CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday, May 29
The sun streamed in through the windows and pierced Stazi’s eyes. Which was her first indication that she wasn’t lying in her own bed. The other was the heavy arm draped over her stomach. Listening intently, she heard Hank’s even breathing and decided he was asleep and not just playing possum.
Opening one eye slowly, she took a quick survey of her surroundings. The TV was off and the empty bowl of popcorn sat on the table next to the couch. They had decided to watch a nature show after they’d finished eating dinner and the last thing she remembered seeing was antelopes taking flight across the savannah as a lion was in pursuit.
Why hadn’t he woken her so they could go upstairs to bed? Actually, it would’ve been beds. As attracted as she was to him, she hadn’t wanted to rush things. Which he seemed to have circumvented when he didn’t wake her up and let her sleep in his arms.
When he’d insisted that she spend the night yesterday, she wasn’t too sure if it was completely necessary. But then he’d pointed out the thug who’d been keeping watch on her place, and she decided it wasn’t a bad idea after all.
The plan he’d put together to lead the guy away from her apartment had them traipsing all over the city yesterday afternoon, looking at public art installations. She’d shown him the Picasso in Daley Plaza and he couldn’t believe that the artist never told the city what it was supposed to represent. The piece had always reminded her of a fox and Hank decided she was probably right. After that, they had moved on to Lorado Taft’s “Fountain of Time” on Cottage Grove Avenue. He seemed to enjoy the sculpture, though the allegory of humanity’s relationship with time was probably lost on him. Once she explained the piece’s universal human themes of love, war, and the cycle of life, he said he liked it a lot more.
Turns out…she liked him a lot more, too.
She had no idea what the next step was going to be but she knew unequivocally that Hank Coleman was not only a knight in shining armor but also a gifted kisser. Her body had been buzzing with desire from the moment his mouth sealed with hers and she was fairly certain that when and if they got their bodies involved, she would be a goner.
All her earlier talk about him not being her type had been total baloney and nothing more than excuses she was feeding herself so that she could put off the inevitable.
Not that it was working.
Right now, for example, her traitorous hormones were urging her to snuggle her behind into the very impressive erection pressing against her back. Or maybe turn over and lift his T-shirt off his body so she could appreciate his broad chest…with her mouth.
See…totally treacherous. Her logical mind told her to do one thing, and her lust-soaked imagination something completely different. She couldn’t remember the last time something like this had happened…if ever.
Sure, the time she’d spent in Italy after college had been fun and adventurous, but those brief affairs were with silly boys and never meant a thing. Hank wasn’t a boy and she had a feeling that if they started something, there was going to be nothing silly about it. Which was a hell of a thing to come across at this point in her life.
Her thirtieth birthday was days away and while she didn’t feel the need to settle down and start a family right away, she wasn’t really interested in dating for another ten years either. Which meant that a man like Hank showing up might be God’s way of answering her prayers, and that scared the hell out of her. Serendipitous things rarely occurred and she couldn’t quite grasp the idea that everything she didn’t know she wanted was within her reach.
So here she was in the arms of a desirable man and had no idea what to do. Adjusting her position, she felt his hand move under her T-shirt. His long fingers spanned her stomach and slowly moved back and forth. “Morning,” she said quietly.
“Sure is.” Hank buried his face in her hair and growled. “You feel so fucking good pressed against me.”
When he rocked his hips, she did her best to temper the desire that was zooming through her body. If she let herself go, she might not be able to stop, and she wasn’t quite ready for that to happen. “We should get up.” Wiggling away, she sat up and then looked over her shoulder. Hank’s face was lit with amusement and she knew he figured out she was fighting the river of attraction between them. “How about I grab a quick shower and then make some breakfast?”
“I have a couple of other ideas, but I’d best keep them to myself until you’ve gotten to know me.”
“What kind of ideas?” she asked as she rested her hand on his face.
Moving her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her palm and then laid her hand against his chest. “Naked, dirty ideas.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll take that response as a yes, but not yet.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed. “You’re an optimist.”
