Russian Enforcers Box Set 1 (Books 1-3) Read online

  CHAPTER 3

  A strong sense of helplessness seeped into Vitaly’s consciousness as he gazed down at the immobile daughter of his employer. He’d clasped her lifeless hand in his own, and if he could have, would have breathed life back into her limp body by the sheer power of his will. But he knew that this was one of those moments that willpower alone wouldn’t cut it.

  Yana, he knew, had been mortally wounded, and nothing short of a miracle could save her now.

  A soft voice spoke beside him, and instinctively he knew better than to cut it off.

  “Perhaps I know a way,” the striking female stranger murmured, then crouched down and took Yana’s hand in hers, curling strong fingers over delicate ones. Staring down at the arrow that rose from Yana’s bosom, the woman started murmuring words whose significance escaped him. They sounded Gaelic to his unpracticed ears, but that’s as far as his guess went.

  He didn’t ask questions, didn’t stir, even held his breath for a moment to prevent the deep sob that was rising in his chest from breaking the surface of his bottomless sorrow. Was this woman the miracle he’d been praying for?

  He eyed her from beneath long lashes, unable to move. Her eyes, he saw, were a deep green—like the sparkle of the brightest emerald. Her red, flaming hair reminded him of fire kindling, a mass of curls that spread out across her shoulders. Her face was strikingly beautiful with its delicate, even features, and as she closed her eyes, her brows knitting, she presented a study in grace and poise.

  She was a witch—a wood nymph come to life to offer her help to mere mortals who’d ventured into her realm. Or perhaps she was an elemental, materialized to protect her land. Whatever or whoever she was, all hope now rested with her. Or perhaps it was too late already—Yana having passed on from this plane to the next. To be reunited with her mother.

  He was not a religious man, but as he closed his eyes and stammered broken phrases to a God he hadn’t acknowledged in the thirty-two years he’d been walking this earth, he found a deep peace descending upon him, and then a sudden gust of wind stir the forest’s quiet. And when he looked up, he had the fleeting impression the world had grown lighter—less oppressive. Could it be?

  And then he felt it. A tremor. The softest twitch of Yana’s fingers in his. The woman must have felt it too, for she gazed up into his eyes, and then a slight smile curved her lips, and he frowned, afraid to believe.

  But then suddenly Yana opened her eyes, and her chest, which had caved, started heaving once again, drawing air into her lungs. She winced, the movement stirring the arrow lodged in her bosom and sending shoots of pain through her injured body.

  “Ouch,” she moaned.

  “Yana!” cried Vitaly, his fingers gripping hers tighter.

  “When is the doctor coming, Vitaly?” she lamented. “I’m in pain here, you know?”

  As if summoned by a power greater than theirs, the sound of a siren in the distance answered her call, and the tightness that had lain like a stone on his heart was suddenly lifted. “You hear that?” he shouted. “Help’s on the way.”

  She rolled her eyes, her attitude apparently having made a comeback along with the life that now flowed through her veins once more. “Finally. Took them long enough.”

  His eyes flashed up at the woman’s, gratitude making him smile. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss…”

  “Joanna,” she acknowledged with an imperceptible nod. “And there’s no need to thank me. I didn’t do anything, really. Merely helped you pray.”

  “You saved her, Joanna,” he said emphatically.

  “I think someone should probably—“ muttered Spartak, then started moving toward the road to signal the approaching ambulance.

  Joanna, who was still holding Yana’s hand, released it with a sigh. The prayers she’d directed at the beings watching over us all had exhausted her, and she needed to steady herself by leaning against a tree.

  Within moments, Vitaly had reached her side and was supporting her by placing a steadying hand on her arm. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  She waved a deprecating hand, then placed it on her brow. The cool touch did much to dispel the dizziness. “I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

  She touched her hands to the tree, feeling the coarseness of the bark under her fingers, the indentations wrought by years of weathering the seasons, leaving their mark in the spongy cork. It further helped clear her mind and rid her of the sense of weakness that had assaulted her.

