Part Three

November Rain

Chapter Thirty-Three

Eeva's apartment across from Wine House, through the communal garden, was a small, one-bedroom on the fifth floor above the lobby. The elevator climbed through the center of the building at an excruciating crawl, slower than Cal remembered from his few visits to Eeva's apartment. Mostly he'd just met her at the door on their way out together, but he'd been invited in a few times to wait while she finished getting ready. They were still in the old-fashioned, infant stage of their relationship—or had been, at least. Now there were Russian gangsters involved. And plans for revenge.

Cal tapped another message to Eeva on his phone; another one she'd probably ignore. Unless—no, he didn't want to think about the other possibilities.

"So, we're going to talk her out of it?" Frank asked beside him. His hands were in his trouser pockets, dark colored chinos he'd paired with a cream-colored button-down shirt with vertical gold stripes. He looked like a man on vacation and his relaxed demeanor irritated Cal more than the slow elevator.

"That's the plan," Cal answered through gritted teeth.

"And if she denies it—her plan to kill Valeri— or refuses to change her mind, what then? Are you going to tie her down?"

"I have to try something, Frank. I can't just let her walk into a Russian beartrap. Even if she succeeds, there's no way she'd be getting away scot-free. I'm not going to lose another—" and he stopped himself.

Frank didn't make him finish.

It was a short sprint down the hallway from the elevator, but there was no answer at her door. Cal banged again and called her name.

"Damn!" he said to Frank. "Where is she?"

"She could be home and just ignoring you."

 "Or what if she's in there now, hurt or . . . "

"You want to check?" Frank asked. He leaned against Eeva's doorframe, still too casual.

"I don't have a key," Cal said. "We never got that far. I never even made it into her bedroom. We were, ah, taking it slow."

"Probably wise," Frank smirked.

"Goddamn it, Frank, would you stop being so smug about all this? Why are you even here?"

"I'm here to help."

"Then do something!"

Frank smiled, still smugly, and then dropped to one knee and started fiddling with the lock. A small leather case unfolded on the floor, revealing a set of delicate metal tools.

"Jesus, Frank, do you just carry those things around with you? You're the shadiest fucking Boy Scout I've ever—"

There was a click, and the door swung open a crack.

"—and goddamn I love you!" Cal finished.

Frank gathered his tools and stood up with a smile, less smug and more triumphant.

"Shall we?" he asked.

They pushed the door inward, but only silence greeted them. Early morning light poured down a short hallway and invited them into the salon. From there, the apartment branched off into the open kitchen, the bathroom, and a single bedroom. Cal did a quick scan and found nothing amiss. Eeva was a bit of a neat freak. Even the magazines on her coffee table were neatly arrayed. Frank looked at him and shrugged.

"Eeva?" Cal called as he approached the only closed door, the one that led to her bedroom. There was no answer, so he held his breath and opened the door, fearing the worst.

Empty.

Almost.

Frank looked over his shoulder and whistled.

"Well," he said, "now we know Blondie isn't really a blonde. And it looks like she's made herself a vision board. How cute."

The room shared the same minimalist design as the rest of the apartment. The queen-sized bed was sharply made, its bedding folded and tucked precisely. There was a nightstand with a lamp, a closet with one sliding door opened to reveal a rack of hanging clothes. A small dresser sat against one wall and an office desk on the other. Sunlight filled the room through sheer curtains and, when Cal looked through it, he saw the treetops of the garden below and the bedroom window of his own apartment straight across. He remembered once when they'd waved at each other from their windows—a day that felt like a long time in the past.

The "vision board" covered a wall above an office desk.

Several printed photos were taped to the wall above the desk and Cal sucked in a breath. Looking over the photos was like reliving his and Frank's own investigation. Every important landmark was captured in digital film. Every bad actor. The Kosatka. There was even a photo of Marat Solonik's private residence high up on Mont Baron.

Cal recognized one photo in particular because he'd been present when it had been taken: an obese man seen through the window of the Kosatka, grainy, as if taken from a great distance. VALERI was scrawled across the picture with a red marker in precise but angry script.

Cal thought of Castle Hill and then brushed away the memories like cobwebs.

Frank was clearly impressed.

"Damn. We should have recruited her into the Garden Gang."

Another printed photo caught Cal's attention, but it wasn't hung on the wall like the rest. He picked it up from the desk.

"Speaking of . . . " Cal said and handed the photo to Frank. It was taken from an elevation, looking down into the garden between the apartment buildings and centered on Cal and Frank drinking wine around the ancient garden table.

"You look good," Frank quipped.

Cal dropped the photo back to the desk, disgusted.

"She was spying on us, too," he said flatly.