He sat up and grinned. “Or just a man who plans on never giving up.” He stood stiffly and then held out his hand.
Trying to keep her eyes away from the impressive bulge in his gym shorts, she put her hand in his and let him pull her up. Honestly, he wasn’t that far off when he’d guessed at the meaning of her response. She was on the verge of giving up and just going for it.
“Let’s go upstairs and get cleaned up. I, for one, will be enjoying an ice-cold shower and I’d like to get it over with as soon as I can,” he said as he led them toward the staircase.
“Thank you for taking this on, Hank. I don’t know exactly how big a threat Dmitry is going to be and I’m glad to have you on my side.”
“Always.”
As she followed him, she had the opportunity to admire his fine physique as well as his character. There were few people in the world who would take on an almost complete stranger’s problem, and the fact he was willing to stand beside her was no small thing.
***
Hank picked up his buzzing phone off the counter and read the message from Lucky. She and Sam were leaving the SAI offices and on their way over. They had been working all morning on putting their information together and they were ready to share what they had. “Honey, Lucky and Sam are coming over.”
They had just finished breakfast and Stazi was clearing the table as he was putting the food away. When she walked in with a couple of dishes, he took the opportunity to grab a few kisses. “Thanks for cooking. What’s the name of the things you made?”
“Syrniki. They’re cottage cheese dumplings.”
“I had no idea that I had the ingredients to make something so delicious.”
“They’re easy to make. It’s just cottage cheese, an egg, some flour and salt and sugar to taste. “I’m glad you liked them.”
“I’m looking forward to learning about Russian food. I can’t wait to see what you’re going to make next.” When she gave him a smile and then headed back to the table to get the last of the dishes, he wondered if he’d gone too far. Assuming that she would cook for him at all was a big leap and one he hoped that she would be willing to take. He would certainly cook for her, but he had only about half a dozen dishes that he could make with any proficiency and they were not that exciting. It hadn’t been until he retired a couple of years ago that he figured out it was time to learn how to cook. His mom had spent a couple of months giving him cooking lessons and he could now make a decent meal and not have to go out all the time.
Truth was, he had turned into a homebody since coming back to Illinois. All those years of deployment did not make him crave time in bars or clubs. Most nights, he relished the idea of coming home to his own space and relaxing, but there had been a few times when he’d wished he had someone to share it with. A mate, a best friend, and a lover. Looking at the woman stacking plates in the sink made him believe he’d found what he was looking for. Yeah, he’d moved ahead a hundred steps, and decided it was inevitable.
He was a man who made decisions quickly and then acted on them. Part of it was his nature and another part of it was the eleven years he spent in the Navy. Being part of direct action missions weekly trained a warrior’s brain to work in a certain way. When bullets were whizzing past your head and bombs were going off a few feet away, making split-second decisions was necessary.
All the planning and all the questions had to be answered well before they hit their insertion point and then, once they were engaged, they had to make life-changing choices over and over again.
Because war was a lot like life: nothing ever went as planned.
So, the fact that he was ready to go full-throttle with Stazi wasn’t surprising. He’d always guessed that when and if love happened for him it was going to happen quickly. It either was or it wasn’t. Five days ago, when he’d saved her on the museum steps, he pretty much knew she was going to have a place in his life. Walking over to the sink, he wrapped his arms around her waist and then trailed kisses along her neck. “Let me do those.”
“Uh…what?” she replied breathlessly.
“Dishes, honey…let me do them.” When she tipped her head up and smiled, he saw that her pupils were dilated. God damn, he thought, she likes the feel of my mouth against her skin. If Sam and Lucky were not on their way, he would definitely take some time and get his mouth on as many places as she would let him.
He handed her a towel and stepped away because if he didn’t, he might not, and that wouldn’t be what either of them wanted. He gave her a smile and moved her away from the sink. “Step aside, woman, so I can get these done.”