  “What did you do if I may be so bold?”

  She gave him a wistful smile. “Nothing special. Just a prayer my grandmother taught me.”

  “Your grandmother must have been a very special woman.”

  She flicked up her eyes and instantly was caught in his intent gaze. “Yes,” she returned. “Yes, she was. Though I barely remember her now. She died when I was a little girl.”

  She found his scrutiny unnerving, as if he was trying to gaze straight into her soul. Never before had anyone looked at her quite like he did. Gauging her—determining what she was made of.

  The ambulance came barreling down the earthen road, and Spartak waved it to a stop. Instantly two nurses sprang out, and, following the man’s directions, hurried over to where Yana lay.

  Joanna watched the scene dispassionately. Somehow she knew that the woman would be fine. She could not say how she knew, but it was as if a voice deep inside her whispered this truth. She would live and prosper.

  “Vitaly,” she called out. He had joined the nurses as they started transferring Yana to a stretcher. He looked up, and she found that there was something about him that deeply appealed to her—something about the way he looked at her set off a yearning that echoed through her soul, and she knew she couldn’t let him leave without feeling his eyes on her one last time.

  “Let me take you home,” he offered. “I have a car waiting nearby.”

  “No, it’s fine. I live quite close. I just wanted to…” She wavered, not knowing what it was she wanted exactly. To get to know him a little better? To spend a few more minutes in his presence? It all seemed so pointless.

  His eyes darted from her to the ambulance, where the nurses had now slammed the door shut and were about to move off, en route to the hospital. He gestured at the vehicle carrying his friend and shot her a quick smile. “I’m very sorry, Joanna. I need to go now.”

  “No, of course,” she agreed. It was so silly—she was so silly.

  He took her hands in his and pressed them warmly. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what you did, but you saved Yana’s life.”

  She merely smiled and watched him walk off in a hurry, Spartak in his wake, and after a last quick wave, he was gone, the forest having swallowed him up just as miraculously as it had produced him earlier. As she stood motionless on the spot, she was struck with a sense of unreality, the whole episode never having happened.

  Had she dreamed it all?

  Had she imagined everything?

  Then the lingering sense of pressure on her hands and the warmth of his touch told her that she hadn’t been dreaming. She really had met a most interesting man. And even though she would never see him again, she had the distinct feeling something had changed. Something had shifted in the balance of life, and things would never be quite the same again.

  She was going to leave this place, she knew, never to return.

  She still didn’t know where to go, but perhaps she would simply leave that one little detail to the hands of fate.

  As they’d thrown her lot together with that of Vitaly and Yana, perhaps her grandmother’s uncanny gifts could help her decide where to go from here.

  And with a new sense of purpose, she set one foot in front of the other, and decided that this was the only way to go: step by step, until she arrived at her destination, wherever it might be.

  The dread that had hung heavy on her heart lifted slightly, and as she set out on her journey home, she knew that tonight would be her last night in Lincoln.


  CHAPTER 4

  Joanna stared down at the suitcase she’d placed on her bed. She’d packed only what she felt was necessary, leaving as much of her old life behind as she could bear. If she was going to start afresh, she needed to make a clean break.

  Almost everything in this house reminded her of Jonathan and the life they’d shared. When Jon had announced he’d met and fallen in love with another woman and was leaving her, the pain had cut so deep and hard, nothing had made sense to her for the longest time. Now that she’d finally worked up the courage to leave, she needed to do it the proper way. The owner of the place, old Mrs. Graham, had been most kind when she’d announced her intention to terminate the lease, and had even reneged on the obligatory final month of rent she was owed.

  Almost as if the woman had expected her to leave, as probably most people in town had. A woman out here alone, living on the edge of Lincoln Forest all by herself, was an oddity nobody understood. Jonathan had been a weirdo, townsfolk had decided a long time ago, and any woman who was mad enough to link her lot with his had to be balmy as well.

