THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

Chapter Four:  Information Exchange

"Information?  What kind of information?" 

"It's reliable, if that's what you're worried about."

Steve was worried about the reliability of any information coming from Nicolayev, but that worry paled in comparison to his worry about Jesse.  He and Ron had found no trace of the missing doctor and his neighbour or the missing containers.  They only had two days left in which to find them, and Steve tried to close his mind to what could take place if time ran out before that happened.  If he allowed himself to consider those scenarios, he knew he'd be useless as a detective.

"Tell me what you know," Steve demanded.

Nicolayev clucked his tongue in disapproval.  "Americans, always in a hurry.  No wonder you have so many heart attacks.  You should learn to have patience, Lieutenant, and relax."

Steve struggled to keep his temper in check.  "Thanks for the self-help tip, but my friend's life is at stake so I'm a bit more on edge than normal," he said, through clenched teeth.  "If you're done dispensing the health advice, maybe you can get to the reason for your call."

Sighing, Nicolayev said, "You win, Lieutenant.  I will tell you what I know but not over the phone.  We meet face to face so you can see I'm telling the truth."

"When and where?"  Steve hated having to play the man's game but was desperate for any information.

"Two hours.  I have some warehouses near the docks."  He named an area Steve was familiar with.  "In front of number 17.  And come alone."

"Are you coming alone?"

Nicolayev laughed.  "You have to show up to find out," he replied, ending the call.

Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and glared at it for a moment.  Giving himself a mental shake, he listened for a dial tone then punched in a series of numbers.  "Ron?"  Steve didn't even bother to identify himself.  "How soon can you assemble a surveillance team?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hugo stared pensively at the ceiling frustrated by his inability to help in the search for Ellie.  Almost immediately after Doctor Sloan had left, he'd fallen asleep no doubt assisted by whatever was dripping through the IV in his arm.  Upon awakening a few hours later, he'd found himself alone just as he'd been so often during the past few weeks.  The sight of the policeman outside his door reminded him of just how much trouble he was in.  Hugo recalled Doctor Sloan telling him he'd have a guard on his door until Ellie and Jesse were returned and the containers found.  He shivered as a picture of Ellie and Jesse being dragged out of the restaurant flashed through his mind.

Stirring restlessly in the narrow bed, Hugo tried to get comfortable.  He was worried about Ellie and, he admitted to himself grudgingly, her new boyfriend too.  Even though he didn't like the fact she'd seemed to have found someone new so soon after their aborted wedding, he didn't wish the man any harm.  He'd never even meant for them to get involved in his problems.  All he'd wanted when he'd called Ellie was to hear a friendly voice.  If he hadn't been so tired from being on the run, he would've realized what a bad idea that was. 

Growing tired of looking at the ceiling, Hugo replayed his interview with Steve in his head.  The detective hadn't been very friendly, but he'd said up front his first priority was finding his friend and Hugo respected that.  He searched his memory for any other scrap of information that might help the police and FBI find Ellie and Jesse or the containers.  Nothing came to mind, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to give them permission to search his office at the import/export business.  Maybe there was something there they could use that he'd forgotten about.  Yawning, Hugo hoped Ellie and Jesse were okay and would be found soon.  He supposed he should care about finding the containers with the counterfeit money too, but those didn't seem very important anymore.  In fact, Hugo was beginning to wish he'd never laid eyes on them or their contents. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Jesse?"

Ellie's soft voice startled Jesse.  She'd been silent for so long he thought she'd finally fallen asleep.  He turned slightly so he could see her face.  Damn, she's pale, Jesse thought.  I wish I had something to give her for the pain.

"What?  Do you want something to drink?  Some water?"

"Jesse, I'm sorry."

Jesse blinked.  "Sorry?  Sorry for what?"

"If I hadn't accepted your offer to go with me to meet Hugo, you wouldn't be trapped in this container and your restaurant wouldn't have gotten shot up.  I feel like this is my fault."

"Ellie, none of this is your fault."  Jesse hastened to reassure her.  "It's not the first time we've had to fix bullet holes at Bob's."  Likely won't be the last either, he thought wryly, mentally wincing at the prospect of the next round of insurance premiums.  "And I offered to come along because I wanted to support you.  If anyone's to blame for this mess, it's Hugo.  He's the one who got you involved, and it's all because of his gambling."

"I suppose you're right."

"I know I'm right."  Jesse moved toward the refrigerated container.  "So how 'bout something to eat?" he asked, examining the contents.

Half-heartedly, Ellie picked at the sandwich Jesse handed her.  "I really thought Hugo had gotten past his gambling problems," she sighed.

"You knew he had a gambling problem and were still going to marry him?"

"I knew Hugo liked to gamble," Ellie corrected him.  "That's different than knowing he's a compulsive gambler.  We talked about it after he proposed to me.  He promised me he would quit if that's what I wanted, and I told him it was.  I'd seen what he was like when he got on roll.  He'd be so distracted that nothing else mattered, and I didn't want to live like that."  She sighed again.  "I really thought he had quit.  I honestly don't know when he found time to gamble.  He was so attentive throughout our engagement and was involved with planning our wedding.  I can't believe I missed the signs."

"Maybe there weren't any signs to miss."

