The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“We all do.” Emma picked up her backpack and dumped out the DVDs. “Okay, Shannon, you get first pick.”

Across the street from the building, Slava stared at the apartment window, his eyes still blazing. If anything, his rage had intensified as the couple of hours had passed.

It had taken him about ten minutes to figure out who the security detail was on Isabella. The guy had been following her and the Forman woman—a respectable distance away—as they arrived at the apartment building. And he’d been perched on a nearby bench ever since—talking on his cell phone, working on his tablet, scrolling through some fascinating material. All amateur bullshit to Slava. The guy reeked of law enforcement. When the time came, Slava would have to put him out of commission. Temporary, permanent—it didn’t matter. Whatever was quicker. Screw the interrogations. Screw his orders from Max. He was burning to get his hands around that fucking bitch’s throat.

Her throat and a whole lot more.

It was after three o’clock, and Emma remembered her promise to Casey. Be back at four. Gotcha, boss.

With hugs all around, she shoved all the things she’d brought into her backpack, gave her promise to call the second things were over, and headed out.

She said a quick good-bye to Patrick’s security detail, posted just inside and outside of the apartment, and left the building. She trekked through the parking lot, spotting Brian casually reading on the sidewalk bench. She had no doubt he was totally aware of her and of the time. He’d wait for her to cross the street and then follow her to the train station and back to the Forensic Instincts brownstone.

Without so much as glancing in his direction, she looked to the left and to the right. The street was empty. No traffic. Great.

She stepped into the road.

Slava had turned the van’s ignition key the instant he’d spotted her leaving the building. Now he remained, hunched down, waiting for the exact moment he needed.

There it was.

Isabella was three-quarters of the way across the street. Her guard had risen to follow. Slava eased the van out of its alcove. The guy took one step. Then two. Then he was off the sidewalk and into the street. Three steps more and he was too f

ar from the curb to jump back to safety.

Slava floored the gas.

He saw the stunned expression on the man’s face as the van plowed into him, sending his body crashing into the windshield and then careening off to the roadside, where he lay, unmoving.

Isabella spun around, her backpack toppling to the sidewalk as her hands flew up to her face and she let out a voiceless scream.

The rest happened in a burst of activity.

Slava swerved the van over and leapt out. Grabbing Isabella around the waist, he clamped his big hand over her mouth. He flung her into the van, shoved her aside as he jumped back into the driver’s seat, and screeched off.

He watched her struggle to a sitting position, his expression smug as he waited for her to see who her kidnapper was.

Recognition was immediate.

Her eyes found him, and they grew round with shock and fear.

Slava’s smile was pure evil, his Russian accent thick. “Hello, Isabella. It is time for that date we never had.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Marc and Ryan were arguing over strategy, and Claire was fidgeting in her seat with some inner growing agitation when Patrick’s cell phone rang.

“Yes, John,” he answered. Frowning, he covered his other ear with his palm. “Speak up. I can barely hear you, it’s so loud. What the hell is going on there?” A pause, and Patrick lurched off the chair, firing questions into the phone. “Mowed down? What’s his condition? What about… He took her? Did you get the van’s license plate? Is there anything left on the scene but the backpack?” Another pause. “I’m assuming Mountainside Hospital? I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you there. If there’s a medical assessment before I show up, find out when he’ll be up to talking.”

All eyes were on Patrick as he slammed down his phone.

“Slava Petrovich got to Emma,” he said, his expression grim. “He ran down Brian and took Emma right off the street. Brian’s in an ambulance on his way to the local hospital. And Emma is…gone.”

“Oh my God.” Claire’s hands flew up to her face. “I knew it. I felt it.”

“How do you know for certain it was Slava?” Ryan demanded.

“John witnessed the scene from inside the apartment. He heard the screech of tires and got to the window in time to see a man matching Slava’s description grab Emma, shove her into a van, and speed off. Brian was bleeding in the road. John called 911 and got down to the street ASAP. Brian was breathing but unconscious. John is in the ambulance with him now. The EMTs are working on him. And Emma…” Patrick rubbed a palm over his jaw, looking as if he were going to be sick.