  She’d told Mrs. Graham that she wanted to leave behind all the furniture and then some, and the old lady hadn’t protested. Said she’d send her son by to clean the place up and then rent the place out furnished to the next tenant.

  There had even been wistfulness in her tone when she’d asked if she was going to be all right. The first time anyone had expressed concern about her well-being in the five years she’d lived here. She’d assured the landlady she was perfectly fine, and the elderly lady had riposted it was time for her to move on and added she hoped she would land on her feet.

  She’d silently added she hoped so too.

  She finished packing in record time, having decided not to dwell on things she would have no need of, and walked around the house, gathering items of a more personal nature, and collecting them in a handbag. Suddenly, a soft mewling sound alerted her of the presence of Ramir.

  The small Maltese seemed to sense some big change was coming, for he’d followed her around the house, refusing to leave her side.

  She stooped down and picked up the small white ball of fluff, cradling him in her arms as she had so many times before. “We’ll be fine, won’t he, Ram? Of course we will. It’s just you and me now, huh? Just you and me, buddy.”

  Jon had hated the little doggie, complaining his suits were always rife with white sticky hair that he couldn’t brush off. Just one more thing he hated about her, probably. His new wife must have done better in that department, for she’d never heard him complain about her. But then the new Mrs. Jonathan Hartley had been nineteen, a college student, and blessed with measurements Joanna could only dream of. And apparently, so could Jon.

  The whimpering sounds continued, originating deep in Ram’s throat, and Joanna frowned at her little man. “What is it, honey? Are you nervous about the move? That makes two of us. But don’t worry. As Mrs. Graham said, we’ll land on our feet, right? All four of them in your case.”

  The doggie stared at her with its big, black eyes, its tongue wagging, and gave a short bark that had Joanna giggle.

  “That’s the spirit. Once we’re out of this place, everything is going to be better. Just you wait and see.”

  She poured Ram from her arms and dusted off her sleeves, absently picking off stray hairs here and there. Ramir jumped up against her leg, but she paid him no mind, ticking off the things still left to be done before she could shake the dust off her feet. So she didn’t even notice when the Maltese raced off down the stairs, his little feet making scratching sounds as he padded down and streaked into the hallway below and raced to the door.

  Only when he yapped excitedly, did she notice something was off, and when the sound of the yapping was suddenly drowned out by the breaking down of the downstairs door in a crash of splintering wood and crushing jambs, she screeched in terrified surprise.

  She’d just started descending the stairs, and when the balaclava-clad heads of three men came into view as they barged into the house, she fell down, her feet and hands struggling for purchase as she desperately scrabbled away from the source of the horror.

  When the eyes of the first man landed on her, and he resolutely set foot for the stairs, she shrieked again in abject fear, her body trembling and her limbs refusing to move for the split second he made his intentions clear by positioning a large sledgehammer in his hands.

  Menacingly, he darted up in her direction, the two other men disappearing into the living room. The sound of crashing plates and toppling furniture told her they were about to trash the place, and when the man finally reached her and towered over her, the sledgehammer in hand, she thought she could have died of fear.

  CHAPTER 5

  There was a rumbling sound as Joanna reared back, and when she looked down, she saw that Ram was ready to defend her honor, snarling and yapping at the intruder. The man seemed undeterred by the fluffy mutt, for he now stood over her, the hammer poised, gazing down at her with a look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place, but then his eyes were all she could discern behind the mask. They were remarkable. A liquid brown. For a brief moment, she thought they looked familiar, but then she dismissed the thought.

  “Joanna Royale?” he suddenly boomed.

  In her perturbation that he would know her name, she faltered, “Y-y-yes?”

  “Where is your husband—the rat Jonathan Hartley?”

