Page 58 of Hours to Kill
Addy couldn’t believe Mack actually let her join the team in questioning Yahontov. She’d had to plead, but after she pointed out that this guy’s rap sheet was all about internet crimes and with no hint of violence, plus pointing out that she knew the investigation best, Mack agreed.
She’d also made sure he gave in to her demands to stop at the ER, where his wound was examined—no muscle damage, thankgoodness—cleaned and bandaged, and he was sent on his way with a prescription for painkillers. Which he refused, saying he would never take them while responsible for her protection, and he would manage the pain. She planned to keep an eye on him. If she saw him suffering, she would talk to him about it.
They rolled up on the apartment complex in Milwaukie, a suburb of Portland. The two-story building was old but in good condition with fresh blue paint. Sean parked the SUV, and they all got out. They’d taken the precaution of dressing in body armor but wouldn’t carry assault rifles for a knock-and-talk.
Addy was starting up the sidewalk when Mack held out a hand, stopping her and allowing Sean to take the lead, Kiley behind him.
“We stack in this order so if there’s a problem, we’ll be ready,” Mack said.
She glanced up at him. “And you have me safely at the back of the group.”
“That too, but honestly I’m more concerned with maintaining our routines.”
“Where did I used to fall in the stacking order?”
“You had Kiley’s slot, and she took up the rear.”
Was there was any real significance to this order? She would ask, but they reached Yahontov’s door before she could get the question out.
Sean used the side of his hand to pound on the door. “Police! We need to talk to you, Yahontov.”
“Movement inside,” Sean said, his focus pinned to the door, his hand on his sidearm.
Addy clasped the butt of her gun, ready to draw if necessary.
“I need to see some ID.” Yahontov’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“I got it.” Kiley stepped forward and held her credentials up to the peephole. “FBI Special Agent Kiley Dawson.”
The dead bolt clicked, and the door opened.
“You Vadim Yahontov?” Sean asked.
“I am.” He lifted a bushy black eyebrow. “What’s this about?”
Sean eyed the guy. “We’d like to come in and talk about that.”
Yahontov shifted his focus to the group. “And it takes four people to talk?”
“We can have a conversation here or we can escort you to our office.” Sean’s tone left no room for the guy to argue.
Yahontov stepped back, his eyes narrowed. They marched past him, and Addy took in his sloppy jeans and baggy T-shirt with an anti-government slogan. He had a slight body, scraggly hair, and his face was unshaven, the dark whiskers making him look dangerous.
His apartment held very little other than a giant leather couch, big-screen TV, and a wall of computer equipment. Much like Addy would expect in the apartment of a computer geek who lived alone. Yahontov dropped onto the sofa next to a pricey laptop, the team remaining on their feet. Wouldn’t do to let their guard down, not when they knew so little about this guy.
Kiley stepped over to the computer wall and took a long look at the equipment. “Sweet setup. What do you do for a living?”
Yahontov hesitated for a moment. “IT consulting.”
“Specifically what kind of consulting?” she asked.
He waved a hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Addy watched Kiley intently, waiting for her to respond with a smart-aleck comment. She locked gazes with him. “Trust me, with a master’s in IT, I would.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. “You know. A little bit of everything, but mostly PHP and SQL stuff.”
Kiley shared a skeptical look with Sean. They clearly recognized that the guy was being evasive, as he was making it pretty obvious.
