Deadliest of Sins by Sallie Bissell Page A

something else when another man joined them in the hall. Short and stocky, he had his slicked-back brown hair curled over the collar of his white lab coat. Smiley noticed he carried a tattered black doctor’s bag. Boyko nodded at the man, then returned his attention to Smiley.
    â€œBut enough about Ivan,” he said. “Tell me about this girl … this treasure who’s already cost me a man.”
    â€œYou saw her, before you whacked Ivan,” Smiley replied. “Sixteen. Beautiful. And she’s a virgin.”
    Boyko laughed. “Sixteen is old to be virgin.”
    â€œThis one really is, as far as we could tell. She’s not strung out or crazy like these others. She’s clean—a country girl. Just wants to go home to her mother.”
    The Russian gave him a cold look. “How did she wind up here?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” said Smiley. “She’s here now. Jersey told me to call you—the Seattle market’s good, but they thought there could be an even bigger payoff overseas.”
    Boyko snorted. “Overseas is lot of trouble. But let’s go look.”
    He motioned for the doctor to follow him but paused before they entered to the girl’s room. “Smiley, if this girl is not a virgin, it will not go well for you. Russians I hate killing; Americans mean less to me than dogs.”

    Samantha lay in her room, trembling, covering her nose against the sickly sweet smell of Ivan’s blood. The last half-hour had passed in a dream. She’d actually heard Chase’s voice, asking her where she was, then the phone, Ivan, the room—everything exploded. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived it all over again.
    â€œI can’t do this,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. She was cold, so cold. Even though it was July and not a breath of air stirred in the boarded-up room, she felt like she was adrift on an iceberg. She wished she were home; she wished she were dead. She wished she were out there with Dusty and the others, sucking men off at the truck stops. She wouldn’t be so cold, then. People would be alive. Nobody would have their brains oozing out their ears. She heard footsteps, a soft knock on her door. She sat up, pulled her knees under her chin, and pressed her back against the wall. Maybe they were coming to kill her. In a way, it would be a relief.
    As she watched, the door opened. The bald man who killed Ivan peeked inside the room.
    â€œ Dorogoy ? Kiska? Are you okay?” He sounded so much like Ivan, she wanted to cry all over again. “May I come in?”
    She was too scared to answer, so he came in anyway. As he neared her bed, she saw that he was not bald, but wore his blond hair shaved so close to his head she could see the veins crisscrossing his skull. His eyes were of a dark, indeterminate color that reminded her of the little chips of coal that her father tracked in from the mine. She shrank back closer to the wall.
    â€œYou have had a bad time today, little Kiska, and I am sorry. I did not mean for you to see such a terrible thing. I know Ivan was your friend.” He took several steps closer to the bed and withdrew a Hershey bar from his coat pocket. “Nothing can replace him, but please know that we mean you no harm.”
    She watched him. He dropped the chocolate bar on the bed, then backed away, as if she were a wild animal that might come at him with teeth and claws.
    â€œWe are very concerned about you, Kiska. We have called a doctor to make sure you are okay.”
    Her heart began to beat wildly. This was the man Ivan had told her about—Boyko, who was bringing a doctor to attest to her virginity. She looked around the room for something she could jam up inside her. If she wasn’t a virgin, maybe they would let her just go out and be with the others. But the room held nothing. She could not lose her virginity to a candy bar.
    â€œNo need to be frightened,”