Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) by M.K. Gilroy Page A

He heard the howl of a wolf and started lumbering the opposite direction. But another howl sounded ahead. He went down another path and there was a third wolf. It didn’t look like him but in his dream he knew it was Vladimir Zheglov. Pasha’s death angel. Waiting for him.
    Then the Bear was awake, sweating and trembling. Pasha will have Vladimir hunt me until the day I die, he thought. Med was staying in a small guest room over the detached garage at the Pakhan’s estate. They had talked late into the night. The Pakhan wanted to know everything about Pasha’s operation; who was moving up or down the ladder of influence. Genken kept coming back to the warehouse in Queens. Medved had never been there. He had been given the general area but was to call for final directions while in route. Med wanted to be more helpful. But you can’t tell what you don’t know.
    Better not to lie. Maybe the Pakhan does have special powers to know.
    Med stood up and scratched his shaggy beard. A bead of sweat rolled down his spine into the small of his back. He shivered. He rarely dreamed or, if he did, he rarely remembered one so clearly. The doctor said he had sleep apnea that needed to be treated. He wasn’t sleeping well enough to sink into REM, the place where dreams begin and come alive.
    Doctors don’t know everything. Maybe I don’t want to sleep better.
    He reached over to turn on a light but as his hand neared the pull chain, he heard an explosion of sounds from the main house. He wet his pants. He moved to the window and saw—and felt—a kaleidoscope of flames from the muzzles of automatic rifles. Kalashnikov AK-47s. What the . . .
    Med had gone to sleep thinking he might survive the wrath of Pasha, though the shadow of Zheglov would follow him everywhere. He was with Aleksei Genken after all. The Pakhan.
    In a nauseating flood of dread, Med realized that maybe not even Genken could save him.
    Could it be? Would Pasha be so bold? Would he move against the man?
    Med peaked through the window slats as an explosion opened a gaping hole in the side of Genken’s house. The Bear fell backwards.
    No question. Pasha was making his move. Would the other brigadiers of the bratva follow him? They would if he succeeded.

    I can’t sleep. Is it the music with the pounding bass in the room next door? Or is it the couple going at it in the room on the other side of me? Or is it the fear of contemplating just how many germs are in this dirty, dingy room? I finally found a vacancy at a motel on the edge ofManhattan and Harlem. No way could I stay with Klarissa after what I saw.
    Did I just see what I think I did in the lobby of the Sheraton? Would my sister do that to me?
    I consider pounding on the walls on each side of me. I don’t have the energy to be ignored.

    “Nazar, you are now my Medved—my Bear. I have work for you to do.”
    The Pakhan had been so reassuring. Med’s head spun as men came and went and Genken worked the phones.
    Before dismissing him to get some sleep in his guest room . . . or was it a prison room? . . . Genken took a call and roared in laughter, looking at Med the whole time. When he hung up, he walked over to his fax machine that had sprung to life. He picked up the single page and handed it to him.
    “Med . . . the runner in the park . . . of all things . . . it was a detective from Chicago. You have a problem. And since you are now my bear, we’ve got a problem. Your runner was police. That is a bad thing. A very bad thing. It’s always better to be friends with the police, not enemies.”
    “What must I do to fix this?” Med asked, eager to please—and stay alive.
    “We will instruct you in the morning. Tonight, study the paper I have given you. Memorize every detail. Make sure you can recognize her face no matter what she is wearing.”
    Med nodded numbly as he looked in the dark eyes of Detective Kristen Conner.
    “Med, look at me,” Genken said.
    Medved looked in his eyes.
    “I don’t have