Page 25 of Capture (Primal #3)

S ylvie replied to the message I sent her last night with a time for us to have a conversation about some delicate matters. I wanted her to be alone and in private so no one could overhear the conversation, and I meant to organize schedules to align, so we were both free.

Naturally, she was curious to know what the problem was and called me immediately, but I was driving home, so I couldn’t talk properly. Her tone was strained as if she was worried that I had bad news for her, then she asked if Gunner was okay.

She didn’t need to worry about Gunner because he was being looked after better by Ronan and me than if he still lived in Larsson.

We treated him like a man, whereas she’d have him tied to her apron strings, turning him into a pussy.

I understood her concern, as after losing her husband, her grip on her son was tighter, but the boy needed space to grow into a man.

And now he’s a good man, and we’re going to keep it that way.

It was just after 11.30 AM as I sat in my leather armchair in my apartment, looking out across the city while I waited for her call.

I preferred speaking to her in the privacy of my home, rather than at work, because it could take a while.

We’ve left Freddie in charge of the midday dinner shift as Ronan had classes.

If there were any problems, then he needed to sort them out himself until I arrived.

Ronan informed me that Annika had been served her cooked breakfast, orange juice, and fresh coffee, like Rapunzel locked in the tower—only the best for our princess. When I arrive at the club, I’ll serve her lunch, and maybe…?

My entire body lit up thinking of her in the shower, walking away sodden wet like I’d fallen in a pool, but I didn’t care. I’d never felt so alive and happy in so long. The flurry of giggles that flooded the room as she called me back to grab the shoes I’d forgotten.

She’d make a great wife.

“What? Where did that come from?” I mumbled to myself, alone in my apartment.

“Now, I was thinking about marrying her? No. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mik.

Jeezus, don’t get ahead of yourself. Besides, when I said she’d make a great wife, I wasn’t meaning me.

She’d make a great wife for Gunner or Ronan, is what I meant. ”

The phone started ringing, and Sylvie’s name appeared on the screen. Thank fuck. Saved by the bell, so I didn’t have to think about the wife slip-up.

“Good morning, Mikael,” she said as soon as I swiped to receive the call. “Don’t keep me in suspense as to why we’re having this clandestine conversation.”

A little shudder traveled down my spine at the icy tone drilled down the line.

She was expecting the worst, but had no intention of informing her about Gunner because we had a plan in place.

And she would hit the roof if I told her that we used her precious son as bait for the Ivanov scum to bite.

It worked, and we knew it would. The Ivanov family was predictable as fuck.

“Good morning, Sylvie,” I replied, trying to disguise the slight resentment in my tone for the fact that she terrified the bejeezus out of me. At the end of the day, she was Lars’s wife and still held considerable power in our family business. “How is everything in Larsson?”

“It was nice seeing my son when he briefly visited last month as part of the investigation. I notice that was the only time he visited,” she carried on with her rant, but I stopped listening.

I understood that she was a mother missing her only child, but Gunner was an adult and was capable of making his own decisions about where he wanted to spend his time.

But I knew that the real reason he didn’t visit her was because being there in Larsson and at the club reminded him of his father’s unsolved murder and the girl who screwed him over.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I interrupted her rant about Gunner and the lack of communication and transparency between the two clubs. “There are two issues I want to discuss with you.”

“Go ahead,” she inserted in a slight, sarcastic tone, reminding me that I was beneath her in the family hierarchy. I ignored it, even though it annoyed me. “It sounds serious.”

“Betty,” I started. “Do you remember doing a security check on her before hiring her in the Larsson club?”

“Of course,” she replied, baffled. “What has she done?”

“Vanished. We can’t find her. Tried calling her on her cell and sent someone around to her apartment, but no one was answering the door.”

“Is she unwell? Or under stress?” Naturally, Sylvie assumed there was a perfectly good reason for this odd behavior because Betty was flawlessly reliable. In fact, I couldn’t remember her calling in sick in the years she worked for my family.

“No. She is collaborating with the Ivanov family,” I told her bluntly, and a sarcastic scoff traveled down the line.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed, sneering. “Betty? Our Betty? The Betty Lars stole from me. Impossible.”

