Chapter 3 The offer

The photograph lay on the table like a death threat. Katerina’s first instinct was to burn it, to destroy the evidence of the violation. But what was that going to do? Undo the break in.

Or maybe... maybe there are prints on it.

She quickly took out her mini uv flashlight and turned it on. Grabbing the edge of the picture with the tip of her fingers and flashed the light slowly over it.

There was no fingerprints or any marks at all.

---

Katerina spent the night barricaded in her bedroom, a kitchen knife on the nightstand, listening to every creak and groan of the old building, she wasn't going to leave an apartment she spends every two paychecks on because of a fucking intruder.

He should pay more visits if he feels like it.

---

The next morning, Katerina went to work as if nothing had happened. It was the only move she had. To run would be to admit she had something to hide. And what did she have? A feeling? A phantom memory triggered by a piece of gold? She felt insane.

She was insane.

This stupid case was either going to take to a psychiatrist or her grave, and she hoped it was neither. Having constant nightmares of things that either never happened or happened and she couldn't remember because of that stupid accident was enough to ruin her life.

She's been living off meds after meds. Other times she'd cry herself to sleep, and the rest of the times she'd keep her ex therapist awake with her thoughts and nightmares.

God bless that lady.

So if the Nova import case was going to add to that plate and also threaten her safety, then she's better off living the rest of her life guessing why every words and actions look and feel familiar rather than investigating it.

She's no detective.

Arriving at the workplace she went straight to Henderson’s office, closing the door behind her. “Learn how to kno—” His eyes squinted at her grim expression.

“I’m taking myself off the Neva Imports case,” she dropped what Henderson would consider a bomb.

Henderson didn’t look relieved as she expected him to be, he did want her to get it over with. He looked like he was about to be sick. “You… you can’t.”

“I can. It’s a conflict of interest, and I know you'd appreciate my decision.” She wasn’t sure what the conflict was, only that there was one.

“It’s not that simple, Katerina.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “They don’t want you off the case, okay, I'm sorry I asked you to rush things, but they want you. Specifically.”

First of all, whoever this was should pick a decision and stick with it. “What are you talking about?”

He opened a desk drawer with trembling hands and pulled out a thick, unmarked envelope. He slid it across the desk. It was heavy. “They delivered this this morning. For you. A ‘gesture of good faith.’ For your… thoroughness.”

Katerina didn’t touch it. She could see the shape of bundled cash inside. A bribe. A massive one. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he squeaked. “They said it’s a down payment. For a swift, favorable assessment. They said there would be more. Much more.” He pushed the envelope closer. “Take it. Do the report. And for God’s sake, let this be the end of it.”

She picked up the envelope and looked Henderson dead in the eye. “Tell them I’m not for sale, I'm keeping the money though, as a compensation for breaking into my apartment.”

She turned and walked out, leaving him sputtering.

Relaxing into her seat, she opened the envelope and saw a small piece of paper just above the money, and on it was the name.

Morozov, I.

Obviously the name meant nothing to her. But yet, seeing it on that paper, she felt another one of those jolts, the same cold fear the lighter had sparked. Morozov.

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, shattering the silence with an unknown text.

<I see you got my gift of thanks.>

They were watching her too? Or did Henderson tell them? She typed a reply, her fingers striking the keys like hammers.

<Who is this?>

The answer came almost instantly.

<Oh Sasha, why don't we skip past the pretense.>

“Sasha? Did Henderson sell me off to a crazed person?” She stared at the text for a long while and finally concluded that this stranger must've gotten the wrong number or person.

She grabbed her bag, and files of some personal cases she was supposed to work on before the Nova import fire and stood up.

“Home?” Ben asked from behind, and it took everything in her not to slam her phone into his face.

“If you scare me like that again I'll end you.”

“Sorry, I've been talking to you for the past minute, I thought you were listening.” He smiled in embarrassment.

“Yes, I'm going home. I'm off the Nova case, you can pick it up if you want, but I no longer want it, so I'll be working from home until whenever something else comes up, I already talked to Henderson about it.” She replied.

“You're off? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, you can rush things up and get it over with or whatever. Bye.” She turned around and left without another word,

“You little piece of shit.” She cursed when she walked out and realized the valet moved her car to the garage.

“Sorry, Miss, I'll bring it up right away.” He quickly apologized but before he could move she snatched her Keys and went to the garage herself.

But before she could get to her car, two figures detached themselves from the shadows between two SUVs near her.

The shorter one immediately blocked her path.

“Ms. Volkova,” the taller one said, his voice polite but utterly cold. “Mr. Morozov requests the pleasure of your company. He insists.”

Morozov?

Her heart hammered against her ribs. There was no one else around. Her keys were in her hand but her car was ten feet away. It might as well have been ten miles.

Before she could scream or run, the squeal of tires echoed through the car park. A sleek, black sedan screeched to a halt right beside them, blocking the path and the passenger door swung open.

The woman from the cafe yesterday stepped out. Her winter-sky eyes taking in the scene without a flicker of surprise. She looked at the two men, and her voice, when she spoke, was a whip-crack of authority.

“Stand down, I'll take her in myself, you boys don't know how to handle a woman.”

“Can you not?” The shorter man rolled his eyes, grabbing Katerina's arm.

“That's Sasha you're holding boys. Considering her history, I'm pretty sure she still knows her way around ending a life even though she remembers nothing. Muscle memory is a thing.”

The men, who had looked so menacing a second before, immediately straightened. “Don gave us direct orders, Anastasia, we have to bring her back by any means.” the tall one said, but his voice had lost its certainty.

“Well, don's orders have changed,” The woman replied, her gaze shifting to Katerina who looks like she just realized she's gone insane. “She comes with me.” her expression softened just for a fraction. “It’s alright, dusha moya,” she said, the term of endearment sounding both foreign and strangely comforting. “You are safe with me. But you must come now.”

The two men exchanged a look, then melted back into the shadows as silently as they had appeared.

Katerina looked from the retreating figures to Anastasia’s outstretched hand, to the open door of the black sedan. Every instinct told her to run. But where would she go?

There's no guarantee those men wouldn't wait for her in her apartment.

Taking a shuddering breath, she walked towards the car.