Fifteen minutes later we had Ivan following my truck in his small Nissan. We led him to the motel Slater and Madden were at. River had already warned them we were coming with a text message, and they’d responded that they were ready.
River’s phone buzzed again and he tapped on it as I pulled into the motel.
“King wants to meet Pierre with us. He said he and Sapphira have set up a meeting with him at the Kings’ clubhouse this afternoon at five.”
I frowned as I turned into the car park. “Why would he do that? This is our investigation.”
“Maybe, but what happens in this city involves them, and they’re against slavery of any kind. Pierre is a biker. At the end of the day he answers to them, not the cops.” He shook his head and popped open the door. “King says trafficking violates the biker code of freedom, which he totally made up. I think it just disgusts him on general principal. If he can get Pierre there, what are you complaining about?”
A lot of things. I didn’t trust King for one. I hated how much faith River put in him, and there was jealousy there, too, even if I wouldn’t admit it. Then there was Hayden. Going back to the club meant I was risking running into him again.
River’s dad grunted at us when he got out of his car, and we led him up a set of creaking metal stairs to the upper floor of the cheap motel. We walked along the veranda until we came to the door that said 13. I knocked and Slater opened it almost immediately. He looked haggard, like a man who hadn’t slept all night, and with a noise that sounded like a “come in,” he moved out of the way to let us walk into the room.
Madden and the Russian lady sat at a table in the corner, staring at each other as though in a battle of wits. Madden’s appearance wasn’t any better than Slater’s, and when I gave Slater a questioning look he sighed.
“We took turns keeping an eye on her. Turns out we didn’t have to worry. She spent the entire fucking night singing some Russian song. Every time one of us got to sleep, she’d start again. I want to kill her myself.”
I pursed my mouth to stop from laughing, but Slater caught it. He glared at me. “Your turn to deal with her. We’re going home for a shower and sleep. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Thanks, mate,” I said, but Slater flipped me the bird. “Madden?”
Madden startled and glanced toward me, the whites in his eyes red. He blinked, then grumbled and stood when Slater grabbed his elbow. They walked past us, and I watched them go, guilt forcing me to shut my mouth.
The Russian woman didn’t look tired at all. In fact, she seemed refreshed and had tidied her dark hair and makeup and changed clothes. She leaned back in her chair, smoothing down her beige pencil skirt, and crossed her legs. Her high heels were the same color as her clothing, and she appeared as impeccable as she had last night.
“What’s your name?” I asked as I took the seat Madden had vacated.
She peered at me carefully, mouth twisted in a smirk, and said something in Russian.
River’s father moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed nearest to us, while River sat beside him. They were focused on the lady, just like I was.
“She said her name is none of your business,” Ivan said.
The woman swung her gaze to him and she narrowed her icy stare.
“Ah, so she understands us. Can you speak English?”
Her bright red mouth pursed, and she glanced toward the small window on the wall behind me. I didn’t expect her to answer, but then she spoke again.
Ivan nodded thoughtfully and said something in her language. They conversed for a moment before he spoke in English to us. “She says she only knows what name means, and that she doesn’t understand English. I repeated your question for her to have answered that.”
“All right.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Ask her why she was with that man last night.”
They conversed again, and then Ivan turned to me. “Her father does business with a man named Brickton. He sent her here to have paperwork signed.”
“All the way to America? That’s a long trip for paperwork.”
River snorted. “Dad, ask her what business they’re in.”
A moment of spoken Russian later, and he answered again. “Vodka. Brickton is a lawyer who helps with the taxes and customs paperwork to import vodka from Russia.”
I didn’t believe that for a second, but she didn’t flinch in answering the questions. Either she was a great liar, or she honestly believed in what she was saying. “Why Brickton? That’s not his specialty.”
“You’ve done your research,” River said, an impressed expression passing over his face.
I winked at him. “I like to know who I’m up against.”
Ivan cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t think he’s the man you want. She said Brickton works for another man. A more powerful man, who takes a cut of the profits made from their vodka.”