“We have proof,” I asserted. “CCTV footage of Betty communicating not only with Larsson cops but with the Ivanov family, and when confronted about it, she vanished.” Silence fell down the line.

I wanted to analyze Sylvie’s reaction to see if she had anything to do with it, but she seemed genuinely shocked.

It would have been better if I had spoken to her in person, but I didn’t want to leave the city. “Hello. Sylvie? Are you there?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly. “I’m here. Oh. I’m just stunned. The Ivanov family got to her.”

“Yes. We suspect she was lured by money and was still romantically involved with the bartender who was sacked for stealing a few months ago,” I explained dryly. “So, she hasn’t contacted you lately?”

“Months,” she answered, then paused a few moments as if she was struggling to digest it.

“I haven’t spoken to her for quite some time.

I missed her because we were friends as well as colleagues, but over time, communication grew less frequent, which was only natural since we weren’t working together anymore. ”

“I agree that it seems out of character for Betty, but we can only go by the evidence,” I told her.

“And the evidence leads us to the Ivanov family and the Larsson cops, who were behind.” I took a deep breath because I wasn’t sure if I should mention Annika, but she was deep in the middle of it, not by choice.

“Who was behind Annika’s protection program? ”

“Oh,” she made a sound as if clearing her throat. “I thought I’d never hear that name spoken ever again. I suppose she was working for both the Ivanov family and the police. The little brat.”

A brick of annoyance landed in my chest. “It wasn’t her fault,” I spoke quietly, not quite believing what I just uttered. I was sticking up for the girl who sent me to prison, but it wasn’t her fault. It was clear that she was frightened into it. “She was a kid.”

The line fell dead again, but with a different vibe as if she was surprised that I succumbed to that view. “You’ve obviously had time to reflect while in prison.”

Wrong. I was burning with revenge every single day I was in that place.

It was her that I saw, even though I didn’t know her that well and couldn’t remember the features in her face or the movement in her walk, or the way she played with her hair.

I never paid any attention to the foster daughter of my uncle for good reasons.

She was a kid, and she was under the governance of Lars.

Ignoring her comment, I decided not to share what we know about Annika. I’d keep that piece of information for another day, as I knew she would find it difficult to understand. Keeping her out of the loop was convenient for now.

“Onto the next topic that I want to talk to you about,” I started, and she scoffed again, and I ignored it. I knew it annoyed her that I didn’t bite back over the prison comment.

The only way to move on is to allow myself to forgive and heal, and part of that healing involves spending time with Annika. Another part of the healing process was to find out who murdered Lars. At times, it felt like we were so close.

“Does the name Serg Popov mean anything to you?” I asked sternly, and again the line went dead. “Hello? Sylvie?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, sounding frustrated.

“Serg Popov, does that name sound familiar?” I pressed, then listened carefully to background noises, but it was quiet.

“Well, the Popov family has been around for a while here in Larsson, although they’re under the radar, but we know they collaborate with the Ivanov family,” she answered impatiently. “What is this about, Mikael?”

“What about Serg Popov, specifically? Do you remember him?” I kept pushing because she was vague, which could mean she was hiding something.

“I…ah…don’t remember-” she stalled as if trying to create a story to offload.

“Let me remind you,” I started. “Serg Popov died in a car crash nineteen years ago.”

“Oh?” Her surprise sounded fake.

“He was married to the cop that was heading the case that got me arrested and falsely accused of organizing Lars’ death,” I told her, leaving out Judith’s name because I didn’t think it was relevant. “She was so bereaved that she took out her revenge on our family.”

“What does our family have to do with it?” she asked so innocently.

“She believed that the Kaisers killed her husband, although there doesn’t seem to be proof.

It’s only her hunch, I assume. After losing her husband, I guess she wanted to even the score.

However, I feel like there's a missing link, which is why I’m calling you.

Do you know anything about this?” I explained, hopefully.

“Nineteen years,” she parroted distantly, as if her mind was going back that far, but there was something there in her tone. Something she wasn’t telling me that I might do a better job at siphoning out of her, if we were in the same room and I could look her in the eye.