The Cleaner (Born Bratva Book 4) by Suzanne Steele Read Free Book Online Page A

would have a shit fit if he knew I was breaking into a house anyway. As the Sovietnik, I’m expected to walk the straight and narrow, which is only making this more of an adventure for me.
    She cuts through my thoughts when she hands me a pair of medical booties to cover my shoes.
    “You’ve really got this shit down to a science, don’t you?”
    “Damn straight.”
    “Looks like I’ve been missing out on all the fun.”
    “Well, you’re knee deep in it now, Nikita. I guess this is one time I’m in control. Try to keep up, okay?” she taunts me.
    “Yeah, well, this is one time I’ve got no problem with that. As you can see,” I say as I pointedly glance down at my crotch, “no problem at all.”
    “Holy shit, Nik,” she purrs as her eyes take in the full extent of my not-so-little problem. “You’re, um, I mean…damn. Okay, never mind,” she says as she shakes her head abruptly.
“Listen up. I want you to start in one corner of the room with me and then work your way around, follow my lead. You’re looking for personal items that might be relevant. I don’t want to know superficial shit. I want to know her deepest, darkest, dirtiest, secrets. This woman pissed somebody off. Granted, it may have something to do with her being a cop, but it might go a whole hell of a lot deeper than that.”
    “Are you going on gut instinct with that assumption?”
    “No, I’m going on the governor’s gut with this. As much as I hate to admit it, I think he’s right. It takes a certain kind of temperament to kill a cop -- balls of steel, baby. This guy killed up close and personal. Anyone with that kind of confidence has more than a passing knowledge of the logistics of law enforcement. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a cop, but he’s probably got ties to the force.”
    I check inside the coat closet and don’t see anything of interest until I root around behind the coats. Fucking contractors, they’ll cut corners wherever they can to save a few bucks. Whoever built this place couldn’t even be bothered to tack down the linoleum in this space. I know it’s just a closet, it’s not like anyone’s going to ever see this section of the floor anyway, but I despise professionals who gloss over details and can’t be bothered to do a job well.
    I can’t resist kneeling down and pressing the corner of the flooring down, intending to tuck it underneath the baseboard. I scowl when my fingertips encounter empty space and not the usual wooden subflooring. Curious, I peel back the vinyl. The subflooring appears to have been cut away, leaving a small space, just big enough to fit the 12”x18” lock box that’s hidden there. Bingo.
    “Hey, I found something, come check this out,” I call out urgently. Natasha peers over my shoulder, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of the lock box nestled in the hole in the floor.
    “Whoa,” she whispers reverently. “You sure you don’t want to embrace a life of crime, baby? Because you definitely have the instincts for it. I think you might be wasting your talents as an attorney.”
    “Very funny. Scoot back, let’s see what we’ve got here. Up for picking another lock?” I ask as I lift the box out of its hiding place and set it in on the floor just beyond the closet door.
    “Absolutely,” Natasha chuckles as she starts working the box’s lock mechanism. It’s a matter of seconds before she’s lifting the lid to reveal a stack of notebooks.
    “Well, damn,” I mutter, disappointed. “I thought we were on to something.”
    “Oh, we are,” she declares as she starts flipping through the notebooks. “These appear to be somebody’s diaries. I say we take them with us. Who knows, they could be the break we’ve been waiting for in this case.”
    “Works for me,” I reply with a grunt as I lean over and put the linoleum back in position. I stand and join Natasha as she walks over to the answering machine.
    “Hmm,” she says quietly. “No new