheart. Check it out.”

  I put her down on the concrete. She started sniffing, and eventually made it off the edge of the parking pad and into the grass, where she squatted.

  Meanwhile, I hauled Rachel’s suitcase out of the back and headed for the front door. “Come on inside. Let’s get you situated.”

  She followed me up the walkway, and after some more sniffing, so did Edwina.

  I unlocked the door and turned to the alarm system, only to find that, for some reason, it was turned off.

  That figured. The construction crew was supposed to turn it back on when they left at night, so the house wouldn’t be unprotected during the time they weren’t here, but God only knew when they’d last been by. The house could have been sitting like this for a week or more.

  Guess I’d have to call them and cause a stink. And see if I could light a fire under someone, to get the work finished.

  I picked up the suitcase again. “The bedrooms are upstairs. Let’s go find you one. Come on, Edwina.”

  The terrier pranced across the floor of the foyer. When Rachel and I started up the stairs to the second floor, she stood for a second at the bottom, head cocked to one side, contemplating the staircase. She might not have seen one before. Griselda Grimshaw’s ranch had been all on one level, and of course the penthouse was a flat, too. As well as the office.

  I stopped halfway up. “Do you need help?”

  “No,” Rachel said, holding onto the railing. “I can make it.”

  I hadn’t been talking to her, but it turned out to be moot. Edwina backed up to get a couple of steps’ running start, and bounded up, past us and all the way to the second floor, where she stood grinning down, pleased with herself.

  “We can take a breather,” I told Rachel, since she clearly wasn’t feeling great. Her face was pale, and there were beads of sweat along her hairline. “You probably should have let them keep you another few hours, at least.”

  “I hate hospitals,” Rachel said. “I’ll be all right once I get to the top.”

  She kept going. I did the same.

  Once we got to the second floor, we did take a breather before I led Rachel down the hallway. “There are four bedrooms up here in addition to the master. Two on each side of the hallway.” With the master (still under reconstruction) at the end. I’d probably end up in one of the guest rooms too, while we were here. “You might like this one.”

  I turned the knob and pushed open the door to what I knew was a feminine, lacey sort of room, with floating curtains and ice blue walls.

  Only to stop with my mouth open. “What the hell…!”

  It was all I got out before I found myself staring down the barrel of what was most likely a Smith and Wesson M&P 9 millimeter pistol.

  And no, I won’t pretend I can distinguish one handgun from another. I based the assumption on the woman who was holding it. Blond, with Russian cheekbones, big, blue eyes, and a terrified expression on her face.

  I dropped the suitcase and lifted my hands. Next to me, Rachel did the same. Edwina made to prance inside, and I shifted my foot to try to keep her out.

  “It’s all right.”

  The girl—Anastasia—looked at me. I have no idea whether she even understood what I said, but she didn’t shoot, so we were doing fine.

  “Is Steven here?”

  Her eyes flickered. I didn’t need the nod to figure out that he was.

  “My name is Gina. This is my house.” I let that sink in for a second before I added, “I’m going to call for Steven, OK?”

  She didn’t nod, but she didn’t shoot me, either. I put my head back. “Steven!”

  At first there was nothing. Then a scramble from the next room, and Steven’s voice. “Anastasia?!”

  The door opened and slammed against the wall next door. The fake impressionist painting that David’s decorator had insisted on hanging on the wall in here quivered. Steven thundered down the hall and skidded into the room, straight into Rachel, whom he knocked several steps forward. The two of them clung to one another to stay upright.

  There was a beat.

  “Oh,” Steven said. “Gina. I can explain.”

  “I’d like to hear that,” I said, “but perhaps a little later? Could you tell your daughter to put the gun down first?”

  “Oh.” This time he flushed, and looked, for a second, ridiculously like Zachary. “Anastasia…” He went off into Russian. Apparently he spoke it well enough that they could communicate.

  It took a minute or so, and then the gun disappeared into the sheets. I don’t think Anastasia was entirely comfortable, though, and I was pretty sure she kept a hand on it out of sight. But it was nice to be able to lower my hands again.

  “I should let you know
,” I said, slowly and clearly, to both of them, “that Konstantin and Yuri were arrested last night. ICE and Metro police ran a joint sting operation that ended with Konstantin and Yuri in the prison and the other three Russian girls getting rescued.”

