Sharing is caring, the creepy voice whispered in my brain, the reminder unwelcome.
Yet, a shudder ran down my spine as a revelation slammed into me. The man that took Kingston had an accent. A Russian accent! Much heavier than the man in the suit before me, but I was certain it was a Russian accent. Until today, I hadn’t spoken to anyone with such an accent.
“I believe the cases here and throughout the U.S. are connected.” My voice had a barely noticeable tremble to it. “I have absolutely no evidence to support it, but the M.O. is exactly the same. Every single time. Whoever is doing this targets boys that are lost, for lack of a better term. Nobody will notice if they are gone, at least for a few days,” I swallowed hard. “They are taken from public places, but no one ever notices a damn thing.” I’ve seen it first-hand. Our own nanny stood nearby. And Kingston and I were not strays, we came from the Ashfords. Crème de la crème of elite society, as the papers wrote. “Until these recent cases.”
And at least one other, I added silently.
“What makes you think these last cases are special?” The Nikolaev man sitting down asked, though I had a suspicion he knew the answer. His voice was deep, the accent clearly there.
Just like the one I remembered in my nightmares as I screamed for my brother.
“The last boy’s disappearance was alerted to authorities within an hour. He didn’t get home from school. Same with several prior cases. He or she wants to be noticed. If you look through the last five to ten kidnappings, you’ll see certain things have shifted. The kidnapped boys have exclusively light blond hair and light blue eyes.”
A thought pierced through my brain. These two men had light blond hair and blue eyes. Maybe they had sons and were concerned for them?
“In all other cases, coloring wasn’t a factor. It feels like a message,” I continued. “A very specific message. Though the question is to whom - the general public or someone specific? Or maybe he is preparing something big and wants everyone to spin their wheels in the wrong direction.”
Though I didn’t think so. And my gut feeling warned me that the specific targeting of blond hair-blue eyed boys was somehow connected to the two Nikolaev men in front of me.
“Preparing for what?” It was the first time I heard the Nikolaev man with tattoos on his face speak. His voice was guttural, like he had been choked too many times and his vocal cords damaged. He barely had a hint of an accent though.
“Trafficking,” I told him. “And maybe adding a bit of flavor for personal revenge.” Okay, saying it like that, it seemed far-fetched but deep down, I knew I was right. Just like the moment my eyes landed on the man that took my brother, I knew he’d tear our family apart. “I know trafficking women and young girls is more common, but it happens to young boys too. I think whoever is taking these boys has a standard trafficking business going. If you look through the past three, four decades, you can see a similar M.O. pop across the U.S. Never as big as this, but it has been going on right under our noses.”
McGovan chuckled and resentment slithered through my veins. I hated that this was just a case for him. For me, it was a matter of life and death. For any one of the boys that went missing.
“Okay, as you can see Agent Ashford gets excited and has some theories. But we are just focusing on the kids in New Orleans. There is no merit to her theory.”
My eyes shot to my boss, glaring at him. “Yes, there is,” I snapped back, my voice hoarse with emotions. “The connections are plain as day. Every single kidnapping has similarities. Did you even read my file?” I narrowed my eyes on McGovan, trying to get the point across.
I studied each missing boys’ case, from their circumstance of birth until the day they disappeared. I lost count of the people I interviewed in order to gather bits and pieces of information, because it seemed every single time whoever was orchestrating the kidnappings was invisible to the people around.
“This predator is a master manipulator and has vast resources. Not only in the States but also in the world. Where in the fuck do you think he puts all those boys? In his four bedroom, single family home in the suburbs?”
God, McGovan was such a jackass. All he had to do was read my files and he’d see the connections. Except he didn’t want to go save the world. Just his own damn career. In my eyes, McGovan was no better than Senator Ashford. Both just looked out for themselves and no one else.
I had to take a calming breath or risk losing my cool. If I went off on my boss, no matter what my connections might be, it wouldn’t look good for my record. There was only so much my brothers could wipe out, and I hated asking them for special favors. Not that they’d ever hesitated to help me.
Vasili Nikolaev stood up and my eyes snapped his way, watching him warily.
He extended his hand with an unreadable expression on his face. My eyes lingered on his hand for a heartbeat too long. Jesus, his hands were huge. He’d crush me with just a small squeeze.
Reluctantly, I put my hand into his and his inked fingers wrapped around my hand, then squeezed firmly.
I wished he’d give me some clues on who he really was. Yes, he reeked of ruthlessness, danger and money, but underneath it all there was more. So much more. The same was true with his brother, except there was an unnatural coldness in him.
“I’m happy we’ll have you on our team.” Okay, he sounded sincere. Maybe these guys would be the answer to stopping this crap. And then finally, I’d find answers and avenge Kingston. “I’m Vasili.”
Nobody had to tell me this man was a force to be reckoned with. It was in his every move, every look, every word.
“Aurora,” I murmured, not quite sure why I gave him my first name. Usually, I only offered my last name. Even Jackson called me Ashford, never by my first name.
My eyes darted to his brother but he said nothing. His face was an unmoving mask, marked by tattoos. His eyes were frigid on me. Unlike his brother, he didn’t attempt to shake my hand.
“Okay then,” I muttered sarcastically. “Nice to meet you too.”
He remained staring, the icy silence creepy. Yet, it didn’t make me uncomfortable. It did, however, pique my curiosity. As well as something else, a memory or a feeling I couldn’t quite latch onto.
For a fraction of a second, I drowned myself in the pale glaciers, voluntarily submerging into the icy waters.