“Fine,” she replied as she moved away and wiped off the counter.
He gave her a wink and knew she definitely fit in his kitchen, his life, and quite possibly his heart.
Once they’d finished in the kitchen, they sat down on the couch and waited for Sam and Lucky to arrive. “Tell me about this committee you’re on and what your role is going to be,” he said as he slung his arm over her shoulder. “It has to do with an Italian artist…right?”
“Yes. The interest in Amedeo Modigliani’s paintings has skyrocketed over the last couple of years, and his paintings are starting to fetch Picasso-level prices.”
“Which means what?” Hank asked.
“Two years ago, a painting went for one hundred seventy million. Which is amazing but problematic for those who are interested in buying work by the artist. Modigliani is one of the most faked artists in the world, and to say the catalogue raisonné of works by him is a mess is an understatement.” Stretching out her legs, she sat back.
“The controversy has spawned lawsuits, charges of slander, death threats, hoaxes and thefts. Add to that the recent conviction of a well-respected Modigliani specialist falsely attributing works to Modigliani and the whole thing is swamp of uncertainty. A skyrocketing market for works by the artist has been plagued by fakes in Russia, Serbia, and Italy, and, perhaps appropriately for one of the world’s most faked artists, there have even been fake fakes. Experts, meanwhile, are jockeying to be recognized as the ultimate authority on what should and should not be accepted as authentic.”
“So, how does something like that happen?”
“Starting this fall, experts will examine dozens of Modiglianis in museums to learn more about how he created his works. Leading the way is a committee of prominent curators and conservators that will test the twenty-seven paintings and three sculptures in French museums, and they don’t expect to finish the testing until the end of 2018 or early 2019. By then, I think we’ll know a lot more about Modigliani’s methods.”
“Are you part of that group?”
“No, I’m part of the group that is going to work on authenticating the paintings that the Art Institute has. Next year, the Tate Modern in London will open “Modigliani,” the largest show of his work ever held in England. It will include about ninety of his paintings, drawings, and sculptures, and the works will be borrowed from museums and collectors in six countries. Before it opens, the Tate will subject its three Modigliani paintings and its one Modigliani sculpture to testing and analysis. The Art Institute is lending works to the exhibition, and the plan is to closely examine the pieces before they go to the Tate. Several other museums are following the same protocol. It’s a very exciting project to be a part of.”
Before he could ask more questions, the doorbell rang. “I want to hear more at dinner tonight.”
“Okay. The description of my job may put you to sleep, though.”
“Doubt it,” he responded as he got up to answer the door. Stazi’s world was something he was completely unfamiliar with and he was looking forward to learning all about it. He also wanted to discover what made her happy or sad and also what made her laugh. There wasn’t a detail he wasn’t interested in. And that included how she tasted and felt when their bodies were entwined.
Which was not what he needed to be thinking about when he was about to answer the door. Clearing his mind, he allowed himself to think only about Dmitry Firtash because the idea of someone threatening his woman was enough to extinguish any wayward sexy thoughts that tried to take hold.
By the time he swung open the front door, he was fully operational, and he meant to stay that way…until later in the evening.
***
Stazi sat next to Hank on the couch, studied her best friend, and wondered how big a crush she had on the man sitting next to her. Lucky was a cool customer and hardly ever got flustered by a man or a situation, but something definitely had her in a twist. And Stazi had a feeling it was handsome Sam Barton who was responsible.
A crazy Russian oligarch might have a bit to do with it too, but she would bet dollars to donuts that’s not what was bothering Lucky because this was the sort of thing she relished. Nobody loved figuring out a way to take a bad guy down more than her friend.
So, the snark and irritation that was coming out of Lucky’s mouth toward Sam was a little confusing because he was exactly the man who could help. Whenever his name had come up before, Lucky had said he was like a Ken doll. Perfect and annoying. Which must be the reason for the almost constant eye-rolling she’d been doing since she sat down. As far as Stazi could tell, the guy was sharp and determined and yes…had the face of a fallen angel.
