Chapter 10

What he needed was an ice cold beer. Yeah, that's exactly what he needed. Frank was thinking about the beer way too much and didn't notice the tall dark-haired guy come out of the shadows and start following him.

It was unlike Frank Hardy to be so distracted that he didn't pick up on a tail. But he was thinking about Nancy and bemoaning the fact he wasn't getting a chance to spend time with her tonight. His own fault. He knew that. Didn't make it any better. Actually, it made it worse.

He'd thought about driving to the bar then decided against it. Walking would do him some good – mentally and physically. And now he was late. Just one more thing to darken his already dark mood.

Wonderful. He hated being late almost as much as he hated not having time alone with Nancy. But this meeting tonight was important. Not only did he hope to circumvent Detective Cutter and get some inside help from the River Heights police department, but he was laying the groundwork for the Endeavor's future. If the agency was to survive in this town and be successful, then the Hardys and Nancy had to have an amiable rapport with the local law enforcement.

Through his martial arts classes Frank had made friends with a couple of detectives, Rivera and Henkins, both worked for the River Heights police department.

Frank had called Rivera and Henkins and asked them to meet him at the Bullpen, a local sports bar popular with police officers and baseball fans. The detectives had agreed saying they were eager to find out how the three private detectives were doing.

When Frank got to the bar Rivera and Henkins were already seated at a small table, beers in hand. They lifted their beers in greeting when they saw him. He returned the greeting with a nod and headed toward them.

Misty, the waitress, saw him and arrived at the table a second after he did. She laid a napkin on the table and said, "What can I get you?"

She was about twenty-eight, cute, and had on a White Sox's baseball jersey – all the staff wore jerseys. Tonight was apparently White Sox's night. They switched it up though, sometimes they wore Chicago Cubs' jerseys.

Frank was partial to the Cubs' jerseys, but only because he was a National League fan all the way. No DH (designated hitter) for him. The pitcher should bat just like everyone else. Of course, his feelings might stem from the fact he'd been the starting pitcher on his high school and college teams. He'd prided himself on his pitching stats, as well as his batting average.

"I'll have a Sam Adams," he told Misty.

She left and the three men engaged in the usual small talk. How's it going? How've you been? How's the business working out? Sounds like you've got quite a case there with those shootings.

The conversation was moving in the direction Frank wanted. But before he could follow up Misty returned with his beer. He thanked her, took a long pull on his drink and let himself relax. When he set the beer down he noticed writing on the glass. Take pride in your beer. Good advice, he thought. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a tall dark-haired guy enter the bar.

Frank filed that information at the back of his mind and returned his focus to Rivera and Henkins. "About that case," he said, "that's actually why I asked you guys to meet me. I could use a little help."

"Oh?" it was Rivera the senior of the two detectives. He was thirty-two, olive skinned and married with two kids, both boys. He'd been with the River Heights PD for eleven years. "I heard Jake Cutter caught that case. He hates PIs you know."

"No kidding?" Frank said. "I never would've guessed. What's he got against PIs?"

Henkins, a tall, dusty blond haired former Marine, answered, "His ex-wife used one to catch him cheating on her."

Rivera took over the story. "Cutter went to the PI, tried to talk him out of giving his information to the wife and, ahem, the photos. Said he'd consider it a professional courtesy. The PI told him, 'No dice,' and gave everything to the wife. From what I heard she got a very nice settlement."

Henkins added, "Yeah, word around the station was she took him to the cleaners. Apparently this wasn't the first time Cutter had cheated on her."

"Great," Frank said and took another pull on his beer.

Rivera and Henkins followed suit. Three guys in a bar having a beer.

The music and background noise were loud enough to mask a conversation, but not overwhelm it, which was perfect for the topic Frank wanted to discuss. He set his half empty glass on the table. "Well, at least now I understand Cutter's hostility."

Rivera put his arms on the table. "Care to tell us about the case?"

