Girls of Summer Page 18

  “Charlotte, you unwise to come here this night.”

  “Baba?”

  Her grandmother stood and walked to the bank of glass shimmering with the evening light shining from Manhattan’s cityscape. Her posture belied her years but whispered of her storied career in the Bolshoi. Clasping her hands behind her back, she surveyed her view as if she were a royal inspecting her queendom. “You know your mother has troubles. But you jumping to conclusion makes worse of bad situation.”

  “But the situation is only going from bad to worse.” Charlotte spewed out all of what she knew about her mother’s illegal dealings. From the gambling, to the money laundering through the gallery, to the suspected drug sales, and the horror of human trafficking.

  “And you believe Anastasia, my daughter, to be involved in all of this? You believe this of your mother. You think she hurt your friend. Stole moneys from you. Sells drugs to little childrens. Kidnaps womens and sells to mens. For what? Moneys?”

  “Baba, I’ve never known why Mama does what she does. And I don’t care anymore. If she’s involved in something illegal, she should face the repercussions, shouldn’t she? But I don’t care about her paying for her crimes. I just want my sister back. All of Mama’s choices are connected with Anton Dorokhov. He’s the link continuing to feed her gambling problem. To the debt she’s accrued with those people. But you have friends in the community, don’t you? You know everyone. You know someone who knows something? If you can help Georgie, please help her. She didn’t do anything wrong. She doesn’t deserve to be sucked into this mess.”

  “And you do, myshka?” Baba asked, turning from the glass.

  Tears burned the edges of Charlotte’s eyes, but she fought against the weakness that seemed to plague her since the New Year. Baba would deplore any sign of frailty. Strength was a requirement for all Russians. Regardless of whether her grandmother was involved or if she was unaware of the criminal activities in which Mama was embroiled, Charlotte needed to reflect the strength her grandmother admired. She shrugged. “I was born of her. That is enough to link me to her troubles, no?”

  Baba shook her head as she closed the distance between them. Cupping Charlotte’s cheeks between swollen jointed fingers, she stared at her granddaughter. “My little one, the Holy Lord Jesus Christ does not ask us to wear the stain of our parents’ sins. It is mantle only the devil of this world lays over our shoulders.”

  Wet streaks burned paths down Charlotte’s cheeks. She turned her face, kissing Baba’s smooth palms. “The Lord Jesus Christ? Baba, what do you know of the Lord? My whole life you only went to church when you had to…and now you know the Lord Jesus?”

  Baba’s lips stretched thin to a hollow smile. “Even old lady has her secrets, no? Your Papa not like the Orthodox way. He say it all rubbish and icons. I keep my faith silent until he passed. But now, the church she give me comfort. But always the Lord Jesus Christ was near. My mistake was not sharing Him with you and your mama. I not want to upset your Papa. And, yet, the Lord Jesus Christ is near to you, too. For years, I pray in heart. With silence, and the Lord He speaks to my heart. No different than Soviet Union where faith for anything but state was outlawed. Quiet faith is sleeping lion. He sleeps until he roars. You have faith, myshka. Your faith just sleepier.”

  Her grandmother was a Christian? How could she have missed the signs? What else had she missed in her life?

  “Baba, I don’t have faith.” Tears burned against her eyes. “How can I have faith? Your Jesus, or Georgie’s God, neither one will want someone like me. Not with the choices I’ve made in my life. Not with Mama’s choices. How do I not wear her drama like a tattoo, forever emblazoned on my life? I’m Stasi Bickford’s daughter. With that comes all of her shame. I can’t escape.”

  “Is it easy to let go of your mother’s troubles? Nyet. But you must. She made choices. Now you must own choice of your life.”

  “But how do I, Baba? Georgie is missing. Remy is barely alive. My life has ripples that are more dangerous than an average person could even imagine.”

  “But you are no average person. You are granddaughter of Alloochka Anotov who made Secretary Stalin weep with dancing. You have bones built for greatness. Your mother she choose easy path. Silly path. You, Zvezda, my star, you choose hard path. Make path easier. Ask Jesus help you.” Baba’s eyes slid closed. Wrapping Charlotte’s hands in her tender grip, her voice slipped into her native tongue as she spoke ancient words. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Have mercy on Charlotte, a sinner. Have mercy on Anastasia, a sinner. Have mercy on little girl, a sinner. Lord Jesus Christ, make haste Your mercies.”

