At my phone. At the message from Dmitri, the man helping me figure out the whole picture of this entire case.
I close my eyes and curse silently. Because I'd hoped I was wrong, that my mind had created a scenario to avoid admitting I had no other leads.
A patrol car stops in front of us and two individuals in uniform approach, but I ignore them and text Stefan.
I need to know where Roxanne is. How the hell am I supposed to tell her that the man who stood by her after her mother's death is the same one who brought about her end?
"Damien Kaminski?" asks the guy on the left, who looks older.
"The one and only," I reply, though I'm staring at the screen waiting for Stefan to respond.
"We have questions about Senator Ashville's disappearance. We received information that his last known location was your club."
I glance briefly at Roman and know he sees on my face that something's wrong. Richard was supposed to handle this mess without requiring my attention.
My hand trembles when I see I still haven't received a response from Roxanne’s bodyguard.
I need to go find her.
"We'll need you to come with us to the station for some questions," the other officer tells me, gesturing toward the patrol car.
"Find Roxanne," I tell Vasili. "Stefan's not responding."
I take a step toward the car and try to calm my mind.She's safe. She's with Stefan and Pavel.She's safe.I'll get through their interrogation quickly and then I'll personally skin that bastard alive.
I hear gravel crunching behind me, and when I turn, I see Roman following.
"We don't need you, Mr. Borisov," the older cop says.
So they know who he is, but they only want me for questioning. A wave of panic floods my bloodstream because this feels designed to stall for time. And only then do I notice the details, because my mind was occupied withher.
Their shirts are the right color and material, but they're missing one of the patches on their right shoulders, the one that identifies their precinct.
The younger one has exactly two beads of sweat at his temples even though it's cold outside and windy.
The older one wears a gold ring. A ring with a very distinctive symbol—a wolf's head. We don't have many mercenary groups in the area, and I know for damn sure these idiots aren't from Chicago, because no one here in their right mind would dare pull this stunt on us.
In one second, my hand is on the knife I always carry at my back, and my gaze is fixed on the younger one.
"Who sent you? And you have exactly ten seconds to give me details, or we'll see if that patrol car siren can drown out your screams..."
The older individual pulls a gun from his back, but Roman and Vasili draw their weapons simultaneously and aim at him.
"I'd suggest putting the gun down. I have a meeting in two hours, and there's no way I'm changing my suit," Roman says, and my smile curves slightly upward.
The guy pressed against my blade starts squinting.
"We don't know the name. We got ten grand to take you in the car and keep you occupied as long as possible."
I pull out my phone and call Roxanne directly.
Pick up, slonko. Pick up before this whole damn port explodes.
"This location's too public," Vasili says through gritted teeth, and he's right.
Our only luck is that at this hour, with only two vessels docked today, it's quiet.
She doesn't answer.
