The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [70]
Stevie nodded slowly, feeling unsure herself. It wasn’t going to be easy to follow them without being noticed. There was no guarantee, apart from a hunch, that Anya was at the flat, and the worst thing for Anya would be if the kidnappers discovered someone was sniffing around.
Stevie tapped her nail rapidly on the bar. ‘I’m worried that no one has made contact yet, apart from the necklace. I don’t understand. The people who took Anya must want something. But this Maraschenko doesn’t look like the sort of criminal who would be laundering large amounts of money through the banks, not if he’s drinking here. So pressuring Kozkov won’t be his motive for the kidnapping. He’s either working for someone, or he’s done it for money—’
‘Or some other nefarious motive . . .’ Henning’s voice was barely audible.
Stevie quickly shook her head. ‘You don’t take a girl like Anya for that. The risk is too expensive. You take someone no one will miss—that girl, for example.’ She indicated the canary girl with her head. They both watched her a moment in silence.
‘Can we really do no more than wait?’ Stevie said it more to herself, hoping the answer was no.
The little group was noisily getting ready to leave. Suddenly she came to a decision.
‘Henning, listen, I think we have to try. We’ll follow from a distance, be very careful. They’re all sailing a few sheets to the wind, I doubt they’ll notice even if we breathe down their necks.’
Henning’s face said it all.
‘And we’ll need a ride, fast.’
Scared, but knowing she must, Stevie shrugged on her coat, slid off the stool and hurried to follow Maraschenko.
Henning laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Wait.’ He grabbed his overcoat and walked out, his hand hanging on to her, stumbling slightly.
They walked past Maraschenko and his group waiting for their coats, and stepped into the frosty night. Henning’s phone rang. He listened to the voice on the other end, his face serious.
‘Harasho. We’re outside The Boar.’ He hung up and Stevie turned to him expectantly.
‘That was Maxim,’ he said, pocketing the phone. ‘The arms dealer from the club.’
‘I remember him.’
‘There’s not much he doesn’t get to hear about in Moscow. It always surprises me, but it shouldn’t.’ Henning put both hands on Stevie’s shoulders. ‘He knows who you are, Stevie, and why you are in Moscow. He says Kozkov’s business is none of his business, but that, as you and I are obviously . . .’ Henning cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘As you and I are obviously friends, he wanted to do me a small favour. He has some information for you.’
‘Nothing more?’ Stevie’s mouth was dry, her words whispers.
‘No.’ Henning shook his head. ‘He’s nervous about telephones as it is. He’s sending a car.’ He squeezed her shoulders, concerned. ‘Are you afraid?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I got you mixed up with him. But he won’t hurt you.’
Stevie shook her head. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said firmly, ignoring the butterflies exploding in her stomach. ‘So, Maxim’s helping me because you two are friends? I don’t really believe that.’
Henning pulled Stevie’s fur hat closer around her face, covering her flaming cheeks. It was desperately cold in the street. ‘I did him a good deed a few months ago—saved his favourite dog from drowning in a frozen lake outside Vladivostok. Maxim was very grateful, but he is a man who hates to be in debt of any kind. This is his way of paying off the debt he feels he owes me.’
‘That makes more sense,’ Stevie sighed, a little relieved. ‘I always look for the self-interest—from experience rather than cynicism. I’ve trusted and been burned, fool that I am—how does the saying go? “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” ’ She stopped for a minute, looking towards the entrance of the bar. ‘Are you coming with me? What about our mark?’
‘I’m better off flagging a lift if I’m going to follow Maraschenko,’ said Henning quietly. ‘Less conspicuous.’
Maraschenko and his friends left the bar and headed in their direction. Henning put his arm around Stevie and pulled her close. Stevie