Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel by Mari Carr (desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

“I am trying not to let my desire for these to be connected, for us to have recent and actionable information on the unsub, cloud my objectivity.”

“But maybe?” Walt raised his brows.

“Maybe,” she agreed after a moment.

Walt swallowed. “But if our killer has Zasha, she’s already dead.”

Josephine had been taken and killed within twenty-four hours. There’d been no way to determine the date of death for Alicja due to the state of her remains, so there was no way of knowing how long she’d been held.

Annalise started to say yes, that no matter what had actually happened to Zasha, she was most likely dead, but instead, she closed her mouth, thinking.

“Admiral Varda’s instincts told her these cases were related. Now…now I think there’s a possibility she’s right.”

“And you didn’t before?”

“No.” Annalise paused as her computer dinged, the first edited video file starting to download as Jakob sent it over. “But now, it’s possible by a slim margin.” She opened the video file, setting it to play at triple speed. “And my instinct is telling me that Zasha might still be alive.”

It was like being in an action movie. Actually, ever since Eric showed up covered in blood, Walt’s life had gone from boring if exhausting to action-packed and terrifying. But also romantic and sexy, so that part was cool…if temporary.

Argh.

Sadly, there wasn’t much he could do to distract himself from thoughts about the future—Annalise said she needed to review the video herself—so instead, he got her some aspirin, checked on Jakob, and ordered room service coffee. At least he was pretty sure he’d ordered coffee. The menu was, unsurprisingly, in Ukrainian or maybe Russian. Either way, it was in a Slavic language, with an alphabet Walt didn’t know, but the nice woman who answered the phone had seemed to understand his plea for coffee, sugar, and food. He was hopeful for a basket of rolls or something to snack on.

When there was a knock at the door, the paranoid security-type people—so, basically everyone in the room but himself, Annalise, and the admiral—whipped their heads around.

“I ordered room service,” Walt said.

The bald guy who’d come in with Leonid was the one who actually opened the door, conversing with whomever was outside in terse tones. He stepped back to let two servers roll in carts bearing heavy trays, but stopped them just inside the door, checking under the tablecloths and domed lids of the plate covers. He even opened the coffee urn.

Walt looked at Leonid, wondering exactly what this guy did that he needed a bodyguard who was even more paranoid and security conscious than Jakob. During their discussion, someone had mentioned he owned a company that handled unloading and loading cargo at the port of Odessa, which was one of the largest and busiest ports on the Black Sea.

An Eastern European longshoreman boss. Right.

The hotel staff set up an elegant silver coffee service as well as some light refreshments, including Black Sea mussels, goat cheese, seasonal grapes, and some thinly sliced, fresh baked bread.

Walt made Annalise and Jakob each a cup of coffee and delivered them before going back to make them plates of snacks. He clasped Vadisk on the shoulder and asked him if he wanted anything, and then, since he sure as shit wasn’t being helpful with the investigation, he took everyone else’s orders.

That done, Walt took his own cup of coffee and went to look out the window. He wondered if, somewhere out there right now, Zasha was suffering. Hurting.

People became doctors because they wanted to ease suffering. He’d learned, long before his fellow doctors whose careers kept them in the relative safety of hospitals and medical offices, that no matter how hard he worked, no matter how dedicated he was, people would suffer and die. He could, would, help some of them, but he wouldn’t be able to help everyone he wanted to.

If they found Zasha alive, he would be there. He wasn’t useful for much right now, in fact he was only there because he hadn’t wanted to be separated from Jakob and Annalise. Not when their time together was nearly over.

A sharp inhale from Annalise brought his attention away from the view. Walt went over to the couch, sinking down beside her.

The screen of her laptop was a mess of video windows, three or four of which were currently playing.

“Whoa, what am I looking at?” Walt asked.

“Wait, I don’t want to influence you.” Annalise clicked, then enlarged one of the videos.

Walt watched the video feed of a random city street. Three people walked by—two men and a woman. He focused on the woman, leaning forward.

She walked more slowly than the men, her hands in her pockets. Tall, with short blonde hair and a fluffy wool scarf wrapped around her neck and tucked into her jacket.

“Now watch this one.”

Annalise started another video. This clip was longer, with half a dozen people, two of which were women.

And neither of whom was the tall blonde.

Walt glanced at Annalise out of the corner of his eye. Maybe lack of sleep was getting to her. “What am I looking at?” he asked again.

“The woman.”

“Uh, which woman? There were three different women.”

“Were there?” Annalise arched a brow, the professor back in the saddle again.

Walt leaned forward. Damn it, he was a good student. He’d pass this test. “Play them again.”

The blonde from the first video looked wealthy—something about the way her coat fit, the perfect golden tan, and her haircut. She walked with her shoulders back, a slow sort of saunter. Walt motioned for Annalise to bring up the other video.

The first woman in this one was a short brunette with her hair in a bun, wispy pieces framing her face. She wore a winter jacket and boots.

The second was another brunette, her hair loose under a beanie-style winter hat. She wore a scarf wrapped around her neck, nearly covering the entire bottom half of her face.

“The scarf,” Walt said. “The blonde woman was wearing a scarf, and so is this