5

We turned off the lights in the house, pretending that, as it was supposed to be at such a late hour, nothing was going on in it except sleep, but I was not sure that we did it in time, and the light was not noticed. On the other hand, what was the difference!?

It didn't take a genius to connect the arrival of the cops with a shootout on the road and an attack on the estate, which took place at about the same time, and I strongly doubted that those who entered the gate, which Grisha's guys specially opened, were driving like that in the name of the law and for the sake of justice.

I paced the dark second floor, waiting for a knock on the door and preparing myself for the worst.

Once, also in the middle of the night, the cops broke into my brother and me. Then they turned the whole apartment upside down, and without any permits. They didn’t find anything, and that’s the only reason they didn’t take me away, but Sasha was dragged out anyway, like a piece of shit, taking with them even the modest amount of money that I had in my bag.

Then I realized that the cops were bandits no worse than the wolves, and only thanks to Yegor, and the sympathy that arose between us, I managed to smear my brother. Now, I couldn’t count on anyone’s sympathy, and I tightened the belt of my dressing gown, which supported the pistol hidden on my back.

Thoughts in my head wandered around. I tried to unravel the purpose of the nightly visit of law enforcement officers. On the one hand, their arrival seemed to be quite logical: the residence was closest to the site of the shootout on the road, and if Gray did not clear all the traces, and it was simply impossible to clear everything in such a short time, then they could easily bring it here.

On the other hand, everyone knew that the residence was no longer empty, not to mention that they also knew who lived in it now, and not alone, but in the company of a gang of mercenaries. So what was the point? Run into bullets and go ahead of schedule to the next world? Or did the one who sent them think that after the attack on the road it was easy to finish us off? In this he was wrong. Very wrong.

Despite my anticipation, the knock on the door came so suddenly that I flinched. A light came on below. I heard numerous footsteps and sniffed, but I did not catch the familiar smells. I don't even know if it was good or bad. Fifty-fifty, probably.

Rose came up to me and nodded gloomily. I tousled my hair and slowly went downstairs.

Pretending that the bright light of the hall had blinded me, I briefly assessed the situation: perhaps the good news was that there was no one else besides the usual patrolmen, who looked around the hall and living room with wary curiosity. Yes, and they were people, which means they could not sniff out either the blood or the presence of someone else in the house, except for me and Rose, who let them into the house.

The bad news was that not all patrolmen were young: some were over forty, and, apparently without the appropriate education, they hung at the very bottom of the Cop food chain, that is, the best performers of dirty work could not be invented.

I almost did not listen to the standard song that the patrolman rattled, and, without hearing the purpose of the visit, timidly grabbed my dressing gown.

- Excuse me, - I squeaked in a feminine way, - could you repeat it? Did something happen or what?

The patrolman, a guy of about thirty, glimpsed me with a mocking glance, and irritation and hostility, and strong, appeared in the smell.

It seems that women, if, of course, they were not old as the world, who lived in such houses as Angelov's residence, had a bad influence on his complexes, so he tried in every possible way to show that he considered them, that is, me, an ordinary male bedding.

However, this made me think that I was not as popular as I thought: everyone knew my name, but it seemed that not everyone knew me by sight.

- Not far from your house, - he muttered, holding a notebook and a pen, - there was a shootout ...

- Shootout?

Mikhail, no less disheveled than I, went down the stairs in the same family and stood next to me.

I furtively squinted at the young wolf, so cleverly and cunningly being here, contrary to my expectation of seeing him as a lawyer, and not a bedmate.

- Horrible! - meanwhile he added. - Anyone hurt?

The patrol officer gave him an irritated, appraising look, spraying him with a wave of envy that appeared in the smell. Yes, already, a well-groomed man with stunning press cubes was already difficult to scoop up for the role of someone's bedding.

- Employees of the Department for Combating Organized Crime, - he hissed. - Presumably they pursued a dangerous criminal who has been on the wanted list for many years, but the details are still being clarified.

- What a mess! Michael muttered, hugging me. - How can we help? he said innocently.

- Maybe you saw something? the patrolman asked lazily, scratching behind his ear with his pen. - Or heard?

- No, - I answered, looking at Michael. - We sleep.

The patrolman licked his lips casually, glancing down at my dressing gown. It seems that the answer "slept" did not impress him much.

- Do you have a motorcycle? he asked Mikhail.

- Not. - Mikhail feigned surprise, saying that such respectable men as he could ride such a primitive vehicle as a motorcycle. - And what? he said warily.

