Judge & Jury - James Patterson [77]
“What?” Nick put the car back in park.
“Look in the house!” Her jaw tightened, and her mouth was so dry she could barely spit out the words. “You see that man?”
Nick grabbed the binoculars from her.
He saw the man standing near the front window, hands on hips, in sweatpants and a white Guinness T-shirt, watching Remlikov drive away.
“That’s him!” The blood drained out of Andie’s face. She could see his long blond hair in her mind’s eye.
“That’s the same man I saw running from the van!”
Chapter 95
THE NEXT DAY, Andie stayed back at the hotel while I tracked Remlikov’s movements. I followed him and his son down the mountain to his chess lessons on Hassan Street, in the center of town.
At night, I held on to her tightly. Seeing that man had brought everything back—the bus, the explosion, Jarrod. I saw in her face the same pain as that day in the ER after it all happened: the events suddenly fresh and vivid again.
That night I was sure she was asleep, but she was just lying there in the darkness, wide awake. Once or twice, I felt her shudder, then she turned away from me and buried her head into the pillow. “It’s okay,” I whispered, and wrapped my arms around her, trying to make her strong. But I knew it wasn’t okay. I knew the hurt was fresh and new. This face from the past complicated everything.
On the next night, just before dawn, I was lying in bed thinking, tracing the first rays of light as they washed over the room.
“Do you know how you’re going to do this?” Andie asked, surprising me.
“Yes.” I turned to her.
I had a plan. I was just afraid to share it. I knew it wouldn’t go over well with her.
We had to get to Remlikov. The problem was, he rarely left the house. I couldn’t burst in there, guns blazing. We needed Remlikov alive. I knew there was only one way—one leverage.
The boy.
There was no way around it, and I knew how troubling this would be for her. Also, I needed Andie’s help. So I told Andie what had to be done—that it involved the boy.
“It’s going to be dangerous,” I said, shifting onto my elbow.
I knew precisely what I was asking. The boy was innocent, just as Jarrod was. But we had to get at Remlikov through the one thing that he loved most—just as he had taken the one thing from her that she loved most.
“Nick.” She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“We’re not looking for a favor from him, Andie. We’re squeezing a killer for a piece of information that could get us all killed. It’s the only way he’s vulnerable. I told you before we came how hard this was going to be.”
“Do you know what you’re asking? You’re asking me to do the same thing to another mother that’s just happened to me.”
“I know what I’m asking, Andie.” I reached for her. “I’m not a killer, Andie. But these people are.”
She stared back at me, thinking I was suddenly capable of the same violence and evil that had taken her son.
“I give you my word, whatever happens, the boy won’t be harmed.”
“Oh, yes he will. He will.”
I ran my hand through her hair, pulling a few strands away from her face. “I need you to say yes, Andie. I need your help to get it done.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we walk away. We get on that plane and go back home. We forget about Cavello.”
Andie sucked in a breath, wrapping her arms around her knees. “And if I say yes? Afterward, what happens?”
“We let the boy go, Andie. We let the boy go.”
She shook her head. “I meant with Remlikov. And the blond man.”
I told the truth. “I don’t know.”
She nodded, and after a while her body just sank into mine. “He can’t be harmed,” she said. “The boy . . .”
“Of course not.” I squeezed her. “I promise.”
Chapter 96
PAVEL NORDESHENKO WAS twelve years old, and he no longer liked that his father still insisted on driving him to his lessons in the center of town.
Other boys his age were riding the Metro. Sometimes, when his father was away on his many trips, his mother let him take the bus