Page 46 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

With cell reception back on, I can use a phone and a laptop.

I’ve got something to do while we ascertain the level of danger I’m in.

11

Nico

“You left me quite the mess to clean up last night,” Sheriff Mills mutters as I join him in the downstairs morgue at the police station.

It’s late evening, and most of his deputies and staff have gone home, except for the night patrol. It’s just the two of us and about six bodies in the stainless-steel drawers. Five are frostbite victims—locals and outsiders passing through, caught in the blizzard. The last is the one I’m most interested in.

“My apologies,” I tell Mills. “We had to get Anya back to the lodge. She’s safer up there.”

“I agree,” he says. “What the hell did you and your brothers walk into?”

I give him a curious look. He takes off his khaki jacket and puts on a pair of blue latex gloves, then pulls the sheet down to reveal the dead guy’s torso. “What am I looking at?”

“This right here.” He points to a tattoo spread across the guy’s chest. It’s a depiction of a bear wrestling a wolf and winning. Droplets of blood are inked across the wolf’s throat. I recognize the tattoo and its significance. It sends shivers down my spine.

“This is Bratva ink, Nico. Why is the Bratva in Seeley Lake?”

“It’s kind of a long story. I never thought they’d show up here,” I reply, analyzing the young man’s facial features. The sharp cheekbones, the smooth jaw, the pointed chin and the shape of his brows are familiar. I’m surprised I didn’t notice the similarities sooner.

“Who is this guy? And why was he trying to kill your friend?” Mills asks. “I checked the camera footage, by the way. It confirms Chance’s account.”

I need about five minutes to bring him up to speed on our friendship with the Asimovs and the circumstances of Anya’s reappearance. He’s understandably shocked and needs another couple of minutes to think everything through and formulate an approach.

“It’s imperative no one finds out that Anya Asimova is here,” I tell him. “So far, only our neighbors met her, but we only gave her first name. Breonna has no idea about the Bratva affiliations. Chance saw Breonna talking to this guy yesterday, but it sounded more like a skeevy pickup attempt than anything else.”

“Who is this guy?” Mills asks.

I give him a curious look. “You didn’t run his prints?”

“You asked me to wait for you before I did anything, remember?” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I can only offer a thankful nod in return for having trusted me. “Who is he?”

“Judging by the tattoo and the features alone, my money’s on Max Sokolov.”

“Max Sokolov?” He repeats the name, though it doesn’t mean much to him.

“Younger brother to Leo Sokolov, head of the Sokolov faction of the New York Bratva. Rivals of the Asimovs and likely the culprits behind the Dalton massacre. Surely, you’ve heard of Dalton.”

He nods once. “Terrible business. But they never charged anyone, did they?”

“Nope. Insufficient evidence, and what little evidence they did have was purely circumstantial. They were able to arrest one of the shooters, but the Sokolovs’ legal team bailed him out in less than forty-eight hours. He left the country the next day.”

“Sounds like they covered their tracks.” Mills covers the dead guy and slides the body back inside its freezer box with a shuddering clang. “So, Max Sokolov, younger brother of a mob boss, came all the way to Seeley Lake to kill Anya Asimova, whose been assumed dead for the past two years?”

“Yes. We’re still putting the pieces together on the past couple of years, but it’s mostly up to Anya retrieving her memories.”

“And until then?”

“We need your help,” I tell Mills.

He gives me a troubled look. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Keep him on ice for a bit.”

“I can’t do that long term,” he says.

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