Her friend was attracted to the Fed and it seemed it was really starting to bother her. Maybe all the time they’d spent together over the last two days had snapped Lucky’s temper. This was the first time she’d been attracted to a pretty boy, and by all accounts, it wasn’t going well. Lucky had always liked bad-boy hackers, and Sam Barton was the opposite of that. He was dressed in a pair of perfectly pressed trousers, a polo shirt, and shiny loafers. Not a hair was out of place and his manners were impeccable.
Which was making Lucky look at Sam like he was something that got stuck to the bottom of her shoe. When Hank lifted Stazi’s hand and held it, she tuned back into the conversation. “What?” she asked as she lifted her eyebrows.
“Honey, how good is your Ukrainian?”
“Not great. I can usually pick up the general gist of the conversation, but beyond that, I’m lost.”
“Without speaking out of school,” Sam said, “I can share that Dmitry Firtash is of great interest to the bureau, and we’ve never been able to infiltrate his inner circle. Those who are close to him are extremely loyal and any attempts to break into the ranks have failed.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase. After opening it, he handed several photographs to Stazi. “Were any of these men at the house when you were there?”
She took the pile of photographs and started to go through them. The first five men were unrecognizable. The man in the sixth photograph looked like the one who had stayed closest to Dmitry during their meeting. She went through several more and saw no one she could definitively say was there, and then the last one she looked at gave her chills. It was the man who had the crowns tattooed on his fingers. Holding it up, she said, “This was the man who was speaking with Dmitry when I came out of the bathroom.” She then picked up the other photograph and looked at it again. “This man looks like the one who stayed by Firtash’s side during our meeting.”
Sam gave her a blinding smile and she felt like she had been given an A-plus. “I don’t recognize any of the other men.”
Sam held up the photo of one of the men Stazi recognized. “This is Sergey Belikov. He’s a pakhan, vor or avtoritet of the Chicago Russian Bratva. Those titles are all interchangeable, and all they mean is he’s the boss of four large cells here in the city. They control a decent-size heroin trade, money laundering interests, and the usual prostitution and gambling rings.”
Lucky let out a loud sigh. “Sam, Stazi doesn’t speak Fed, so you have to explain the Bratva’s power.”
Stazi watched the sexy smile that Sam graced Lucky with and felt like fanning herself. There was some serious heat he was throwing in her friend’s direction and all he got back from Lucky was a raised eyebrow. As soon as she could, she was going to pull Lucky aside and see what was going on. Stazi knew the basics of the Bratva, but she certainly wasn’t an expert, and Lucky knew that. Clearly, her friend was poking at the Fed however she could, which was only making Sam more charming. “Did you ever come across them when you were deployed?” she asked Hank so Sam could finish his flirting.
Hank leaned back and shook his head. “I never had many dealings with them when I was deployed. Their only reason to be in the theater of operation was to transport the raw opium paste to neighboring countries. And dealing with that was never part of our mission. The only time they came across our radar was when they were involved in financing armed groups in Afghanistan to protect the poppy farmers. Unfortunately, our presence in the country may have unintentionally contributed to the significant increase of production capacities by complicating the relations between the government in Kabul and people in the distant provinces where the Taliban and other extremist groups still hold a lot of sway and use heroin money to fund their military readiness.”
Sam adjusted his shirt and then crossed his leg over his knee. “This is the best and most concise way for me to explain the Bratva or brotherhood. The organization is a collection of various organized crime elements that have, by our estimates, over six thousand different groups, with around two hundred of them having global reach. We believe that they are one of the best-structured criminal groups in Europe and have adopted a quasi-military operational structure. What started out as gangs in Russian prisons has morphed into the strongest criminal group in the world. They concentrate their efforts on transporting and selling narcotics, money laundering, and prostitution.”
“So, why is Dmitry Firtash keeping their company? Is he just a cleaned-up version of a mobster?” Stazi asked as she ran her hand over her forehead.