  Anastasia said something. Steven nodded. “We were getting around to that. I just wanted to make sure that Anastasia was safe first.”

  “I guess she really is your daughter?”

  “We haven’t done any testing,” Steven said, “but she seems to be. I knew her mother back when. And she has my eyes.”

  She did. A dark slate blue, tilted up at the corners.

  “Diana will be relieved.”

  Steven looked confused. “What…?” And then he looked disgusted. “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  “You might have told her what was going on,” I said mildly. “I mean, what was she supposed to think?”

  “Not that I’d cheat on her with someone young enough to be my daughter!”

  “In justice to her, she didn’t think that. When she first asked me to look into it, it was just because she thought you were acting weird.”

  Steven admitted that he probably had been acting weird. “It isn’t every day a man gets a letter from a grown daughter he never knew he had, saying she needs help escaping from human traffickers.”

  No, it isn’t. “Tatiana told me how you got her out of there. That one of the other girls hit the fire alarm and the two of you got away in the confusion. And Araminta Tucker said that you contacted her about her house for rent.”

  Steven nodded. “There was a notice on the bulletin board at the university. I figured we’d be safe trying to find a place for Anastasia that way. I couldn’t take her home with me. I didn’t want to put Diana in danger, and anyway, I wanted to be sure…”

  He trailed off. I nodded.

  “Would you like to explain what happened the other day?” I glanced from Steven to Anastasia and back. “I followed you from the university to Araminta’s house. And then the neighbor, Mrs. Grimshaw, got worried because I was parked on the street, so she called the police, and Mendoza showed up…”

  “She guessed the truth,” Anastasia said from the bed. She spoke English about as well as Tatiana, it turned out. Maybe even a bit better. “She asked me to come to her house for tea. And she asked a lot of questions. I told her a little bit, and she guessed the rest.”

  So when Griselda Grimshaw had been muttering darkly about the X-files—unless Mendoza had been joking about that—she hadn’t been talking about space aliens, but illegal aliens. That made a lot more sense.

  “What happened?” Had Griselda threatened to betray Anastasia, and so Anastasia shot her?

  The girl took a breath. “Your car was there. Big and black.”

  Like the sedan, I guessed. It might make sense that she’d be a little worried about that.

  “And then the police came. Yuri and Konstantin told us we wouldn’t get any help from the police. That the police knew about us and wouldn’t do anything. Russian police is… how you say… corrupt?”

  “Mendoza isn’t corrupt,” I said. “He just came to reassure Mrs. Grimshaw that I wasn’t dangerous.”

  Anastasia didn’t respond to that. “And then, later, the boy came. With the pizza. When I hadn’t ordered a pizza.”

  “That was Zachary,” I told Steven. “We wanted to get a look at Anastasia. You know, for Diana.”

  He nodded. “You can understand why Anastasia would be worried, though.”

  I could, I guess. Although it still didn’t make it all right to shoot Mrs. Grimshaw and leave Edwina an orphan.

  “Go on,” I said.

  By now, Rachel had sat down in the chair over in the corner, and put Edwina on her lap. She and the dog both looked close to being asleep.

  “I was scared,” Anastasia said. “I stayed by the window, and I kept watch. But it was late, and I got tired. And I fell asleep. Right there, on the floor. And then I heard a loud noise. And someone was outside, trying to get into the house. Into my house. The back door opened. And I opened the front door and ran.”

  Her eyes had widened, and so had her pupils. If she wasn’t genuinely reliving a very scary experience, she was an Oscar-worthy actress.

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  She forked the fingers of one hand through her long, straight hair, pushing it back off her face. “I ran and ran. And then I asked the way to the university. And I went there.”

  “On foot?”

  She nodded. “I walked all night. I had no money for the bus or a cab, and I was afraid to...” She stuck her thumb out in the universal gesture for hitchhiking.

  I choked. “Yes, that was probably a good idea.” God knows what could have happened to a girl like that, hitchhiking through Nashville at night. “Did you see who shot Mrs. Grimshaw? It must have been the shot that woke you, right?”

  Anastasia shook her head. “I didn’t see anything. I ran.”

  “What about a car? Did you see that?”

  But she hadn’t.

