Page 32 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

INDIGO

The phone rings a few minutes later, and I grab it immediately.

"Hello, Mrs. Baryshev?" Dr. Espina says crisply when I pick up. "I've had a chance to review your medical history, and I understand your concerns about some common pregnancy symptoms?"

My heart speeds up. She found something.

"I appreciate you getting back to me so quickly," I reply, keeping my voice steady. "Yes, I wanted to know if my husband has ever mentioned any instances of cramps or nausea on his side of the family during pregnancy?"

"He has. Mostly nausea," she begins, "But he did mention to me that one of his uncles was born to a woman with a very severe case of cramping on your husband's side."

One Russian visitor.

"Only one?" I ask to confirm.

"Yes, I believe that uncle was named Ivan Yumatov."

I exchange a glance with Roma, who's leaning close enough to hear. His eyes widen slightly at the name.

"Ivan Yumatov," I repeat carefully. "I don't think Anatoly has mentioned him before."

"Based on what your husband told me, Ivan's mother suffered through cramps at a regular interval," Dr. Espina says. "They usually start around 2 PM. And they tended to last roughly twenty minutes."

The killer came at 2PM.

He stayed for twenty minutes.

This has to be our killer.

"I understand, Dr. Espina. Thank you for checking that for me," I say, my mind already racing with this new information. "Is there anything else my husband might've said about Uncle Ivan?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any more details that might be relevant to your condition," she says carefully. "But I do recall that your husband telling me an anecdote about how this uncle had a puppy that once bit his arm. A puppy that turned out to be a wolf once it got older."

Wolf tattoo on his forearm.

A Volkov man.

"That's perfect. Thank you, Dr. Espina."

"Of course, Mrs. Baryshev, and good luck," she says softly before ending the call.

I lower the phone and turn to Roma, who's already reaching for his own device.

"Ivan Yumatov," I say. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"It does," he repeats, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "That's the name used by Volkovs fixers. Any time they need a man to take care of their dirtier problems, they'll use that name. Has been that way for at least a decade."

"Can you find which man it is?" I repeat, the word feeling heavy.

"It'll take some time, that's for sure," Roma explains, already pulling out his phone. "But we have a start. Vasya can go crack a few heads, and peel a confession out of those who aren't willing to talk."

Then, Roma looks at me with something that resembles admiration in his eyes.

"That was some damn fine quick thinking on your end, Indigo Malcolmovna," he says.

I can't help but smile a little at that, thinking of all the people who've dismissed me over the years. Ryan, Grant, Valentina, and Lola.

"Call Anatoly's lawyer," I tell him. "Pass the word."

Roma chuckles softly as he dials a new number.

"Kaufman?" he speaks up as soon as the call connects. "Tell my brother that an Ivan Yumatov visited Ryan Bennet at the hospital. Have the cops request security camera footage. Threaten them with lawsuits if you have to. Did you get the information I sent you?"

Roma's face falls and he asks. "What do you mean it never came?"

I move closer, watching his expression darken as he listens to whatever Kaufman is saying on the other end of the line. I can't make out the words, but Roma's reaction tells me everything I need to know. Something's gone wrong.

"Chert voz'mi," Roma swears, running his hand through his hair as he taps on the keyboard.

"Internet connection’s fucked. Not getting any kind of traffic.

Okay. Just... just tell him to hang tight.

I'll deliver the data personally. Give me half an hour to get it all together and then another hour to get it to you. "

He hangs up and turns to me, frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"The security footage from the mansion," he explains, shaking his head. "Something’s wrong with the internet. Traffic isn’t going in or out. Kaufman can't do anything without that footage proving Anatoly was here all night."

I understand.

Without proof of Anatoly's whereabouts, the police will continue to build their case against him. Every minute that passes is another minute my husband spends behind bars for a crime he didn't commit.

"Let me help," I offer immediately, stepping forward. "Just tell me what to do. I'm not useless with computers."

Roma glances up at me, seeming to assess whether I'd be more help or hindrance. After a moment, he nods and gestures to the chair beside him.

"Alright. We need to go through each camera feed and trim it down to just show Anatoly clearly visible during the critical timeframe."

"Show me how." I pull the chair closer and sit down. "Put the file up on the screen side-by-side. You take one side, and I'll take the other."

Roma's lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile as he slides a keyboard toward me. "You really are something else, Indigo Malcolmovna."

We sit there in meticulous concentration, working side by side through all of the security footage from the multitude of cameras.

For the next half hour, our fingers dance across keyboards in determination and the only sounds in the room is the soft clicking of mouse buttons and occasional murmured observations of when to stop.

The work is tedious but every successful clip showing absolutely nothing feels like another small victory, another piece of evidence that could bring Anatoly home.

"That should do it," Roma says as he copies the last of the files onto a flash drive. "I've trimmed down what I could It's still a lot of data, but it's done now."

I watch as he yanks the flash drive into his pocket and stands to reach for his jacket.

"How long do you think it'll take?" I ask, following him toward the door. "For Kaufman to get him out, I mean."

Roma checks his watch. "Once I deliver this? A few hours, maybe. Depends on how much the cops want to feel like a bunch of assholes." He slides his gun into his shoulder holster and buttons his jacket over it. "Just wait here for the good news."

"I will," I say. "Bring him home."

Roma nods, his eyes softening slightly as he looks at me. It's the most human expression I've seen on his face since I met him.

"You should rest a bit. It's been a long day."

I shake my head. "I'll rest when all of you come back safe."

As Roma reaches for the doorknob, I suddenly remember what happened to Svetlana when she left the house. The image of her bleeding on the sidewalk flashes through my mind.

"Roma," I call, making him pause. "Be careful, okay?"

He turns, a grim smile playing at his lips. "Don't worry about me, Indigo Malcolmovna. I can take care of myself."

Without waiting for me to answer, he closes the door behind him.

But it does nothing to assure me.

Because I remember what happened the last time someone else told me that.