“We noticed traces of motorcycle tires at the entrance to your gate,” another patrolman entered the conversation, defiantly putting his hand on a holster on his belt. By the way, they weren't closed.

- I just recently arrived here, - I said, smiling guiltily, - so the guards are still lame.

- Arrived or arrived? - said the first patrol. - Is that your helicopter?

I almost laughed, not because I wanted to ask what the civilian helicopter had to do with the firefight and even more so with the gate, but because of the helicopter, whose forms reflecting the light of patrol cars stood out ominously on the unkempt lawn in front of the house, I generally like- didn't think it.

Not that it could be parked in a garage or hidden in a pool pit, in which that part of Grisha's guys who did not disperse around the house sat under a tarpaulin, but ... Damn, it was no longer important!

"Mine," I simply confirmed.

Mikhail's hand slipped imperceptibly from my shoulder, and at the same time as I felt that the belt was loosening, his palm already touched my buttocks and reached up, stealing up to the gun that was sliding down the back towards her.

- Last question. The patrolman checked his notebook and twitched the corners of his lips unpleasantly. - This house is registered to Boris Angelov, who was killed here a year ago.

The patrolmen visibly tensed when they heard the name of the former owner of the city, who instilled fear with his name alone. He was dead, but the latter still meant something, fortunately or unfortunately, to me.

As Kira Zotova, I was dead, and as Kira Angelova, I was considered dead, but since my body was not found, they simply recognized me as missing, that is, they simply wrote it off and did not even begin to search. But that was then, and now Kira Angelova, witness to the death of her husband, the owner of the city, who inherited his entire empire, was a tasty morsel. Very tasty.

- That's right, - I answered calmly, literally feeling the approach of Grisha with my skin. - This is my husband. Was, that is. - Patrol all, as one, turned to us with Mikhail, waiting for the final phrase. - I'm Kira Angelova. His widow.

For a moment there was a tense silence in the hall, as the troopers, like in a Western, clenched and unclenched their dirty paws, anticipating the easy prey that promised them promotion.

Were they really so dumb that they didn't even suspect that they themselves were at gunpoint? That I, the rightful heiress of the city, was here with one man and an old woman?

Mikhail strained his hand, probably removing the safety, and slowly led it down to hand the gun to me. He, a purebred wolf, did not need a weapon, and with bullets he could easily compete in speed.

He smelled of aggression more and more, and the smell of a wolfhound seemed to come from everywhere, foreshadowing what he was good at, that is, a shootout, but suddenly something happened that none of those present expected: a child was crying.

Intellectually, I understood that it could not be Nikita, but as a mother, I reacted to crying, shuddering so hard that Mikhail almost dropped the gun behind me.

The patrolmen, and there were nine of them, began to look at each other in concern and shift uncertainly from one foot to the other.

- Kirochka! Rose called from above. - Someone's hungry!

- I'm going ... - I breathed out automatically, not taking my eyes off the patrolmen.

Whoever did the trick with children's crying, and it was undoubtedly Rosa, she calculated everything correctly: no matter what intentions appeared in the minds of the law enforcement officer, the presence of the alleged child changed everything.

Not that these human dogs could be so noble towards children, or even could get hold of a mean male tear from one child's crying, but for such a turn it was necessary to have a thicker gut than they had.

In any case, crying saved their lives, although these fools did not know this, or maybe they also guessed that they would not have left alive and therefore retreated. Doesn't matter.

- Thank you for giving us time, - without hiding the anger, hissed the very first patrolman.

Mumbling something else from regular phrases, he went to the exit and the rest of the patrol reached for him, leaving some sheet on the table. The cars quickly turned around and drove away. The children's crying immediately subsided, and a hot body, breathing aggression and silver, pressed me to itself, roughly pushing Mikhail away.

God knows where Gray came from with a machine gun and quietly closed the front door.

- What was it? he asked, probably referring to the baby's crying.

“Good question,” Grisha growled, but hardly about the same thing.

He noticed that the belt from my dressing gown was torn at the back and drilled a murderous look at Mikhail, who was frozen with my gun.

“And this, my dears,” Rose majestically descended the stairs, holding under her arm the very doll that cost me a sea of ​​​​tears, and which should not have been in the house for a long time, “is called to resolve the issue peacefully.

“That doesn’t happen,” Grisha objected to her gloomily.

Rose gave him a cool look, but did not dignify him with an answer.

- Forgive me, Kirochka, - the old wolf turned her softened look on me, - it was necessary. Otherwise, your wolfhound would have had to dig a big hole,” she added caustically.

- And the pool suits me, - Grisha retorted no less caustically.