  Soppy eyes clouded Charlotte’s vision, but for the first time in her life, she saw her grandmother. Not as the stoic ballerina who decorated her grandfather’s arm or the grandmother who corrected her, but as a child of God. A God Charlotte desperately longed to know.

  “Charlotte, are you certain your mother is connected to little girl?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “OK. I do what I can. No promises. But you be wary of agents. No person in community help if you allow FBI to intervene.”

  “But…”

  Baba raised her hand covering Charlotte’s mouth. “You want sister. No FBI. You must. Blood takes care of blood, myshka.”

  Kissing Baba on the cheek, she whispered, “Do svidaniya, Baba. Ya lyublyu tebya.”

  “Love you too, little mouse.” Baba kissed each cheek and patted Charlotte’s hair. “You be safe. May Christ Himself, dispatch His holy angels to protect you. My heart not survive scare for you again. I see if I can help little girl.”

  Charlotte nodded and rose to stand, slightly dizzy with these revelations about her grandmother, and with fear of once again obstructing the FBI. Good reasons or not, she was struggling with the morality of playing both sides. With two long strides, the space between the chairs and the closed door was gobbled under her feet.

  “FBI must go, myshka.” Baba’s voice floated above the click of the door handle in Charlotte’s grip. “Or I not able to help little girl. You do as I say, and I do what I can. You not? Problem out of my hands.”

  A shudder raced through Charlotte’s lean frame fueled by the cold bitterness that poured through her grandmother’s sweet voice.

  32

  “We need to go.”

  Charlotte’s clipped voice snapped Cade from the mental teleplay of excruciating scenarios Georgie could be enduring back to the present. “What did your grandmother say?”

  “I said we need to go.” The frigid ice wall Charlotte had during their first meeting was slammed back in place. Whatever her grandmother told her closed the door on the focused progress they’d made over the last few weeks. Her concern over her sister’s disappearance no longer lingered at the edges of her eyes. Frozen steel replaced any emotion she previously showed.

  “OK.” O’Neal stood, wiping cookie crumbs from his shirt and mouth. “Marta, thank you for your hospitality. Everything was delicious and you made us feel right at home. Please share our gratitude with Mrs. Bickford.”

  The housekeeper blushed with O’Neal’s generosity. Cade shook his head. With his ruddy face and balding head, O’Neal could charm anyone from a hardened felon to a frightened immigrant. His disarming approach was what made him a lethal interrogator.

  “Murph, you ready?” O’Neal lifted a single eyebrow and Cade nodded in response.

  “Do svidaniya, Marta.” Charlotte offered with a nod. Her long strides gobbled the length of the hallway in seconds.

  Cade and O’Neal followed behind, with O’Neal continuing to pepper Marta with pleasantries.

  Marta pulled their coats from the entry hallway and handed over Charlotte’s trench coat.

  “Tell my grandmother I will do as she asked, but she must give me what I ask in return.” Charlotte gave Marta a narrow-eyed look.

  Marta nodded, her eyes shining with understanding.

  “Gentlemen,” Charlotte said, shoving
the door open to the hall. “Shall we?”

  Not waiting for a response, she charged toward the elevator and pressed the button with enough force, Cade was mildly surprised the plastic disk didn’t fly through the wall to the next luxury apartment building. Riding to the ground floor with only the echo of computer-generated recordings filling the opulent space, Cade stared at Charlotte’s tense face and tightly shut eyes. Her hands clutched the edges of the heavy mahogany wood paneling the elevator’s interior. Breaths in short spurts. Foot tapping a swift rhythm. Lock tense shoulders.

  Awareness dawned on Cade.

  Charlotte was claustrophobic.

  A compassionate person would try and help the obvious pain unfolding before him. Cade could be compassionate when the situation called for it, but he imagined Charlotte Dixon would spit his care in his face.

