“I’m aware of what you do. I’ve done my homework. But the accident, the one responsible for her and her family’s deaths, something was off about it.”
“Go on,” I prompted when he grew quiet.
“Mouse’s parents and mine were approached by talent scouts two weeks before the accident. We scheduled separate auditions with an agency that wanted to send us to school here in America. Her father didn’t feel right about the talent scout or the audition. Or that’s what he told my father, at least.”
“Okay, what was off?”
“Something about the questions she asked and the way she looked at Mouse was odd and didn’t sit well. Coming back from the audition, their car suddenly lost control and went over a cliff. The authorities said it was an alcohol-related fatality. Except Mr. Dmitriev was adamantly against drinking of any kind.”
I sat there, trying to process what he was saying. My gut was screaming at me. He was being truthful. There was an honest sincerity in his eyes. He was in pain over this.
“And you’re thinking what? That this girl, your old dance partner, the granddaughter of this man, was what? Kidnapped? Possibly sex trafficked? And is now living here in Seattle? Are you aware that only 1–2 percent of child trafficking victims are recovered?”
“I didn’t know that. But I’m telling you, this girl is Mouse.”
“What’s her real name?”
“Mischa Natalya Dmitrieva, but that’s not all of it. My father got sick about four years ago.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
“Take your time,” I coached him, and his jaw clenched as he got his emotions in check.
“He”—he sneered and pointed to the photo of Mikhail Romanov—“showed up after the Dmitriev funerals, demanding to talk to my father. It was late and confusing, but I distinctly remember him asking questions about Myshka and her family. The next day, my father received word that their…their graves were disturbed in the middle of the night.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, sitting forward. He had my full attention, and any thoughts of turning this case down flew out the window.
“The graveyard worker confirmed the bodies were removed. Why would he do that?” Bewilderment and disgust laced his voice.
“I couldn’t answer that for you. Tell me something. What made your father conclude that she was his granddaughter?”
“Mikhail was distraught and let it slip. He called her parents by their name, but my little Myshka, he called her his darling vnuchka. I heard it with my own two ears, and I don’t need to tell you what that means.”
“No, Mr. Lenkov, you don’t. I’ll need to discuss this with my brothers before committing to your case.”
“I understand. I’ll be in town for the next three weeks. I hope you will consider taking the case. If it’s Myshka, she deserves more than what life has given her. She should be on stage, touring the world and performing, not dancing in some small-town dance class. You can keep those.” He indicated the photos. "Except for the one, that's mine. But you can make a copy if you'd like."
Standing, I walked to the copier and quickly made a copy of the one of them as children and handed him the orignal. “I’ll get back to you by the end of the week,” I said, hearing the desperation in his voice.
I shook his hand and showed him out. The door clicked shut behind him. Settling back into my chair, I restlessly tapped my fingers on my desk.
The hum of the computer filled the room, accompanied by the soft rustle of the photographs Pavel Lenkov had left me. I looked at them once more.
She was exquisite, and there was an innocence about her. The longer I studied the photo, the more intrigued I became. There was certainly a resemblance to Mikhail Romanov in the eyes.
The reports were due in on Anton’s phone today. Factoring in Mr. Lenkov’s information, we almost had to rule out any connection between the Russians and this girl. Ivan and Alek would not be easy to sway.
The Russian Mob was not something to mess with. Hell, we had family back in Russia. Sipping on my tea, I clicked a few keys on my keyboard, attempting to corroborate Lenkov’s story. After several minutes, I made the decision and buzzed Elena.
“Elena, cancel my other appointments for the day. I need you to get Darren on the line for me, please. I need a full background check.” It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at this girl.
Chapter 10
Aleksandr
Mistaken Identity
Marcus, our driver and head of security, had located Anton’s computer and an external hard drive. The reports were in, and we were supposed to meet with Nik later at the club to discuss them.
I stayed home today. The migraine from last night’s killing had been brutal. They were getting worse each time. I was sitting in the drawing room, trying to find a way to avoid going tonight, when Nik and Ivan walked in.
