Chapter 151
Asher
"Not them," Cole murmured, his analytical mind already moving on. "Which leaves the ones with external connections."
Drake consulted his list and signaled for the next interview. "Boris Volkov. Age forty-five. Owns and operates the Northern Star Restaurant in downtown Fairbanks. Known to have business dealings with the Russian immigrant community."
Boris entered the room with the wary confidence of someone who'd dealt with authority before. He was stocky and graying, with the weathered hands of someone who'd worked hard his entire life. His scent was complicated—wolf layered over decades of kitchen smells, vodka, and something that might have been old fear.
"Mr. Volkov," Drake began, "you have extensive contacts within the Russian community in Fairbanks. Is that correct?"
Boris nodded slowly. "I serve many Russians in my restaurant. Immigrants, businesspeople, families. I speak the language, I cook the food they miss from home. This is crime?"
"No one's accusing you of a crime," Drake said evenly. "But we need information. Have you had any contact with individuals connected to Konstantin's organization?"
The name hung in the air like a death sentence. Boris's scent spiked sharply—pure fear, the kind that came from intimate knowledge of what that name meant.
"I..." Boris swallowed hard. "I know of Konstantin. Everyone in Russian community knows of him. He is... how you say... the shadow that follows. You do not speak his name. You do not ask questions."
"But you've met people who work for him."
It wasn't a question. Boris's hands trembled slightly as he clasped them on the table. "Three months ago, maybe four. A man came to my restaurant. He did not give name, but he had... the look. You understand? The prison tattoos on the hands, the way he watched the room like predator. He asked questions about Silver Frost Pack."
Every wolf in both rooms went rigid.
"What kind of questions?" Drake's voice remained calm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.
"He asked about the debt slave girl. The one who became Luna. He said..." Boris closed his eyes, clearly trying to remember exact words. "He said, 'I hear the debt collector's daughter is living like princess now. How does pack feel about this?' I told him I don't know pack business, I just cook food. He laughed and left."
Blake was vibrating with rage beside me. "The debt collector's daughter. He knew. Konstantin knew about Kara's parents, about the debt, about everything."
"Describe this man," Drake demanded.
Boris painted a picture with his words—mid-forties, balding, heavy Russian accent, thick build, prison tattoos including a distinctive eight-pointed star on his left hand. The symbol of a vor v zakone, a career criminal in the Russian mafia hierarchy.
"And you didn't report this to pack authorities?" Drake's tone sharpened.
Boris looked genuinely ashamed. "I am businessman. I have family, employees who depend on me. Konstantin's people... they make example of those who talk. I thought if I said nothing, gave no information, they would leave me alone. I did not think—" His voice broke. "I did not think they would take the girl. If I had known, I would have warned Alphas. I swear on my children, I would have warned you."
The sincerity in his scent was unmistakable. He was terrified, guilty, but not complicit.
"He's telling the truth," Cole said quietly. "He's a coward, but not a traitor."
I hated that he was right. Boris had prioritized his own safety over warning us, but he hadn't actively helped Konstantin either. He was just another casualty of the climate of fear that the Russian mob cultivated.
"You'll work with our sketch artist," Drake told him. "And from now on, if anyone—anyone—asks about this pack or our Luna, you report it immediately. Understood?"
Boris nodded frantically. "Yes, yes. Anything you need. I am so sorry. So very sorry."
As he was escorted out, I turned to my brothers. "Konstantin's been gathering intelligence for months. He knew about Kara's background, knew she'd become our mate, knew enough to plan this abduction down to the last detail."
"Which means he has a reason," Cole said, hismint taking on that sharp, analytical edge. "Kidnapping the mate of three Alphas is an act of war. He wouldn't risk it unless the payoff was enormous."
"Her parents," Blake said flatly. "It comes back to Connor and Celeste. Whatever they did, whatever they knew about Konstantin's operation, he thinks Kara knows it too. Or he's using her to draw them out of hiding."
"Or both," I added grimly. "She's leverage either way."
Drake emerged from the interrogation room, his expression grim. "I've got enough to build a profile of Konstantin's intelligence network in this area. He's got eyes everywhere—restaurants, businesses, probably some of the construction crews that work in Fairbanks. He's been watching your pack for months, maybe longer."
"Then we pivot," I said, forcing my mind into tactical mode even as my wolf howled for blood. "We stop looking for traitors and start hunting Konstantin's network. Every known associate, every business front, every place he's been spotted."
I pulled up the territorial map again, this time marking different locations. "Drake, what do we know about Konstantin's operations in Alaska?"
He pulled up files on his tablet, projecting them onto the main screen. "Three confirmed locations. First, the Red Star Club in Fairbanks—officially a pool hall and sports bar, but everyone knows it's a front for underground gambling and fighting rings. Second, a shipping warehouse on the Cook Inlet docks in Anchorage—suspected arms trafficking and smuggling operation. Third, an abandoned gold mine about eighty miles northeast of Fairbanks—hosts illegal fighting tournaments once a month, big money, no questions asked."
The locations glowed on the map like infected wounds. "But," Drake continued, "these are all known to law enforcement. They're public secrets—everyone knows what they are, but there's never enough evidence to shut them down. Konstantin wouldn't keep a high-value hostage at any of these places. Too much visibility, too much risk."
"So where?" Blake demanded, his patience finally snapping. "Where the fuck would he take her?"
"Somewhere temporary," Drake said. "Somewhere off the grid. An abandoned building, a private warehouse, a remote cabin. Somewhere he can control access and keep her hidden while he... while he decides what to do with her."
The unspoken possibilities hung in the air, each one more horrifying than the last. I couldn't let myself think about what Konstantin might be doing to her, what condition she might be in. If I did, I'd lose control completely.
"The van," Cole said suddenly, his fingers flying over his keyboard. "We tracked it heading north on Old Mill Road. Based on the blizzard conditions and fuel capacity, it couldn't have gone more than sixty to eighty miles. That's our search radius."
He pulled up a detailed map, drawing a circle. "Within this area, we have... dozens of abandoned properties. Old factories, closed warehouses, defunct mining operations, foreclosed homes. But if we cross-reference with properties that have had any connection to Russian ownership or recent unusual activity..."
The list narrowed dramatically. Seven locations remained.
"There," I said, pointing to each one. "We hit them all. Simultaneously. Full tactical teams, no mercy, no hesitation."
"Asher," Marcus's voice came from the doorway. He'd been observing silently, but now he stepped forward, his Alpha authority filling the room. "You're talking about military-style raids on civilian properties. Some of those locations are in Fairbanks city limits. If you're wrong, if Konstantin's people aren't there, we'll have human law enforcement all over us."
"I don't care," I said flatly. "Our mate is missing. Every second we waste talking about jurisdiction is a second she's in danger."