Page 1 of No Reason to Trust

Chapter 1

After crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Olivia followed her mapping app down the streets, around corners and into Brighton Beach. Turning another corner, she was transported into the previous century.

Most of the signs above the stores were not only a different language, but also used a different alphabet. Driving slowly along the neighborhood streets, she watched the people on the sidewalks, most of them women. Some had children. Instead of pushing them in strollers, these women pulled them in wagons. Everything about them looked… foreign. They wore babushkas tied beneath their chins. Long, loose dresses. Black shoes, the kind she remembered her grandmother wearing when she was a kid. One thing stood out -- the people on the street were almost all women. Very few men were out here. Were they all at work? Had to be.

She was nearly at the end of the block when she spotted the building where she was supposed to meet her contact. Four or five stories tall, old red bricks and windows that hadn’t been washed in months. Maybe years. Were they unwashed on purpose so no one could see inside the building? Probably. The Bratva was a secretive organization. They didn’t like sharing their business with anyone, even in this overwhelmingly Russian area of Brooklyn.

Apprehension crawled up Olivia’s spine as she studied the building and the women on the sidewalk. Why was she here? What did the FBI hope to gain from her meeting with the Bratva members?

She wasn’t sure. It had been a cold invite, completely out of the blue, and her instructions had been to talk to them. See if they could be convinced to be informants for the FBI. Leak details of upcoming operations, including upcoming crimes -- hijacking of shipped goods. Contract murders. Armed robberies. Shipping of trafficked women.

Olivia gripped the steering wheel tightly. Why would these criminals be interested in cooperating with the FBI? What did they have to gain? She couldn’t think of anything. Unless they were being investigated, and knew it, although her boss Nelson hadn’t said anything about pending subpoenas. But unless the FBI had dangled pardons for these criminals, there would be no sharing of information. Why would they be interested in that? What did the Bratva have to gain? Nothing that Olivia could see.

But she’d been assigned to come here and talk to them, so that’s what she’d do.

Opposite the Bratva building, she saw a small parking lot behind a butcher shop. She didn’t see any signs that it was restricted parking, so she swung into one of the spots and turned off her car. Before she exited, she touched the Glock in the holster beneath her left arm, and her backup gun in an ankle holster. Both there. Secure.

After checking her guns, she opened the car door and stepped into the humid heat of the September day. The asphalt was clearly ancient -- broken and cracked, with chunks missing. Weeds grew up from the cracks, some of them a foot tall. Clearly not a frequently used lot. But then, most of their customers were probably local.

Olivia looked around but saw no signs prohibiting parking. No signs listing the price of parking. She shrugged. She’d ask in the butcher shop.

The back door of the butcher shop was open, and the pungent smell of raw meat swirled in the air. Her stomach churned as the smell rolled over her. Even if she hadn’t been a pescetarian, the smell would have sickened her. Was the meat on the edge of spoiling in the summer heat? She swallowed hard, trying to avoid taking a breath.

Glancing in the back door, she didn’t see anyone working there. Must be out front, waiting on customers.

She hurried around to the front and stepped inside. The same smell washed over her, and she resisted the urge to turn and walk out the door. A man stood behind the counter, wrapping a piece of meat for a customer.

He looked over at her, his gaze suspicious. “Can I help you?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.

Olivia forced herself to smile. “Is it okay to park in the lot behind your store?” she asked.

The man frowned. “You have business here?”

Olivia nodded toward the building across the street. “Yes. In there.”

The man glanced at the building, then studied Olivia. His gaze drifted over her way too slowly, and his lascivious leer was impossible to miss.

“You have business inthatbuilding?” he asked, nodding toward the red brick structure across the street.

“Yes,” Olivia said.

He nodded slowly. “For my friends with business across the street, parking is free,” he said. “I will keep an eye on your car.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said. “I appreciate that.” Thank God she’d brought a bureau car instead of riding her Harley. She guessed it wouldn’t last long in this neighborhood. The Bucar was a drab older sedan. Brown. Not the kind of car that attracted thieves.

The butcher nodded at her. “It will be there when your business is completed.”

“Thank you again,” she said, managing a smile.

She hurried out of the butcher shop, waiting until she was away from the door to take a deep breath. Once on the sidewalk, she looked for Jake Dunbar, ignoring the flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing him again. According to her boss Fred Nelson, Dunbar was her backup.

He wasn’t on the street, but she hadn’t expected him to be. He’d stand out as much as she did in Brighton Beach. She wondered where he’d hidden himself but was reassured by Nelson’s words.“If you need help, send Jake a text. He’ll respond right away.”

Before crossing the street, Olivia pulled out her phone and found Dunbar’s contact information. She tapped out a text, then scrolled through her phone to find the room number. 310.

She added that to the text, then slid the phone into her pocket. The fact that Dunbar was backing her up was… reassuring. She knew him, had worked a couple jobs with him. Big, muscular, broad shouldered. He’d be an intimidating presence if this meeting went sideways.

Reassured by the weight of her Glock, she looked both ways then crossed the street. She approached the building as warily as she’d approach a poisonous snake. Before opening the door, she tightened her fingers on the door grip.You can do this. You’re smart. Clever. And used to dealing with bullies -- Nelson had been her boss for a while.

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