- It's already taken, - Gray put in cheerfully, examining the sheet left by the cops. - This should be put in a frame, - he grinned and turned over to us a sheet on which none other than Grisha flaunted with the signature "WANTED".

"That might not have worked, Rosa," I said irritably. - You actually pointed your finger at the sky!

Pulling away from Grisha, holding the dressing gown, I went up to her and took that damned doll with one hand. Strange, but now she no longer frightened me and did not even seem like Nikita.

- Where and with what I did not poke, it worked! Rosa retorted smugly. - Rubbish removed!

- What's the point? Grisha snarled, adjusting the holster he wore over his white T-shirt. - We lit up nowhere more specifically. Tomorrow they will return. What the fuck is this?! he cursed, kicking the railing.

- From here it is necessary to bring down, - said Gray. - Since the cops are in business ... - He threw an expressive look at me.

I laid the doll down on the table, replaying the latest events in my mind. I thought that the arrival of the cops was not an accident, that they were sent for us, but I was mistaken: ordinary patrolmen knew little and arrived, doing the work that was, because we inherited. And now, as Grisha said, we also specifically lit up.

It was another miss. My next mistake.

The gate should not have been opened to let the patrol in. They would spin, spin, and leave, but here, as one old man who lived next door in my old apartment used to say, a good thought comes later, so it no longer made sense to stomp it.

Be that as it may, but my mistake clarified something: somehow, and the cops were still involved in this whole brawl. At least the ones the troopers were talking about.

However, it could also be bullshit. Any fool could introduce himself as an employee of the department for combating organized crime and even present a fake xiva. Well, with the Cop weapons, which were hardly so difficult to get, all the more there could be a set-up.

Two or three types of employees of the department for combating organized crime (and even if not "type", but real ones), together with mercenaries, which, of course, will not be heard in the news, allegedly carried out some kind of special operation to catch a dangerous criminal, then there is Grisha.

It even occurred to me that the fact that they didn’t take him also turned out to be to someone’s advantage, because we killed them, which attracted the attention of the cops, and even if we hadn’t let them into the territory of the residence, the traces would still brought here, someone would successfully and, most importantly, yelp in time that the return of the vengeful widow Angelov is not just a street myth, but the purest truth, and my portrait together with Grishin would somehow decorate all the notice boards, thereby complicating us life.

But this is what concerned me and Grisha, but what happened to Ibragimov Sr.? Kohan decided to finish him off? Followed me, got to him? Somehow this did not fit into the model of his behavior, especially since Mikhail said that they fought back.

- Mish, tell us what happened to you. Is your father all right? I asked.

- Yes. - The young wolf put my pistol on the table. - To finish him off, - he added not without pride, - you need something more abruptly than special forces.

Here's another dubious detail for you: special forces. Were the fighters "leftist" or real? Did you receive an anonymous tip on the location of criminal authorities, or did you just do the "dirty" work to eliminate the threat for someone?

- SWAT? - Grisha asked again, finally ceasing to burn the young wolf in silk families with a murderous look.

- Yes, - Misha confirmed, involuntarily touching his shoulder, on which I noticed the almost gone trace of a bullet wound. Apparently, one.

Lucky. My Grisha got seven.

- Their "Ksyuhas" cannot be confused with anyone, - added the wolf.

Are you good with weapons? Grisha asked sharply.

- They fired at you from the same ones, - put in Gray. Taking out of his pocket all the same bullets covered with dried blood that he had shown me, he threw one to Grisha.

The latter deftly caught it and briefly examined it.

- 5, 45, - he stated and exchanged a glance with Gray.

- Fired? Misha tensed, looking inquiringly at me. - On you too...

- Get your pants on already! Grisha threw him irritably.

- Caught on the ring, - I explained, not paying attention to the "politeness" of the wolfhound. - Off-road vehicles, motorcycles, various weapons ... A complete set, in short, - I breathed out.

I wearily ran through my hair, catching myself on the fact that as soon as it began to seem to me that the ball was a little untangled, everything, as if by magic, became even more tangled.

My father's old friend, the mayor, the cops, Boris's brother, Roza somehow sideways, Alyosha... Another mention of the department for combating organized crime... It evoked some catchy associations, but I just couldn't concentrate and grab onto them just like when I didn't remember anything at all.

I didn't understand anything anymore. Someone, as if on purpose, was constantly changing places, mixing, adding new characters, while he himself remained in the shadows.

This is some nonsense! Just hell!

- Victims? The wolf looked at Grisha.

- What do you think? he replied gloomily.