  “So you didn’t shoot Mrs. Grimshaw?”

  She looked sincerely shocked that I’d ask. “No! She was nice to me. A nosy old woman, but she gave me tea. And she told me she’d keep watch for anyone bad. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

  Another Oscar-worthy performance.

  “That’s your gun, right?” I asked Steven, gesturing to it. “Diana said you had one, and that it was gone from the bedside table.”

  He nodded. “I usually keep it in the drawer. Nobody bothers a university professor. Diana keeps hers in her purse.”

  “Mendoza will probably want a look at it. If it wasn’t used on Mrs. Grimshaw, it’ll be a formality.”

  “Of course,” Steven said, with a glance at Anastasia. “Are you going to call him?”

  I guessed I would, eventually. However— “I think you should probably do that yourself. I’ll give you the number. And then you’ll have to explain everything to Diana.”

  He swallowed.

  “But it’s safe to leave. Konstantin and Yuri are in prison. They can’t hurt you. Her. Either of you.”

  It was a not so subtle hint that I’d like them to vacate my house.

  “By the way,” I added, as they started to do just that, “how did you end up here?”

  “Oh.” Steven stopped halfway down the hall to the room where he’d been staying. “Did you get that message I left on your machine the other night?”

  I nodded.

  “So you know I recognized you. And I remembered that Diana had told me what happened with you and your husband. And that you’d had a fire here, and you’d moved into your husband’s penthouse downtown. I figured, if you weren’t here, maybe we could use the house to lie low for a couple of days.”

  “Smart,” I said. Steven inclined his head. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my contractors in the time you’ve been here?”

  But he hadn’t. I let him disappear into his room—or the room he’d claimed for himself while he was here—to get ready to go.

  When he came back out two minutes later, he was properly dressed and groomed. “Sorry for the trouble,” he told me.

  “It’s no trouble. The house was just sitting here. I’m glad you could make use of it. But you might have told me you were coming.”

  “When I made the phone call, I didn’t know,” Steven said. “We’d gone next door to use the phone, and then the black sedan drove up…”

  Konstantin and Yuri acting on the information they’d beaten out of Zachary, I guessed. “What happened?”

  “They busted the back door into Anastasia’s house,” Steven said. “And spent some time looking through it. They didn’t realize we were next door. But we were afraid they’d come back, so we left. And that’s when I remembered about your house.”

  Made sense. “One more thing before you go. The ransom note.”

  “What ransom note?” Steven said.

  Since he sounded sincere, and not like he was pulling
my leg, I explained about the ransom note. “It arrived at your house yesterday morning. Early. A demand for a hundred thousand dollars in exchange for you.”

  “That’s crazy,” Steven said. “I wasn’t kidnapped. And if I wanted a hundred thousand dollars, I’d go to the bank. I have a hundred thousand dollars in my account.” His face changed, and he added, “At least I used to.”

  “You still do. I don’t suppose she…?” I glanced at the door to the other room, where Anastasia was still getting ready, and let the question trail off suggestively.

  Steven shook his head. “We were together yesterday morning. If someone dropped off a ransom note then, it wasn’t either of us.”

  Someone had definitely dropped off a ransom note then. Unless Diana had been lying, but I couldn’t think of any reason why she would.

  “I appreciate it,” I said. “Do you want me to call Diana and let her know you’re coming?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Gina.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Good luck.”

  They went on their way, down to the garage and into Steven’s brown sedan, which was parked there. If I’d only decided to put my own car into the garage when we arrived, I’d have had some warning that they were here.

  But it had all turned out as well as it could have, I guessed. Nobody’d gotten shot. I’d gotten rid of them. They knew they didn’t have to worry about Konstantin and Yuri anymore. If Anastasia really was Steven’s daughter, the ICE couldn’t send her back to Russia, no matter how much they might want to—and that was assuming they wanted to, which I didn’t know.

  The only thing left to do was get Rachel situated.

  I went back upstairs and plucked Edwina from her lap before hauling Rachel to her feet. “Come on. Just a few more steps.”

  I took her into the bedroom across the hall, where the sheets were fresh and where nobody had been sleeping. “Is this OK?”

  “Anywhere’s OK,” Rachel said, and made a beeline for the bed. “I’m just going to lie down for a bit.”