Their time on Castle Hill. The Ferris Wheel. Was any moment they shared real? The look in Eeva's eyes when she talked about her brother, Jaan—that was real. Her grief. Her loneliness. Those had been real, but looking at the photos of her investigation, there was an anger beneath the surface that she'd never let Cal see. There was no telling what else she'd been hiding. He searched around the room for any more clues and stopped at an antique dresser set against the other wall. There was a mannequin head with a blank face, supporting a blonde wig with familiar wisps and feathery layers. Cal touched it and then recoiled.

It was Eeva's hair—but not really.

Sickness twisted Cal's stomach. He remembered brushing that hair out of her eyes. Were her eyes even blue? He looked at Frank and the gray stubble that had replaced his removable mustache, and he shook his head.

"There's something clever and tragic to say here," Cal said. "But I don't have the energy."

Frank smiled, sans mustache.

"They say to dress for the job you want."

Cal groaned.

"Just stop. Why in the hell would she wear a wig for me?"

"It wasn't for you," said Frank. He looked away like he was thinking it through. "She was wearing it that first day we met her, when she was being tailed by Hoodie and Goggles. She was disguised for a scouting mission when she ran into us as a blonde. She got trapped in her own cover. It happens."

Cal's head spun as he tried to sort the truths from the lies. Not only did he want to save Eeva from getting herself killed, but he also needed answers.

"What now?" Frank asked.

Cal's phone rang, belting out Slash's opening riff to 'Welcome to the Jungle'. Both of them jumped at the sudden loudness and Cal fumbled to answer.

It was Eeva.

Cal accepted the call and immediately put it on speaker phone.

"Cal? What are you and Frank doing in my bedroom?"

"Shit," Frank said.

"Eeva, you're okay!" Cal said into the phone. "I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd been hurt. We know what you're up to."

Her voice was strained.

"I won't deny knowing what you're talking about."

"Then stop whatever you're doing, now, and just come home."

Silence on the other end.

Cal went on.

"Listen, it's hard to explain over the phone, but it turns out Frank and his ex-wife have been looking for this guy, too. This Valeri Solonik has pissed off a lot of people, including the United States Government. Eeva? Come home and they can help. We can still get justice for your brother."

There was laughter on the other end.

"Oh, my sweet Cal. I'm not looking for justice—"

Her voice had the same elfish quality as always, her cadence musical and her syllables precise, but now there was something sharp in it, like the cracking of ice across a frozen lake.

"—This is pure revenge."

Cal's mind raced. He didn't understand her plan, and stopping her was unlikely, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"Eeva, please don't do whatever you're planning! I care about you, and I can't—"

Her voice softened.

"Cal, I meant what I said in my last text: I'm glad I met you. I know I've been hiding this from you, but I haven't been lying about how I feel. If I get through this—maybe . . . maybe we can try again."

"Eeva—"

"—but we're leaving now and, either way, this ends today."

She hung up.

"Shit," Cal said several times, fast like a machine gun. Her feelings for him were true. She loved him—but not enough to abandon her mission. He loved her, too, and he was going to lose her to revenge. He had to stop her. Maybe he couldn't salvage their relationship, but maybe he could save her from throwing her life away.

"Did you notice the sounds in the background?" Frank asked, motioning to the phone.

Cal had.

"There was a faucet running. I could barely hear it . . . then—yes—a paper towel dispenser like in—"

"—a restroom," Frank finished. "Exactly. She's at a restaurant somewhere, with Marat Solonik."

"She said we're leaving now—," Cal remembered.

"—And this ends today," Frank added, and then made a beeline to the apartment door, saying, "Let's go then!"

Cal followed close on his heels.

"Where are we going?"

Cal caught up at the elevator, where Frank mashed the button repeatedly.

"She's not after Marat, she's after his brother, Valeri—," Frank said.

"—who's hiding on the Kosatka—," Cal filled in.

"Right!" Frank said. "So, we know exactly where it ends, and she told us when: today. She's finally convinced Marat to give her a tour of the boat, and I bet he's planning a little joyride."

"Then we need to get there before that boat leaves the dock!"

They were in the elevator, now, descending too slowly. Cal's skin crawled as the seconds ticked by.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Frank asked and put a hand on Cal's shoulder. "There's no way to board that yacht subtly. And when we return—if we return—it won't be the same. We'll be stepping onshore into a new world."

"I have to do something, Frank. You don't have to come."

"I told you the other night, Sundance, that I'd follow you anywhere."

Cal copied Frank's gesture and put his hand on Frank's shoulder so that they formed a closed circuit.

"Thank you, Frank. And if you mean it—"

Frank nodded.

Cal let out a slow breath, steadied and calm now.

"Then—like I said—you better be ready to jump."