“Dmitry is not a member of the Bratva, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have close ties, and he does with business with them when it suits his purpose,” Sam replied.
“How powerful is this guy?” Hank asked.
“The man has amassed a huge fortune since going into business in the nineties when the USSR collapsed. He has his fingers in so many pies that you need a spreadsheet to keep track of all the moving parts. In Ukraine, he is beloved, feared, and hated all in equal measure. The CIA probably has a whole team dedicated to the man and his activities. He’s got interests in everything from titanium to banks and media companies. He’s also been in business with one of our president’s closest friends. They had a hotel project together that had Firtash willing to invest over a hundred million dollars. When a Russian is interested in investing that kind of money in the United States, certain entities of the government become interested.”
“Why?” Stazi asked.
“In Dmitry’s case, it’s due to how he makes his money and who he does business with. He’s one of the leading investors in the power sector and chemical industry in Central and Eastern Europe. He also consolidated the nitrogen business in Ukraine in 2010 along with all the fertilizer plants in the country. Anyone who has control over those two industries is someone we like to keep an eye on.”
“The perfect ingredients for explosive devices. It’s what every young terrorist looks for,” Lucky added.
“You can do a ton of damage with those,” Hank said solemnly.
“What does all of this mean for me?” Stazi asked. “The man is a billionaire, so why does he care about one small painting and whether it’s a fake or not? The value of his painting can’t be more than fifty million or so. That’s hardly an amount that would put a dent in his bank account.”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Sam said firmly. “His interest in you has to go beyond authenticating the painting, and we’re in the process of finding out what’s motivating his behavior.”
Lucky cleared her throat and then crossed her legs. “I have several theories and Sam has laughed at every single one of them.”
Sam shook his head and closed the files he’d pulled out earlier. “That is not an accurate description and you know it, Luciana.”
Stazi sucked in a breath and waited for her friend to explode. There were only two people who called Lucky by her given name: her mama and her nonna. Anyone else had never dared. “He must have a death wish,” she said out of the side of her mouth to Hank. Watching the two stare at one another, she waited to see what Lucky was going to do.
“That is going to cost you, Sam, and I, for one, look forward to seeing you pay.” With that, she closed her tablet and stuffed it into her bag.
“Sam, when we find your body floating in the river, I promise to say a prayer,” Stazi said as she stared at her friend.
Laughing, Sam looked over at Lucky. “Can’t ask for more than that.”
Snorting, Lucky shook her head. “When I exact my revenge, it will be memorable.” Waving her hands in the air, she said, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to come up with something fabulous, so it will have to wait.”
“I look forward to it,” Sam replied. Looking over, he gave Stazi and Hank a confident smile. “In the meantime, we’ll be pooling our resources and looking at Sergey and Dmitry to see what connections we can make. The intersection of their mutual interest is where our answer lies and until we have that, we can’t stop it.”
“In the meantime, I will ensure that Stazi is secure,” Hank said as he sat forward. “Let’s get together again later in the week when we see what Firtash’s next move is.”
“Right now, we have no reason to believe he doesn’t think he’s going to get exactly what he wants,” Sam said. “Stazi, we ask that you go along with his requests and string it out for as long as you can.”
“That won’t be a problem. This sort of thing takes forever. He has to sign a contract with the company that I work for, all the proper insurances have to be in place, and finally, secure transportation has to be arranged. That alone can take a month or two. Not to mention scheduling the actual work with the company’s current calendar. Then you add to that my work and it can take months once we have the piece at the Conservation Center. Sometimes, I have to count the threads of a canvas to see if it’s in line with other paintings that were produced around the same time.”
“Perfect,” Sam responded.
“We’ll be inseparable,” Hank confirmed.
When he took her hand and a satisfied smile played across his lips, she knew that he was being literal. The man didn’t have a figurative bone in his body and she had no idea what she was in for.
Oy vey.
Wiggling her fingers, she felt him tighten his grip. Seemed he meant what he said, and they really were going to be conjoined.