"Sure." That's exactly what Frank wanted to do. He laid out the case and what he, Joe, and Nancy had so far. Rivera and Henkins said nothing, just listened intently. Frank finished by saying, "I know Cutter's got to have something on that partial license plate by now. I swear, the guy's stonewalling us. We gave him a name, the vehicle type, a description of the suspect … what more could he ask for?"

Rivera and Henkins chuckled.

Rivera said, "You got that partial with you?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe Henkins or I could run it for you. See what we get."

Frank smiled. He pulled an index card out of his pocket and passed it to Rivera.

Rivera looked at the card and grinned. "You came prepared."

The index card had Boris' name, his physical description, the P.O. address he had given the car dealer, the make and model of the black van, and the partial license plate number.

Rivera slid the card over to Henkins then looked at Frank and said, "We'll get right on it. What's your cell phone number?"

The three men exchanged phone numbers and e-mails while finishing their beers. It was close to six thirty. The detectives rose, patted Frank on the shoulder, said good-night and left. Frank decided to stay and have dinner. The Bullpen served great hamburgers. He gave Misty his order then scanned the room. The tall dark-haired guy was sitting at the bar. Frank studied the man's back. Curly hair, broad shoulders. Frank realized he knew the guy. The guy turned and looked right at Frank. They stared at each other for a long moment then Frank tilted his head and pointed at an empty chair at his table. The universal sign for 'care to join me?' The man nodded.

Yuri, Dimitri's bodyguard, stepped up to the table holding the collar of the leather jacket he had draped over his shoulder.

"Following me?" Frank asked.

Yuri tossed the jacket in one of the empty chairs and eased into another. He might be six foot two, but he moved with grace and poise. He was dressed like most Americans out on a Friday night, jeans and a nice shirt, except his shirt was made of pure silk.

"Does Dimitri know you're here?" Frank asked.
"He knows."

"He send you?"

"No. I'm here on my own."

"Why?"

"We need to talk."

Misty showed up interrupting the conversation, what little there was of it. Frank noticed how her eyes lit up when she saw Yuri. Frank figured Yuri was probably used to that response. The guy looked like an Adonis.

There was an extra sweetness in Misty's voice when she spoke to Yuri. "I saw you had coffee at the bar. Would you like another cup? Or maybe something to eat? We make great burgers."

"Another coffee please. Thank you miss."

Once Misty left Frank said, "If you wanted to talk you could've called or left a text message or e-mailed. You didn't have to follow me."

"I wanted to see how good you are."

"Really?" Frank wondered if there was more to it than that. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad. You didn't pick up on me right away." Yuri looked disappointed.

Frank didn't look too happy about it either. "Yeah, well I was distracted tonight."

"Distractions can be fatal."

"Tell me about it."

The men let that comment hung in the air for a moment.

"So," Frank said, "what did you want to talk about?"

"I want to be part of the investigation."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Before Yuri could answer Misty returned with his coffee. She asked if he needed anything else. After getting a, 'No thank you,' she left.

Frank waited silently while Yuri poured cream into his coffee and stirred.

Finally, Yuri said, "I want to work as a team. Any information you get, you give to me directly. Anything I find out I give to you. We work together to find Tasha."

Frank saw something flash in Yuri's eyes when he said Tasha's name. It was brief, over in less than a second, but Frank knew what he'd seen. The look. The look he would have had if the roles were reversed, if Nancy was the one missing. Frank eyed Yuri with new insight. He estimated Yuri to be three to five years older than himself and undoubtedly trained in physical combat, weapons, surveillance and escape and evasion since he'd trained Tasha in those areas. Frank couldn't think of a reason not to work with Yuri.

"I'm fine with you being part of the team," he said.

"Good." Yuri looked relieved. He sipped his coffee then said, "The princess and her safety are very important to me. I feel I have failed her, I've let the family down."

"I can understand that." Frank leaned forward. "So, if you're here, who's watching the prince?"

"There's another bodyguard. The prince is never unattended."

Good to know, Frank thought.