"What do you mean?"

"Somehow Hugo managed to hide all the signs from you.  Addicts can do that for a while.  That's how kids get away with using drugs or alcohol and their parents don't find out until it's too late." 

"I was so humiliated when Hugo left me standing at the altar in front of all our guests.  I couldn't believe he'd do something so cruel, but I guess in his own way he was trying to protect me."

"He ended up dragging you into his problems anyway," Jesse couldn't resist pointing out.

"I know, but I want to help him if I can.  Help him as a friend not as his wife."

Wife.  The word niggled at the back of Jesse's brain.  What was it their captors had said as he and Ellie were dragged out of Bob's?  Jesse searched his memory trying to recall.  Suddenly it came to him.  Get our money or wifey and friend dies.

"They think you and Hugo are married," Jesse blurted out.

"What?"  Ellie was confused by the sudden shift in the conversation.

"The guys who grabbed us, they think you and Hugo are married.  As we were going out the door at Bob's, I heard the one say 'Get our money or wifey and friend dies.'  They evidently didn't hear about Hugo leaving you at the altar."

"Is that important?"

"I don't know.  It might be.  I wish I could tell Steve or Mark about it."

 Ellie fell silent again lost in thought.  "Jesse?"  she asked, quietly.

"Yes, Ellie?"

"They are going to find us aren't they?  I mean, before…"

Jesse gathered Ellie into his arms and held her as close as her injured elbow would allow.  "If I know Steve, and I do, he's doing whatever he can to find us.  He won't stop looking, trust me."  Jesse spoke with a confidence borne from a deep friendship and past experience.

Ellie sniffed but was apparently satisfied with his answer.  "So tell me," she said, shifting so she could peer up at Jesse.  "Why would a nice restaurant like yours have bullet holes that needed fixing anyway?"

Jesse smiled.  "Well, you see, there was this ex-con named Kurt Fallon, and he was trying to get Steve to kill him…"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mark stood back and watched as Steve slipped the Kevlar vest on over his shirt.  Watching that simple act made the danger his son was putting himself in that much more real, but he knew protesting would be useless.  Steve had insisted on meeting Nicolayev alone despite Ron's earlier objections. 

"I'm going with you to the meeting," Ron had announced.

"No," Steve had replied without hesitation.  "Nicolayev said to come alone."

"But he didn't promise he'd come alone."

"This is not open for discussion, Ron.  If Nicolayev has information about Bordonov's shooting, I don't want to give him any reason to withhold it.  This may be the only chance we have of finding Jesse."

The two men had stared at each other for a long, tense moment.  Steve's posture had practically dared Ron to try and defy him by coming along.  It had been a battle of wills, but the FBI agent had finally nodded signalling he'd go along with Steve's decision.  Ron had made no other comment but handed Steve the protective vest with a look of his own that had clearly said Steve had better be wearing it when he left the command area.

Zipping a windbreaker up over the vest, Steve caught sight of his father standing near the surveillance truck.  He could read the worry written all over his face.  Walking over to him, he said, "Don't worry, Dad.  We'll get Jesse back."

"He's not the only one I'm worried about.  Please be careful, Steve."

"I will, Dad.  Nicolayev has no reason to hurt me."

"Steve," Ron called, "you'd better get going."

Giving a wave to indicate he'd heard, Steve looked at his dad once more.  "I'll be back soon.  We'll get to the bottom of this and, before you know it, Jesse will be eating us out of house and home again."

Mark couldn't help but smile at the mental picture Steve's words conjured up.  "You're right."

"I know I am."  Steve was relieved to see his father's mood lighten if only for an instant. 

The smile left Mark's face as he watched Steve walk in the opposite direction of the surveillance truck.  The command area was less than a half-mile from the warehouse but it might as well have been a thousand miles as far as Mark was concerned.  Being able to see Steve on the surveillance truck's multiple monitors only made him feel marginally better.  If this had been a movie, Mark was sure some appropriately spooky music would be playing in the background, but this wasn't a script being played out on some Hollywood back lot.  This was real life, and Steve was in the centre of the drama. 

Ron looked over and didn't miss the intense attention Mark was paying to the screens.  He kept quiet knowing nothing he said would ease the doctor's apprehension.  Instead, he spoke quietly into his headset repositioning a couple of his men.  Satisfied they were in the best possible places given the lack of cover, Ron fell silent as he watched Steve move toward warehouse number 17.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Steve approached the warehouse cautiously all of his senses on alert.  The area around the docks was unnaturally quiet and that made him uneasy.  He had expected more activity in the area since ships were always coming and going.  Steve resisted the urge to look around to see if he could spot Ron's men.  He knew Ron had assembled a highly trained group and the agents were under orders to stay out of sight unless the situation demanded they intervene. 

Without warning, Nicolayev stepped out of the shadows stopping just a few paces in front of Steve.  "You have come alone?" he asked.

"I said I would."  Steve's instincts were telling him something wasn't quite right, and he moved his hand slightly so he had better access to his gun if he needed it.  "Now tell me what kind of information you have about the Bordonov shooting."

Reaching inside his jacket, Nicolayev extracted an envelope from his pocket and held it out to Steve.  Before he had a chance to take it, a gunshot rang out shattering the quiet night.