“I sympathize,” Misha said sincerely. We've lost a few too.

The wolfhound shrugged his shoulders, saying, what did he care about other people's losses.

“I think it was Kohan the bastard,” Misha growled, clenching his fists. - Vile half-breed will answer for everything!

“Get in line, pureblood,” Grisha growled to him in response.

- Will you stay the night? - I asked Misha, thus not allowing the skirmish to continue, into which, judging by the smell, the young wolf was going to enter with Grisha. "Or are you going back to your father?"

Misha looked at me thoughtfully.

"I'll stay if you don't mind," he replied. - My father doesn't care about me now.

I wanted to argue that his father always cared about him, but changed my mind. It didn't concern me.

“Yes, and you will need me in the morning if the cops return,” Misha added, not in the least embarrassed either by the fact that he was almost naked, or by the fact that Grisha clearly did not mind shooting him. - You decided to stay, didn't you?

I looked at Grisha, and it was as if we entered into a wordless conversation. He certainly knew more than one place where we could go, but like me, Grisha did not see the point in this. The residence was comfortable and habitable, it had a secret passage, weapons, cars, a helicopter.

It was definitely a pity to throw the last one, it could still come in handy. Well, lifting it into the air in the middle of the night was definitely not the best idea, so we stayed, especially since, despite the complete confusion in thoughts and feelings, I had the feeling that we were already at the finish line.

- Rose, can you figure out where to place Misha? With comfort of course!

- Of course! - Rose answered vividly, openly admiring the body of a young wolf. At least someone is happy. - Let's go, Mishenka! Let's go, little one! Are you hungry?

- Um ... I, in fact, need to adjust the car, - Misha was confused under the pressure of the old she-wolf, who was confidently dragging him by the hand to the stairs. - I left her, and there are clothes ...

- Then, dear! Then! Rose waved it off. - In general ... - She threw a glance at Gray. - There are a lot of lazy people here. Let them adjust.

Gray shook his head and disappeared, apparently to drive the car.

- You look tired. - Grisha in the blink of an eye was next to me and with extraordinary tenderness tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. - Carry you to the bedroom?

- Aren't you coming with me? I hesitated as I looked into his face. Suddenly, having barely recovered from his wounds, he was about to go somewhere.

“Maybe for an hour,” Grisha replied. - I need to see what's wrong with the bike.

- Is it on fire? - I switched to a whisper and, taking his hand, intertwined my fingers with him.

- Tomorrow I will need it. Or already today. Doesn't matter. - Grisha exhaled, but immediately flared up playfully: - You won't let me take a helicopter and fly for a new motorcycle, will you? he faked.

- A car will not suit you? I asked seriously.

- No way!

Grisha raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. The presence on it of the ring donated by Boris did not bother him, because it consisted only of pieces of stone and metal, and they did not mean anything.

- Then I agree to an hour - I gave up.

“My good girl,” the wolfhound murmured. “You can do a lot in an hour,” he added slyly, pulling me towards the stairs. - In general, - he picked me up in his arms, - it's better like this! Yes, it's definitely better!

I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. It's good that... That he was there. It even crossed my mind that it was supposed to be like that. Unless there was a complete f*ck around us and there was no Nikita nearby.

- Grish?

I lifted my head, remembering what had hooked me from the conversation with the patrolmen.

- Mmm?

- Department for Combating Organized Crime...

I frowned, straining my memory: once a cop came to Boris about the attack on the warehouse, it seems. I didn't know for sure if he was from the same department that the trooper was talking about, but such criminal moments were their part.

- It was from there that he came to Boris ...

- Major Gorov? Grisha finished for me, stopping at the bedroom door. - He. And when it's you ... - he frowned, opening the door with his foot. - BUT! All! Remembered! And to answer your next question, no, he doesn't work there anymore because he's dead.

Grisha lowered me onto the bed and, with a concentrated look, set to work on my padded dressing gown.

- Did you kill him? I asked.

Grisha met my gaze and, leaving the robe alone, simply sat down next to me.

"Unfortunately, I'm not," he replied. - Why are you asking about him?

"Did you hear what that patrolman said?"

- About the department? Well, I heard! Do you think they'll show up from there in the morning?

- This is logical, - I answered and, after thinking, added: - If Gorov is dead... Then someone else has taken his place. And he probably gets paid extra for his services, too.

- And there are not so many options.

- But? I drawled, catching some kind of angry ellipsis in Grisha's intonation.

“Instead of Gorov, your former friend Panov is now majoring,” Grisha replied, his eyes flashing.