  The elevator announced their arrival at the lobby and Charlotte hurriedly exited toward Park Avenue. Speaking briefly to the doorman, she clutched his hand in hers. His lips tightened to a thin line as he nodded in response to her words.

  The doorman lifted his gaze to Cade, but a shadow seemed to have settled across the jolly man’s face. “Sir, I’ll have your car brought around momentarily. The front overhang is heated if you want to wait outside.” He turned and vanished from the lobby.

  “Shall we?” Charlotte asked. Not waiting for Cade or O’Neal, she pushed through to the awning entrance and tightened the belt of her coat against the frigid New York winter air.

  “Charlotte,” O’Neal started. “Is everything OK?”

  “Of course. I have a plane to catch and don’t want to be late.” She stared into the darkness, huddled in the soft confines of her cashmere coat.

  Watching her wrapped in luxury, Cade mentally muttered, but kept his lips sealed in a thin line. She’s warm. And Georgie could be cold, hungry, injured, or worse. All because she had the misfortune of sharing DNA with this woman. The unending spiral of what-if’s pressed at Cade as Charlotte ignored the world around her. “Give over, Miss Dixon.” Cade stepped in front of her. “Taylor sent the company jet to expedite your…our…return to South Carolina. There aren’t schedules. Just the whim of the wealthy.”

  Her chin shot up. Her glassy-eyed gaze caught his, tweaking his bruised conscience, but he wouldn’t be stopped. “Why did we have to stop to see your grandmother? What does she have to do with Georgie’s disappearance? Is she involved with your mother’s business? Are you, Miss Dixon?”

  Silence. Just the drop of her focus to the roadway beyond them. She stepped around Cade as their sedan hugged the corner and rolled to a stop. Without a backward glance, she slid into the backseat and stared straight ahead.

  “Seriously?” Cade muttered. He began to lumber to the car but O’Neal’s beefy hand stopped him.

  “Lay off, Murph.”

  “Why should I? Her sister’s missing and she’s blown the two best leads we have. Why should I give her a pass?”

  “Her sister’s missing…” O’Neal lowered his voice. “Her best friend is in a coma. She nearly died in a car explosion. Her mother’s been stealing from her. And she’s turned over evidence against her Mom. She wore a wiretap to try and gain more evidence against her own mother. The average person would crumble under one of those blows, but she continues to fight. Let her fight her way. Don’t try and beat her walls down. They’ll turn from ice to cold, hard steel.”

  Cade scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “What if we’ve lost her? What if we’ve lost Georgie?”

  “The more pressing question is what if we lost Charlotte? We may have. You aren’t helping us.”

  Cade opened his mouth to argue, but Dylan’s hand stopped him. “But we’ll get her back. She needs us to clear her familial conscience. To right the wrongs of at least one generation of her family. She also needs us to find her sister. And she does need her sister. She won’t admit it. But Charlotte Dixon’s weakness is her baby sister and she’ll do anything for her.” Dylan paused as the building valet handed him the car keys. “Regardless, now we’ve got the grandmother. You did what you needed to do, right?”

  Cade patted his empty trouser pocket, crossed his hand over his heart and nodded. While O’Neal chatted about pastries and cleaning products with the housekeeper, Cade excused himself to place microscopic recording and listening devices in the bookshelves that lined the center of Alla Bickford’s penthouse apartment. The copy of the expedited warrant approving the surveillance was emailed to him during the ride from the restaurant. The unanticipated stop at the grandmother’s apartment was a surprising gift.

  When Charlotte agreed to help build the case against her mother, he reached out to his contact in the U.S. Attorney’s office in Manhattan and with minimal arm twisting; he had warrants to put both Stasi and Alla under the watchful eye of the Federal Government. Charlotte was aware of the request for the warrant, at least the one for Stasi. Cade and O’Neal didn’t share with the beloved granddaughter that they believed her grandmother was likely more treacherous than her mother.

  “They’re all in place,” Cade answered with a nod.

  With or without Charlotte Dixon’s assistance, he would bring down Anastasia Bickford Dixon-whatever-the-rest-of-her-names-were, and the entire bratva in Manhattan. Even if the destruction took a little old lady with it.

