“No, but I know you,” he said. “My DC’s been telling me all about you. What you’ve been up to over the last few years. And I meant what I said—you’re looking a hell of a lot better than you did on your last arrest photo.”

“I wasn’t doing so good back then,” she allowed, keeping her voice even. “You track me down just to tell me that?”

“No but even without this—” he gestured to the hospital in general, “—we’d have been having a conversation sooner or later.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You see, you fall into the category of Known Associates of one Kelly Jacks. And she is someone we definitely do want to track down.”

“Who?”

He smiled and it wasn’t a friendly smile. “Come on Tina, I’m trying to be nice. Don’t spoil things by trying to play me for a fool. You and Kelly were inside together.”

Tina sat back setting the chair bouncing slightly and glared at him. “So I knew her. So what? Knew a lot of people inside. Prisons is overcrowded—didn’t they tell you?”

“Just shows we’re doing our job.”

“Yeah, putting people away who’s innocent. That sound like your job?” And just for a moment she thought she saw a flicker in his face like the barb had hit home. Then it was gone.

“I read your case file. It was a cock-up—start to finish,” he said frankly. “But Kelly got you out. In fact she did more than that didn’t she, Tina? She straightened you out too. You owe her. Big time.”

Tina continued to glare. “Debt’s paid,” she said, her voice gruff to stop it being hurt and angry.

O’Neill’s eyes flicked from her to Elvis’s bruised and battered face, his brows drawing down. “You mean Jacks is responsible for this?”

“Who knows?” But the macho disbelief in his tone smarted enough for her to add, “You don’t think she got it in her? Not when she went in maybe. But she learned fast inside—and there was plenty gunning for her. Ex-cop—”

“She wasn’t a cop,” he said quickly.

“Tech—whatever. Still one of you wasn’t she?” Tina flapped a hand. “Try explaining the difference while you’re having your pretty face cut up in the showers. See who listens then.”

“So why would she do something like this to Elvis?” he asked. “Did he try to cut her up, is that it?”

Tina clamped down on the possibility that Elvis had let his own greed get the better of his judgement. She’d found him spread all over the living room floor when she’d rushed back from the shelter, had called for an ambulance right away. And while it was coming she’d searched just in case for anything nearby that Elvis wouldn’t want found.

She knew he carried a blade—for self-protection. Made sense given the area but it wasn’t on him. Kelly must have taken it away from him in the fight.

And there had been a fight, of that she was quite sure.

The text message from Kelly that had brought Tina hurrying home still haunted her.

“SORRY 4 ELVIS—BSTRD SOLD ME OUT.”

So yeah, she might have owed Kelly for her freedom, for helping her get back some control of her life. That still counted for something but not everything.

Not now.

“Don’t know who did this to Elvis,” Tina said suddenly weary. “Like I said, I wasn’t there.”

O’Neill sighed again. “Even if Kelly didn’t lay a finger on him, she’s still wanted in connection with a murder.” He paused. “If you know where she is you need to tell me, Tina. Before anyone else gets hurt.”

“I don’t know where she is,” she said, stubborn now.

He stood, out of patience. “If I find out you’ve been harbouring a wanted fugitive you’ll end up back inside,” he promised, cool enough to make her shiver. “And this time the case will be watertight.” He turned for the door.

“I don’t know where she is,” Tina repeated. He heard something in her voice, stopped and turned back. Tina took another long look at Elvis, at the bandages and the breaks and the bruises. “But I know where she’ll be . . .”

72

Myshka sipped her espresso and watched Dmitry over the rim of her cup with brooding eyes.

“I did what needed to be done,” Dmitry said with more than a hint of defiance in his tone as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her. “I must show these dogs who is master, yes?”

He was sprawled on the long white leather sofa in the living area of Harry Grogan’s penthouse apartment, looking very much at home. The man himself was out watching his wretched horses work. Viktor was driving him.

Myshka put down her empty cup and gathered the silk kimono closer around her body. If Dmitry was going to make a habit of calling on her before noon she decided, she was going to have to start rising earlier or he would never treat her as an equal. But Grogan had been out until late and had required entertaining before she was allowed to sleep.

Sometimes she was unsure if Viagra was the best or the worst thing that ever happened to old men who kept young mistresses.

Not so young anymore though, are you?

“Dog? He was a pup, nothing more,” she said evenly. “Beating him half to death was perhaps . . . unwise.”

“It is not like you to be sentimental, Myshka.” Dmitry gave a dismissive snort. “It was necessary. And there have been no reports, so—” he smiled, “—he is maybe not yet dead, hmm?”

“Yes, but—”

His good humour evaporated. He lurched forwards to slap a hand down hard against the top of the coffee table making her start. “Do not question me on this! You know it was right. Would you have me let them disrespect me? Have them laugh behind my back? Say that I am weak?”

She got to her feet without response, turning away from him to hide her surprise at this rebellion and the flare of her own temper. Standing by the glass wall that looked down across the river and wrapping her arms around her body she was aware of a sudden chill in the air.

So it begins, she thought with cold clarity. Your disrespect of me.

She did not hear Dmitry get to his feet and move behind her until his hands slipped around her waist, his face in her hair.

“Do not let us fight when we are so close,” he murmured in her ear. “I need you, Myshka . . .”

To whore for you, Myshka supplied silently and could not resist a final gently chiding reminder.

“It is I who have brought us this far Dmitry.”

She felt him tense then relax. “I know,” he said. “I will not forget.”