Misty arrived with Frank's hamburger. She asked if anyone wanted anything else. No one did.

Yuri grabbed his leather jacket off the neighboring chair. He took a silver card holder out of the pocket and opened it. He withdrew a card, placed it on the table and slid it toward Frank. "My cell phone number."

Frank glanced at the card then said, "I met with some police detectives tonight. I may have something on Boris by tomorrow. I'll let you know."

"Thanks." Yuri took one last sip of his coffee and stood. He pulled a ten dollar bill out of his pants pocket and laid it on the table. "I'll let you enjoy your meal." He gathered up his jacket and left.

Frank stared at Yuri's card for a moment then dug into his hamburger. After dinner he ordered coffee and a slice of apple pie. He wasn't ready to face the empty office. Of course, he did have all those papers waiting for him – the ones Joe had dumped on his desk. But they weren't going anywhere. They could wait.

Thinking of Joe, Frank wondered how his date was going.

It was a perfect first date. Joe took Vanessa to a little bistro. It was quaint and quiet and oozing with old world charm. He could tell she liked it. He got them a table by the front windows with the white lace café curtains. She said she liked watching the people pass by outside.

They ordered and Joe made small talk. He told her he was also from New York, a small town called Bayport. She seemed genuinely interested. He told her about being a detective and working for his father and being in the Army and how he and his brother had always wanted their own business and that's what had brought them to River Heights.

She told him about growing up in Manhattan and loving the city lights and going to shows. She told him she was an only child, that her father had left when she was very young so she didn't know much about him. She skirted around the issue of why she was in River Heights and that was okay with Joe. She'd told him enough.

When they finished dinner they walked around for a while. The streets were mostly deserted. Streetlamps and the glow from windows lit their way. Since Vanessa had only been in town two weeks everything was new to her. Joe pointed out his favorite places to eat and Vanessa took mental notes. She liked to stop and check out the window displays. She said they reminded her of New York. Of course the ones here were much smaller and simpler.

The night was cold. She shivered and leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close giving her a little extra warmth. They stopped in front of a window display and he thought how strange it was to be standing here, thousands of miles from home, with his arm around a stranger. He'd only met her that afternoon. If someone had told him that morning, he'd be doing this tonight, he would have told them they were crazy.

Having her next to him was strange and wonderful all at the same time. They started walking again. They passed under a streetlamp and her hair shone gold in the light. She was so completely different from Iola. Vanessa was blonde and blue eyed, Iola had been brunette and brown eyed. He mentally paused realizing he'd said Iola's name. Not out loud, he'd thought it, but he hadn't allowed himself to say or even think her name in years. Somehow though, it felt okay tonight, thinking her name, thinking about her.

He took Vanessa's hand and they started walking again.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks." She gave him that shy smile. It warmed his heart .. his body .. his very soul. With her and that smile around he'd never be cold again.

They arrived at the insurance office. She was living with her aunt and uncle for the time being. If things worked out she'd get a place of her own. They stood in the office, the lights low, the shades drawn, just the two of them, neither one quite ready to call it a night. He took it as a sign and kissed her on the lips, light and tender.

She grinned. "You always kiss on the first date?"

"Haven't had a first date in two years," he told her truthfully.

She found that hard to believe. "Really?"

"Really."

She leaned against the wall with her hands behind her back and looked at him studying his face. Sultry was the word that came to his mind and he wanted to kiss her again, really kiss her this time.

She looked away briefly then back at him. "I had a really nice time tonight, Joe. Thanks for a lovely evening."

He was being dismissed, no second kiss tonight. That meant he had to see her again. "I had a nice time, too," he said. "Does this mean you might say yes to a second date?"

"I might."

As it turned out she did. She agreed to go car shopping with him the next day. Joe said good-night and left. He waited outside until he heard the door lock securely behind him. Then he walked the few feet to his own office door.

