Chapter 17

Danielle

I can’t believe it.

I can’t believe we actually did it!

The adrenaline courses through my entire body as we leave the auction and get the fuck out of Dodge. My job has taken me to a lot of places, but having to use violence in order to rescue my partner-in-crime?

That’s a new one.

It was kind of fun, actually.

I didn’t realize that I was capable of doing something like that. I almost felt like a superhero, like I was Wonder Woman or something.

My editor is not going to know what hit her.

We drive in silence on our route back to our hotel. I still can’t decipher what my relationship with him is anymore.

We work well as business partners. Once he’s on my side, Janus is one of the most dependable men I’ve ever met. He’s got skills, and, I hate to say it, but he’s got talents that I don’t have and informants which come in incredibly handy when all of mine are shit.

But then I catch myself looking at him and remembering that night in South Sudan. The way it felt to kiss him, his lips on mine—then on my skin. His deft fingers as they effortlessly stripped me naked.

I catch myself thinking about fucking him, about feeling him inside me and how good it felt when I came underneath him.

And then I catch myself wanting a repeat performance.

Especially after tonight.

It’s worse, because we’re both so adamant not to touch each other. I can see it in Janus’ eyes, too—he wants me. But we’re both stubborn, and we’re both eager not to look weak and cave first.

The memories of South Sudan are still too fresh—even if it was three years ago.

Maybe we’re both afraid that sex means we’ll have to leave each other again. Maybe we’re both too afraid to find out what happens if we actually wake up next to one another.

But that’s a story I’ll dive into another day.

First, I’ve got to go get this evidence to my editor, and then I’m going to start typing up a first draft. Then I might shower or go get a drink.

After tonight, I’m on top of the world.

I can do anything.

But firstly, as I walk into my hotel room, I kick off my shoes. I don’t even care where they land.

Then I proceed in taking out my earrings and unclasping my necklace. I want to shed every layer of this disguise and just go back to being Dani Robinson, investigative journalist.

As I walk into the bedroom, I let down my hair and step out of my dress, leaving it in a puddle on the floor to be picked up later. I take my robe from where it hangs behind the door and tie it around my waist.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror and smile.

I collect my laptop from the room safe—as if I was going to leave that out in the open—and then retrieve the USB drive of my copy of the information from my purse.

I’m relieved that Janus made two copies of the data. Having my own copy is going to keep me busy, but having his colleague go through it, too, is an extra boon. I don’t know who Leviathan is, but I know he’s good—maybe even the best.

I doubt he’s going to break the news to the press before I have the chance to publish my story.

And if he does, I’ll kill him.

I throw myself onto the bed, stretching out and laying on my stomach. The glow of my laptop illuminates my face, and I quickly log in and open up a word document. Then I open up my emails and begin to send the file of evidence to my editors—all of them, just in case. I can’t afford to take any risks.

Actually, I have a better idea.

I pause in writing my first draft after I’m fifty words or so in and roll onto my back. I reach out and grab the white plastic room phone and lift the whole thing off of the bedside table.

“Hello, this is the front desk. How may I help you?” Speaks the thick Greek accent on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, can I order some room service to room 509 please?”

“Of course, ma’am. What would you like?”

“Is too late to order champagne? And some strawberries?”

“Of course not, ma’am.”

There’s a pause and I hear the clicking of keys as he types in my order.

“That’ll be with you shortly, ma’am, and the cost shall be added to your bill.”

“Thank you so much,” I smile into the receiver and hang up.

I roll back over onto my stomach and start typing away again. My fingers furiously tap at the keys, trying to get down everything onto the page before I forget it. As though I could forget the events of the last few days that easily.

But a first draft is always rough.

My stomach is grumbling a little when I hear a knock at the door. I leap off of the bed and re-tie my robe around my waist so that I don’t give the poor bell boy more than his fair tip.

I swagger across to the door and open it to a young man—who looks like he belongs on the cover of Teen Vogue—holding a tray with a bottle of champagne, a plate of strawberries, and two glasses. The second flute catches me off-guard and I don’t think to correct the poor boy and tell him to take it away. This bottle of champagne isn’t for two people—I’m having it all to myself.

“Yes, thank you. You can place it on the coffee table.”

I stand aside for the bell boy to enter, and I watch him as his eyes linger on me and my silk robe before it becomes awkward. He almost trips over the corner of the rug—but saves himself just as he puts down the tray.

I find my purse and hand the boy a five euro note before sending him on his way.

Then I turn back to the two glasses and pour myself one.

Maybe I should be celebrating this colossal win with someone. Maybe I should be celebrating it with Janus—after all, I doubt I could have achieved any of this without him.

It’s been so long since someone’s put their neck on the line to help me, I’m not entirely sure how to thank him or process the emotions it brings to the surface. I’m so used to having to do things on my own.

It was so easy to work with him, too. When I said that Janus had proven himself to be the most reliable man I’d ever met, it wasn’t as though he had a whole bunch of competition. After I left him in South Sudan, I was almost convinced that he was just like the rest, but tonight—and in the police station—he’s proven that he can be depended on.

I can’t help but wonder what’s in it for him.

I know he’s always had a soft spot for orphans—who doesn’t? But that can’t be the entire reason he’s working with me now, can it?

What am I doing? The more I try and pick apart Janus’ motives, the less and less I’ll be able to trust him, and I need to be able to trust him. I need to be able to trust someone in Athens.

Hell, I need to able to trust someone in the entirety of Greece.

And Janus just seems to understand me. He might not agree with my methods all the time, but he’s capable of working with them. We don’t even need to talk; he just knows what I’m thinking.

That kind of partnership is hard to come by in my line of work.

Maybe I should ring him.

I go to find my phone in the bedroom, pulling it from where I’d tossed it down next to my laptop. The document to my editors is still uploading to be sent—but it’s at ninety percent now, so any minute, my exposé will start its first steps towards being published.

As I lift my phone, Janus’ contact details come up on the screen.

Then it rings.

“Hello?”

“Dani, have you eaten yet?” Janus’ smooth voice caresses my ear through the phone.

“Not yet, but I was about to dive into a plate of strawberries.”

“Save those for later.”

He knows I hate being told what to do. But nevertheless, I keep listening.

“How would you like to come to dinner with me?”

“Where would we be eating?”

“At one of the best restaurants in the city,” Janus says smoothly, as though that’s an acceptable answer.

I pause and think about it. I’m not a fan of surprises, but after what we just went through, I think I can extend a liberty and trust him—this once.

“What should I wear?”

“Something stunning. Our car will be here in half an hour.”

The phone goes dead, and I turn to my wardrobe with a coy smile curling on my lips.

Well, it beats drinking alone.