  “I-I-he left…” She swallowed uncomfortably, fear paralyzing her vocal chords. “He left me. Moved back East.”

  “Where?” the man barked.

  “Wa-Washington. He moved to Washington.”

  For a moment, the man was silent, and Joanna held her breath. It seemed her life hung in the balance, depending on the man’s decision. Then, in a softer voice, he asked, “When was this? When did he leave you?”

  “T-t-three weeks ago,” she stammered. “He-he met someone online. Said he didn’t want to live with me anymore. Said he’d grown fond of this girl and wanted out. Said our marriage was a sham, and he couldn’t stand the sight of me.” A sob escaped her throat as she rambled on, uncertain why she was spilling her life’s greatest sorrow to this unknown assailant.

  Absently, her hand stole down to Ram, and she picked him up and pressed him to her chest. Only now did she notice the two other men had joined the first one, and were standing in the hallway, listening to her sad tale.

  “Do you know the name of this other woman?”

  “Felicia,” she blurted out. The name was imprinted on her mind. She shook her head sadly. “Don’t know her family name, though I guess pretty soon it will be Hartley. It won’t be long before the divorce is final.”

  The man gestured at the hallway. “This place is Jonathan’s?”

  At these words, a niggling suspicion tugged at the edge of her mind. His voice. It sounded so familiar!

  “It’s a rental. I’m moving away myself.” She held out her hand in an encompassing gesture. “Take whatever you want. I won’t be needing it anymore.” The three men stood rooted to the spot, immobile and majestic, inspiring both fear and awe. She shrunk a little more inside herself, and when the silence became oppressive, she muttered, “What are you going to do to me?”

  Finally, the man she had identified as the leader of the outfit, spoke. “Nothing. You are free to go. Our business is with your ex-husband, not with you, Miss Royale.”

  “What is your business?” she asked, afraid to look into the man’s eyes for fear he would take offense.

  “Jonathan Hartley took our money but failed to pay it back. Now we take what is owed us.”

  This surprised Joanna. She hadn’t known that her husband owed money to anyone. She did remember he had big plans a few months back. Wanted to turn an old rundown hotel in the heart of town into a bed and breakfast. The plans had never materialized, Jonathan always having trouble with follow-through.

  So had he taken this project further than he’d let on? Had he b
orrowed from a disreputable lender and failed to inform her? It wouldn’t be the first time he kept things from her. Prime example being his budding relationship with Little Miss Hotpants.

  This was different, however. This implicated her. As long as they were married, she was responsible for whatever he owed. It wasn’t just his ass on the line, it was hers as well.

  “Wait,” she called out, understanding dawning. “How much did he owe you?”

  “It really is none of your concern,” the man spoke tersely. He gestured to the others and started descending the stairs now.

  “Is this about the hotel?”

  The man halted, and turned back. “What do you know about that?”

  She gestured feebly. “Just… that he wanted to buy the place and turn it into a bed and breakfast. He lacked the funds to do so, of course, and didn’t mention it anymore, so I figured he’d dropped the idea.”

  The man stared at her for the space of a few seconds, then suddenly brought his hand to his face, and started removing the mask.

  Her eyes went wide with terror. She knew what this meant. The moment she would see his face, it would be the end for her. They would never let her walk out of there alive. “No—don’t!” she pleaded. “Just forget what I said. I really don’t want to know. I’m sorry I even mentioned the hotel.” She squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with her hands in a gesture of desperation.

  The man’s voice was surprisingly soft. “It’s all right, Joanna. I won’t hurt you. Like I said. Our business is with Jonathan—not you.”

  Finally, she dared lower her hands but was still afraid to look up. “Please don’t hurt me,” she muttered.

  “We won’t. You have my word,” the voice came, and then a hand cupped her chin and forced her to raise her eyes. The moment she saw his face, she gasped in surprise. It was the man—the same man she’d met in the forest.

  “Vitaly,” she gasped. “What—“