I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t question why I don’t want her to send our usual courier service out with it. Ravil will have to send one of his guys to do it. Or book a real courier.
“Listen, I found something else out about the case. Dick seemed worried about us representing the Russian mob, so he had me do some digging.”
Dick? She’s on a first name basis with him? Jesus, is the summer associate fucking a partner? Sounds like it.
“Anyway, word is the FBI is pissed about the fire because they had that building on watch. Seems like a suspected sex slavery ring is or was being operated out of there. Or something like that. So you just might want to think about who you’re representing.”
I draw a slow breath. “Defense attorneys represent their clients, period. In this country, we have a constitution that affords all human beings the same rights, and one of those is a fair trial.”
“I know, I know. No offense. I just thought you should know.”
“Well, thank you. I will figure out if it’s of any use to me.”
I’m pissed now. Because I see exactly where this thing is going. Dick’s screwing the new law student and using her to build his negative smear campaign against me for the partnership debate.
Well, screw them.
Screw them all.
I hang up without a goodbye, my teeth clenched. Only after I sit in silence for a moment do I start to unpack the information she gave me.
Human sex trafficking.
Is it possible Adrian burned down the building to destroy evidence because the feds were getting too close to an illegal operation?
Despite what I told Sarah, the idea makes me sick.
Especially because this case is tied to Ravil.
Does this mean Ravil’s a sex trafficker?
A wave of nausea blows through me, and a splitting headache comes on.
Screw it. I’m not going to even bother trying to work through it. I’m officially on bed rest.
I’m going to bed.
I grab a paperback out of the box of books Ravil brought to me-a mixture of Viking romance and the latest non-fiction bestsellers. I suspect he reviewed my Kindle purchases.
I crack open a book featuring a man with a bare chest and washboard abs on the cover. I used to think reading romance was too low-brow for me. I mean, I read them as a teenager but stopped when I went to college. But screw that. Romance is exactly the thing a pregnant woman should read. Love, sex and happily ever afters. There’s no reason to put anything negative in the mix.
Especially not the real-life negative news Sarah just laid on me.
Ravil
AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT, Saturday, I drive Lucy to her father’s rehab center as a reward for her good behavior.
She settled into an uneasy routine for the rest of the week. We took daily walks and swims, shared meals. Shared long, intense sex sessions. Natasha came by to massage her every day. To my amusement, she requested perogies every day and devoured them like they were the finest delicacy. She practiced her Russian with the guys, whom I still have not allowed to speak English to her, despite the fact that she knows they can.
Dima and I closely monitored her phone calls and communications, but she didn’t seem to make any secret or overt pleas for help. Gretchen, her friend from DC-the one she came to Black Light with-called a couple times, but Lucy didn’t answer or call back.
For whatever reason, she’s being compliant. I’m not foolish enough to believe she’s accepted her fate. I know she’s biding her time.
“Thank you for this,” she says, staring straight forward through the windshield of my Jaguar I-Pace.
“You will not make me sorry.” It’s a warning.
“Are you going to come in?”
“Yes,” I say. “And you won’t leave my side for a single moment.” I can imagine her trying to slip a note in her mother’s purse or leave it somewhere in the room. Or even blatantly call for help. Bringing her here is a terrible idea. And yet, denying her something so important also felt wrong.
She chews on the inside of her lip, considering me.
“Who do they think is the father of their grandchild?” I ask.
“An anonymous sperm donor,” she says.
I allow a smirk to play on my lips. “Which isn’t that far off. It was nearly anonymous.” We hadn’t exchanged real names at Black Light.
She appears relieved by my reaction. Or non-reaction. “Yes.”
“Except you told me you’d take a morning after pill. Did you know then that you didn’t plan to?”
I can tell by the way her gaze slides away that she did.
“I’m glad,” I offer. “Families are forbidden to bratva. We live by a code that requires us to remove ourselves from all previous family, to never marry and to swear allegiance only to the brotherhood. So I didn’t think I would ever have a child.”
“And now you can?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m not in Russia anymore. I am the leader of this cell. I am changing the rules.”
“Will our son be in danger?”
“Neither of you will be in danger. I promise you that. If there’s a challenge, it will be for my seat, and the danger will be solely mine. But there will be no challenge. I have no interest in the power struggles back in Russia, and here there are none.”
She stares down at her fingernails. The pale paint is starting to chip. I make a mental note to bring someone in to give her a mani-pedi. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have children. I broke up with Jeffrey because after eight years, he wouldn’t commit. He loved me, but for some reason, he just wasn’t sure about the marriage and family thing. And I knew I wanted it. And I was scared-” her voice chokes, and she stops speaking.
I reach over and pick up her hand, squeezing it.