But the revelation that Kade had a brother was enough to silence Branna. Her expression looked stunned, hurt. Then she turned and gazed out the window and didn’t say another word.
I almost felt bad for her.
We approached a two-story brick mansion in a neighborhood filled with them. Lights glowed in some of the windows. Kade pulled up alongside the curb in front of the house and parked.
“I think it’d be best if Kat and I go talk to her,” Blane said, surprising me. “She knows me and she’s met Kat. A woman there might make her feel more like opening up. And Kat’s good at getting people to talk and trust her.” The last was said matter-of-factly. I thought it was the first time Blane had ever said something like that about me.
Kade glanced back at me, then nodded. “You have your gun?” he asked Blane.
“Always.”
With that, Blane and I got out of the car and I followed him up the long walk to the colonial-style front door. Reaching out, he took my hand, threading our fingers together. I nervously combed a hand through my hair, now nearly dry.
“Branna’s a lot like Kade,” Blane said out of the blue. I glanced up at him and our eyes caught. “Damaged. I’m guessing she’s been through some of the same shit he has.”
“It’s not my story to tell,” I replied. “You’d have to ask her, but yeah, I think so.”
Blane gave a curt nod but said nothing more as we stepped up onto the porch. Reaching out, he rang the doorbell. Though it was nearing ten o’clock, the door swung open quickly, revealing a butler.
“May I help you?” he asked.
Blane told him his name and asked to see Sarah. We were led into a sitting room that looked like no one ever really sat in it. I perched gingerly on the edge of an antique couch, glancing around at the decor, which seemed straight out of a European magazine. Blane remained standing, energy and purpose seeming to radiate from him as he paced.
“Blane? Blane Kirk?”
I glanced up to see Sarah Bradshaw entering the room, her brows furrowed in confusion as she inspected Blane.
“What on earth are you doing here? And at this hour?”
Blane smiled softly, taking both of her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Good to see you, Sarah.”
I got to my feet too as Blane gestured my way. “You remember Kathleen, don’t you?”
Good manners bred into her had Sarah sending an artificial smile my way and reaching out to clasp hands with me. “Of course,” she said, which may or may not have been the truth. We’d met very briefly at a victory dinner for Senator Keaston, and she’d barely spared me a glance then.
“Please, sit down,” Sarah said, gracefully sinking into a Queen Anne–style chair opposite the couch. Blane took a seat on the couch next to me.
“I heard about George,” he said, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sarah’s smile was tinged with bitterness. “Thank you, Blane, but you and I both know George wasn’t a good man. He did a lot of things to a lot of people. It was bound to catch up to him.”
I was surprised at how matter-of-fact she was, but I guess you couldn’t live long in Washington without being disillusioned.
“Speaking of which,” Blane said, “it’s late, so I’ll get to the point of our visit.”
“I would appreciate that,” Sarah said.
“George worked for Robert for a long time,” Blane said. “Lately, Robert’s gotten . . . a little out of hand—”
“He’s a megalomaniac,” Sarah interrupted.
“Yes,” Blane confirmed. “He’s come after me, after Kathleen. She was nearly killed, twice, because of Robert.” Sarah’s eyes flicked toward me, then back to Blane. “I need something I can use, something that’ll keep him in line, and I thought you might know if George had anything like that. Maybe told you anything that might help me.”
“Why should I tell you that?” Sarah asked. “If Robert finds out I helped you, I’ll be dead. And how can I trust you? You’re related to him. For all I know, this is some test to make sure I’ll keep his secrets as well as my husband did.”
“This isn’t a test,” Blane said.
“And how do I know that?”
I figured it was my turn to chime in. “Mrs. Bradshaw,” I said, drawing her attention toward me, “a few months ago, Senator Keaston had me taken. Taken by people whose job it was to make sure I was never seen or heard from again. Not to be killed, but to be sold into human slavery, into sex trafficking. My crime? Falling in love with Blane. If not for Blane . . .” I turned to look at him, my hand reaching out. He clasped my hand in both of his. “If not for Blane,” I continued, looking back to Sarah, “I wouldn’t be here now. This isn’t a test. This is Blane asking you for help in taking down a very dangerous man.”
Sarah seemed to weigh my words, meeting my eyes steadily. I didn’t say anything more, just waited. After a moment, she spoke.
“There’s a man,” she said, “someone new. I could tell George wanted to be real hush-hush about it, but I know he was getting money from him. I don’t know how or why, just that the campaign coffers have received huge influxes in the past six months.”
“Do you know anything about this man?” Blane asked.
Sarah shrugged. “Very little. He came by the house one night, which made George angry. From then on, they met outside the house. I followed George once. I was worried about him, wondering what he’d gotten himself mixed up in. He went to this house, here.” She got up and went to one of the tables, pulling paper and a pen out of a drawer, then jotting something down and handing the paper to Blane. “Here’s the address. The man, he was tall, over six feet, and broad, with dark hair, a goatee, and dark eyes. He spoke with a Russian accent.”
“You’re sure?” Blane asked.
Sarah nodded. “I only caught part of a name, and I don’t know if it’s his first or last.”
“What is it?”
“Lazaroff.”
“Well, at least we have a name,” Kade said, taking a drink of the coffee the waitress had just poured for him.
We were in a late-night diner in a part of DC that had me questioning the wisdom of us stopping for dinner, no matter how hungry I was.
I sat across from Kade in the booth, Blane by my side. I toyed with the Pepsi I’d ordered.
“Yeah, but does it strike any bells?” Blane replied.
“This address,” Branna interrupted. “I’ve heard of it. Russians run an illegal gambling joint there and a brothel. Strictly high rollers only.”
“In the heart of DC?” Kade asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Some kind of deal with the Russian consulate,” Branna replied with a shrug. “Cops look the other way. The Russians get a taste of the homeland when they want to and occasionally a piece of a US politician.”
“You think George gambled?” I asked Blane. “Or Robert?”
Blane shook his head. “Maybe this was just Lazaroff’s home base. I don’t see Robert being stupid enough to indebt himself in gambling. He’s smarter than that.”
“We need to get in there tomorrow night and find this guy,” Kade said just as the waitress reappeared with our meals.
I dug into the blueberry pancakes I’d ordered, ignoring the fact that Branna had gotten a salad. It seemed everyone was hungry and conversation ceased
“I can find out more about Lazaroff,” Branna said after a few minutes. “I have someone I can call tomorrow. They might meet with me.”
“Might?” Blane asked.
Branna shrugged. “I shot him the last time I saw him, but it was just a flesh wound. I’m sure he’ll have gotten over it by now.”