  33

  The city lights nearly vanished in the murk of the Hudson River flowing parallel to the exit out of the Manhattan. Only, a short thirty minute drive to the Teterboro Airport, a drive Charlotte had taken many times with her grandparents to fly back to school or with friends’ parents on a trip somewhere her mother wasn’t.

  Teterboro was the gateway for the elite to travel. Targeted security. Sleek jets. Destinations limited only by the distance the planes could fly and the money spilling from pockets. And today, Teterboro would be how she returned to South Carolina and the growing scrapbook of pain she was creating. Charlotte’s vision blurred against the spiraling cables securing the George Washington bridge, but her mind kept sharpening images of Georgie, unconscious, beaten, cold, scared, frightened, broken…alone.

  Who could have taken her?

  As easy as it would be to blame her mother, Mama looked shocked at the revelation of Georgie’s disappearance. But if not Mama, then who? And more importantly, why? Why take a sweet, beautiful young woman? Mopping tears with her fingers, she tried to wipe away the answers fighting to take residence in her mind. But she couldn’t let herself register the truth. If her mother wasn’t behind the kidnapping, then…

  Buzz. Buzz…

  The quick staccato of her phone against her thigh pulled her from spiraling thoughts, but the caller ID plummeted the weight in her stomach with a splash.

  “Hi, Savvy.”

  “Hi, Savvy! That’s how ya answa the phone? Don’ ya know wha’s goin’ on? Your sista’s missin’.” Savvy’s typically cultured, slow Southern accent jumbled into a quick low country rumble as she spat most of the details Charlotte already knew.

  Charlotte allowed her aunt’s anger and fear to expel itself through her tirade without interruption.

  “When are ya comin’ home? We need ya here, Charlie. We all need to work togetha to find your sista.”

  “Mac sent the plane when he called the security guards travelling with me.” With the tenuous status of the FBI’s case against her mother, they were unable to share with Savvy her true reason for travelling to New York. Savvy blissfully believed her visit was only to check up on the gallery and visit her grandmother. “I was at dinner when he called and unable to get to my phone. We’re on the way to the airport now. We should be home in a few hours.”

  “Can you call those gentlemen from the FBI?” Her voice slowed to the subtle tone Charlotte had come to find comforting. “The sheriff is on the case and the police are all over Colin’s Fancy, just like with Remy…oh, my dear, I’m so sorry…”

  “No, it’s, OK, Savvy. This is nothing like Remy. I think Mac already reached out to th
e agents.” Glancing at the front seats, she continued. “They may already be on their way.” Guilt rose with the bile rolling in her stomach at the half-truths she continued to pour into her relationship with her aunt.

  “Good. Good. It’ll all be better when you get here. I know you’ll know how to find your sister. I just know you will know.”

  Acid burned at the base of his throat. “Why do you believe I can find Georgie?”

  “Because you’re sisters. Sisters always find each other. I always knew when my brother needed me. And he always knew when I needed him.” Savvy drew a deep breath on the other end. The line went silent.

  Charlotte could hear her breath echo to the other line.

  “Sweetheart, I know why you stayed away all those years.”

  Sweat beads pricked her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know. Just know that I know. Anyone who sacrifices as much as you have for your little sister will know what to do. You’ll know how to find her. God’ll show you the way. Trust Him. I believe in you. Believe in His guidance.”

  The phone clicked dead on the other end.

  Tears slipped down Charlotte’s cheeks. If God was her only hope, finding Georgie might truly be hopeless.

  34

  Ting...Ting…Ting…

  Chill seeped into Georgie’s bones, permeating every molecule of her being from her numb toes to the backs of her eye sockets where her tears seemed to have frozen in place.

  Ting...Ting…Ting…

  Consciousness, blessedly, had been in brief spurts, but the soft drip of water against what sounded like a tin pan echoed and drew her to the surface. How long had she been in the tiny root cellar? She assumed her current prison was a cellar. Its muddy mix of broken cement floor, wooden planked shelves, and exposed beams for the sloped ceiling bespoke prior years of rainbow filled jars lining the walls with canned tomatoes, peaches, green beans, and grape jelly waiting for the long winter to come after the harvest of summer.