revealed the small window set in the steel, and then the password.
As he entered and spotted Theo Karastis by the basement bar, the half-tangled statements in his head gave way to a clear decision, and he knew what to do.
The pretty young boy sat at the elbow of a brutish faced thug, wheedling in his halting Turkish. The thug stared into his whiskey tumbler with the coiled, tense stillness of a pissed-off gangster about to fuck up some boy band kid's face.
Carson sidled up to them. "Theo!" he cried, clapping a hand to the young man's back. "I've been looking all over for you!" He turned to the thug. "I'm very sorry for interrupting; may I pay for your drink?" Without waiting for an answer he peeled off a bill and laid it on the bar for the bartender to take. "Please, sir, another for my friend here as apologies for my interruption." The gangster eyed him balefully; drained his drink, took the new glass from the bartender, and walked away.
"Hey!" said Theo. "I was talking to him!"
"Listen, you dolt," Carson grabbed his forearm. "I have a proposition for you."
"No. Fucking. Way." Peyton stopped on the street and squeezed Carson's arm so painfully he winced. The rain started up again. "You seriously…?"
"Well, it was a fit! I told him that…that if his girlfriend helped me with this sale, I'd get him a job with the aristocracy– of course I didn't name the countess! All he needed to do was make sure the girl pushed through."
She looked at him like he had two heads. "Why on earth would you make a promise like that?"
"I felt sorry for him, all right? Or at least the girlfriend busting her ass paying off that idiot's debts."
"Carson—!"
"Not now. We need to go."
They were on Anja's street, right across the café where they had watched her for so many weeks. Carson glanced up the garret and a cloud passed over his face. Peyton followed his gaze. Anja's windows were thrown open, letting the sleety spring rains enter. There was a quick glance between them, and then they hurried into the building just as an elderly gentleman left. Past the first landing, they broke into a run.
Carson aimed a kick at Anja's door, but it was already unlocked. It swung from the blow and banged against the wall. They entered, heart hammering at the scene. The flat was turned over, ransacked. The bed had been flipped, the covers thrown off and dumped on the floor. The closets were all ajar and on the floor some items of clothing were strewn about like jetsam in a pier.
"Do you think the mob found out?" Carson shook his head, the toe of his Oxfords nudging the debris on the floor. "That Theo told them and they got to Anja?"
Something was wrong; Peyton felt it in the center of her belly like a blue flame. She walked further in the room, towards the bed.
Something caught her eye: something red and yellow wedged behind the headboard. Gingerly, with nerveless fingers and a heart that seemed to be making a play to escape her chest, she pried it out. It lay in her hands like a dead animal.
"There's a note." Carson had been standing beside her for God knew how long; she jumped when he spoke. He pulled the piece of paper from the painting's frame. He unfolded it, frowned and then handed it to her. "Does this mean anything to you?"
She took it from him with ice-cold fingers and read it aloud.
"Burn, Smiley, Burn."
She dropped to her knees; in her shock she hadn't realized Carson was keeping her up by grasping her shoulders.
It took a few moments for her to find her voice. "We need to find Theo."
Chapter 13
They searched all night. Breaking his promise, Carson took Peyton to Amsterdam's real red light district—not the sex theme park all gussied up for the tourists with live mannequins and shop windows, but the grimy, underground warrens where the women were trafficked from Moldova and the thugs had more than hashish on their minds. It was not a pleasant experience for Peyton at all.
Dawn broke as they finished the last of Theo
As he entered and spotted Theo Karastis by the basement bar, the half-tangled statements in his head gave way to a clear decision, and he knew what to do.
The pretty young boy sat at the elbow of a brutish faced thug, wheedling in his halting Turkish. The thug stared into his whiskey tumbler with the coiled, tense stillness of a pissed-off gangster about to fuck up some boy band kid's face.
Carson sidled up to them. "Theo!" he cried, clapping a hand to the young man's back. "I've been looking all over for you!" He turned to the thug. "I'm very sorry for interrupting; may I pay for your drink?" Without waiting for an answer he peeled off a bill and laid it on the bar for the bartender to take. "Please, sir, another for my friend here as apologies for my interruption." The gangster eyed him balefully; drained his drink, took the new glass from the bartender, and walked away.
"Hey!" said Theo. "I was talking to him!"
"Listen, you dolt," Carson grabbed his forearm. "I have a proposition for you."
"No. Fucking. Way." Peyton stopped on the street and squeezed Carson's arm so painfully he winced. The rain started up again. "You seriously…?"
"Well, it was a fit! I told him that…that if his girlfriend helped me with this sale, I'd get him a job with the aristocracy– of course I didn't name the countess! All he needed to do was make sure the girl pushed through."
She looked at him like he had two heads. "Why on earth would you make a promise like that?"
"I felt sorry for him, all right? Or at least the girlfriend busting her ass paying off that idiot's debts."
"Carson—!"
"Not now. We need to go."
They were on Anja's street, right across the café where they had watched her for so many weeks. Carson glanced up the garret and a cloud passed over his face. Peyton followed his gaze. Anja's windows were thrown open, letting the sleety spring rains enter. There was a quick glance between them, and then they hurried into the building just as an elderly gentleman left. Past the first landing, they broke into a run.
Carson aimed a kick at Anja's door, but it was already unlocked. It swung from the blow and banged against the wall. They entered, heart hammering at the scene. The flat was turned over, ransacked. The bed had been flipped, the covers thrown off and dumped on the floor. The closets were all ajar and on the floor some items of clothing were strewn about like jetsam in a pier.
"Do you think the mob found out?" Carson shook his head, the toe of his Oxfords nudging the debris on the floor. "That Theo told them and they got to Anja?"
Something was wrong; Peyton felt it in the center of her belly like a blue flame. She walked further in the room, towards the bed.
Something caught her eye: something red and yellow wedged behind the headboard. Gingerly, with nerveless fingers and a heart that seemed to be making a play to escape her chest, she pried it out. It lay in her hands like a dead animal.
"There's a note." Carson had been standing beside her for God knew how long; she jumped when he spoke. He pulled the piece of paper from the painting's frame. He unfolded it, frowned and then handed it to her. "Does this mean anything to you?"
She took it from him with ice-cold fingers and read it aloud.
"Burn, Smiley, Burn."
She dropped to her knees; in her shock she hadn't realized Carson was keeping her up by grasping her shoulders.
It took a few moments for her to find her voice. "We need to find Theo."
Chapter 13
They searched all night. Breaking his promise, Carson took Peyton to Amsterdam's real red light district—not the sex theme park all gussied up for the tourists with live mannequins and shop windows, but the grimy, underground warrens where the women were trafficked from Moldova and the thugs had more than hashish on their minds. It was not a pleasant experience for Peyton at all.
Dawn broke as they finished the last of Theo
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