Boris was unhappy, tired, and in pain. Unhappy because he didn't have the package. Tired because he'd spent the day watching the Endeavor. And in pain because his left cheek felt like he'd been punched in the face with a hot iron. The cheek wound was a consequence of Thursday night's shooting. One of the guys in the office had gotten off a lucky shot.

Boris had a plan as to how to get the package – break into the office and steal it. If that didn't work then kidnap the girl in the office. That should guarantee the dark haired guy's cooperation. That is, if the kiss he'd seen meant anything, and Boris was pretty sure it meant something. With those kinds of guys it always did.

Boris' surveillance of the office had led him to the back alley. He'd located the back door and that's how he would get in tomorrow. He'd hoped to get in today, but the place had been swarming with people all day long. By late afternoon Boris had left to get something to eat. He returned after dark only to find two police cruisers patrolling the block. At that point he'd called it a night and decided he would strike tomorrow around noon. The perfect time, the occupants of the office wouldn't expect a break-in during the middle of the day.

Boris sat on a dilapidated sofa, in a broken down house, on one of the meanest streets in the Kiev Village. He grabbed a bottle of vodka off the floor, tilted his head back and took a long swig. The alcohol dulled the pain of his wound. The wound was minor compared to many of the things Boris had endured in his thirty years of life. Growing up poor on some of the meanest streets in Russian had hardened him to the core. He'd been introduced to guns at a young age and they had become his only real friends. He'd found guns were more reliable than people. You could put your faith and trust in guns. They never lied to you and they certainly never abandoned you. Guns protected you. They were always there when you needed them.

And in this neighborhood, you needed them.

Boris had his weapons laid out in front of him on a low wooden table. He treated each one with tender loving care – each one was special, each had its own strengths and weaknesses. Some were better suited to a particular job than another.

For instance, the black Swiss SIG P220 semi-automatic pistol was a reliable and accurate weapon, best used for close range targets. The dark gray HS 2000 Croatian semi-automatic pistol was also reliable, also suitable for close range targets and unique due to its polymer frame. It was the standard issue weapon in the Croatian Army. Boris had gotten this one off a dead soldier.

The Micro Uzi was a compact submachine gun good for longer distances. It had other advantages, too. It was light weight, less than eight pounds, and had a folding stock. When folded the gun was a mere eleven inches long making it easy to conceal. The AK-47 rifle, or Kalash as it was called in Russian slang, was one of the best assault rifles in the world. It was long, 34 inches, and heavy, close to ten pounds with a loaded magazine.

Boris took another swig of vodka, held onto the bottle, and let his eyes lightly caress each weapon. Which one should he use tomorrow? He rested the bottle on his knee and leaned forward. The AK-47 was out – too big, too bulky, too heavy. The pistols were good, but not intimidating enough. He reached out and touched the Micro Uzi. That's the one.

With his decision made Boris leaned back against the sofa, the bottle nestled in his lap. His body was loose, relaxed, and his head rolled to the side, his brain buzzing from the vodka. He heard a woman giggle and opened an eye. He saw Ivan, the other guard, enter the room hugging a skinny, brown haired woman. Probably a hooker, he thought, not interested.

Ivan was a reasonable looking guy with dark hair and fiery eyes. He still had all his teeth, a definite plus, and just enough scars to make him appealing to women looking for a bad boy. He was twenty-six, but looked thirty six, another factor in his favor. He also had money thanks to this job. Mr. X was a decent employer and never late with the cash.

The woman stopped short when she saw Boris. He saw the fear on her face. He had that effect on people and it made him happy. He smiled at her, actually more a leer, and she cringed. He saw her shrink back against Ivan and hug him tight pulling him close wanting protection. Ivan mistook her reaction as a signal she was ready for the bedroom, took her hand, and led her upstairs. She was happy to go. On the top step she threw one last glance over her shoulder at Boris. He was still there, still smiling, laughing inside.

He wasn't unhappy anymore and the vodka had dulled his pain. But he was tired.

A/N: As always, I thank each and every one of you for your reviews. Glad people are pleased to see Vanessa and the way I've introduced her.