have to deal with him—maybe he was dead, you know, or had forgotten about me, or just didn’t care. God, I was so stupid.” He takes a breath. “But I always had this nagging fear. Turns out it was for good reason.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe him anything,” I say. “He doesn’t own you. He can’t control you.”
Sergei’s shoulders sag. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong.”
Yes, I imagine Frederica saying. There’s the weak point. Push on that bruise. It makes me sick with myself. “Why? What were they talking about? They kept saying things about shipments . . . about honoring your agreement.”
Sergei’s gaze drops. His eyes are deep wells, shadowed in the early dusk that’s settled over the townhouse. “Vladimir, he, ah . . .” Sergei’s mouth twitches. “He wants me to do certain things for him. To aid his ‘business,’ if you can call it that.”
“Certain things ,” I echo.
Sergei nods, mechanical. “It’s better if you don’t know the details.”
No, I want to scream. I can’t help you if I don’t. And suddenly I realize—more than preserving any shot at a career in the FBI, right now, what’s truly motivating me is the chance to help Sergei. To see his brother pay for his crimes, and set him free of that weight for good. But I can’t explain that to him. It’s too dangerous for us both.
“I haven’t agreed to anything, yet,” Sergei continues. “But Vladimir and his friends know how to be very . . . persuasive.”
I swallow audibly and study Sergei’s face. The swelling from his lower lip has gone down, but I can still see the faint scab there, the slight way it juts out. After a week. And that’s just what I can see. I reach forward and run my thumb along his mouth. He sighs, leaning the weight of his head into my palm and kissing the tip of my thumb. For a moment, we’re frozen this way, cocooned together in this cavernous room, untouchable by the outside world.
But then a siren roars past on the crowded streets of DC and I remember the FBI listening on the other end of my phone, and Vladimir and all his Bratva men just waiting for us to crack.
“He wants to take advantage of me, that’s all.” Sergei cups my hand in his own, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. My pulse races in response. “He wants to make use of my money. My access.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I’m done pushing. I’m tired, so tired of letting this case, this situation, this whatever it is play tug-of-war with my heart. I take a deep breath and muster up the strength to make one more plea. “What can you do, then? To stop him?” I brace myself—now or never. “Maybe if you reached out to the authorities, or—”
“ No. ” Sergei grips my wrist, then lets go as soon as he realizes how hard he’s grabbed me. He runs his fingers through his hair, letting the dark locks scatter across his forehead. “I’m sorry. I just—You don’t understand. He’s killed people, Jael. Good cops, crooked cops. Entire families. One time he killed a man who tried to leave his service—and every single person he’d ever been close to—in the time it took the guy to walk into a police station and ask for witness protection. The guy came home to collect his family and they were already dead in their beds. The assassin waiting for him in his recliner.”
“Well, that’s on the police,” I say hotly. “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t—”
“I can’t. Not if I want to keep you safe.”
His gaze is so dark, so cold. It aches inside my chest to see him looking this way.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. But you have to trust me when I say you can’t go to the authorities.” Sergei cups my cheeks, softly turning my expression toward his. “Please, Jael, promise me.”
My stomach feels heavy as lead. “I promise.”
But my mind rings over and over with the
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe him anything,” I say. “He doesn’t own you. He can’t control you.”
Sergei’s shoulders sag. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong.”
Yes, I imagine Frederica saying. There’s the weak point. Push on that bruise. It makes me sick with myself. “Why? What were they talking about? They kept saying things about shipments . . . about honoring your agreement.”
Sergei’s gaze drops. His eyes are deep wells, shadowed in the early dusk that’s settled over the townhouse. “Vladimir, he, ah . . .” Sergei’s mouth twitches. “He wants me to do certain things for him. To aid his ‘business,’ if you can call it that.”
“Certain things ,” I echo.
Sergei nods, mechanical. “It’s better if you don’t know the details.”
No, I want to scream. I can’t help you if I don’t. And suddenly I realize—more than preserving any shot at a career in the FBI, right now, what’s truly motivating me is the chance to help Sergei. To see his brother pay for his crimes, and set him free of that weight for good. But I can’t explain that to him. It’s too dangerous for us both.
“I haven’t agreed to anything, yet,” Sergei continues. “But Vladimir and his friends know how to be very . . . persuasive.”
I swallow audibly and study Sergei’s face. The swelling from his lower lip has gone down, but I can still see the faint scab there, the slight way it juts out. After a week. And that’s just what I can see. I reach forward and run my thumb along his mouth. He sighs, leaning the weight of his head into my palm and kissing the tip of my thumb. For a moment, we’re frozen this way, cocooned together in this cavernous room, untouchable by the outside world.
But then a siren roars past on the crowded streets of DC and I remember the FBI listening on the other end of my phone, and Vladimir and all his Bratva men just waiting for us to crack.
“He wants to take advantage of me, that’s all.” Sergei cups my hand in his own, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. My pulse races in response. “He wants to make use of my money. My access.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I’m done pushing. I’m tired, so tired of letting this case, this situation, this whatever it is play tug-of-war with my heart. I take a deep breath and muster up the strength to make one more plea. “What can you do, then? To stop him?” I brace myself—now or never. “Maybe if you reached out to the authorities, or—”
“ No. ” Sergei grips my wrist, then lets go as soon as he realizes how hard he’s grabbed me. He runs his fingers through his hair, letting the dark locks scatter across his forehead. “I’m sorry. I just—You don’t understand. He’s killed people, Jael. Good cops, crooked cops. Entire families. One time he killed a man who tried to leave his service—and every single person he’d ever been close to—in the time it took the guy to walk into a police station and ask for witness protection. The guy came home to collect his family and they were already dead in their beds. The assassin waiting for him in his recliner.”
“Well, that’s on the police,” I say hotly. “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t—”
“I can’t. Not if I want to keep you safe.”
His gaze is so dark, so cold. It aches inside my chest to see him looking this way.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. But you have to trust me when I say you can’t go to the authorities.” Sergei cups my cheeks, softly turning my expression toward his. “Please, Jael, promise me.”
My stomach feels heavy as lead. “I promise.”
But my mind rings over and over with the
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