Clever man. He knows me better than anyone, so I don’t even try to be cute with my answer. “I would characterize it as an altercation.”

Dad straightens up in his chair, but his partner puts a hand on his shoulder. “They fought?” Frank says. “The dead man and Mr. Adamo?”

“Argued,” I say.

“But it wasn’t physical?”

“Not entirely.” Then Frank grills me until I explain everything I saw Kosta do: the shove, the hand at the throat, the punch to the stomach. I try to keep my answers as direct and unemotional as I can, though my stomach is churning. I know how bad this sounds.

When we get to the part about the guards escorting the dead man out, and I don’t know their names, Frank looks over at Kosta, who tells him. I give myself those few seconds to look at my man. He doesn’t seem upset or angry; his voice is calm. Maybe too calm.

Finally, I explain how I freaked out after I tripped over the body — not the part about trying to protect Kosta, just that I was upset — and how “Mr. Adamo” took me home and called a doctor to come to the house. This surprises my audience, especially my parents. Frank asks the doctor’s name, and Kosta tells him that too.

“That’ll do for now,” Frank says at last. “Thank you for your time, Miss Grant. We may have more questions for you later.” I nod my acquiescence, and everyone gets up to leave.

Mom comes over to me and I give her a hug. “Are you coming home with us?” she says.

“Not today, Mom,” I say gently.

“Erin—”

“Please, Mom.” This is not the time to try to explain things. “Trust me.”

She looks into my eyes for a long moment, scanning me with her maternal x-ray, then nods. “I’ll talk to your father.”

Dad’s gone out with the rest of the cops. On the one hand, it hurts a little that he didn’t stay to talk to me, even for a minute; on the other, maybe it’s for the best right now. “Thanks, Mom.” I hug her again.

Then Mom surprises me. No, she shocks the hell out of me. Turning to Kosta, she says, “Take care of my girl. If you hurt her, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

I’m stunned speechless, but Kosta not only doesn’t look offended by her words, he seems to approve of them. He moves to my side, resting a hand on the small of my back. “No one is going to hurt your daughter,” he says. “Not me, not anyone.”

Mom gives him the super-ultra x-ray treatment before she nods. “You’ll call me,” she says to me as she moves toward the front door.

“Yes, Mom.” I’m kind of amazed I can even get those words out. She leaves, Romero shakes my hand and shows himself out, and then Kosta and I are alone.

He turns me to face him. “You sounded like a lawyer yourself,” he says. “You listen in to a lot of interrogations growing up?”

“No,” I say, “but I am a pre-law major.” His eyebrows go up, and I take a deep breath. “Kosta, I need to tell you something.” Looking up, I meet his eyes. “I heard what you said to that man. All of it.”

“I know, babe.”

I blink. “You do?”

“You forgot to turn the speaker off in the office.”

Oh, crap. I completely forgot about that. “I guess I should give up on my alternate career plan of being a spy.”

His mouth quirks. “Let’s get you fed,” he says, and takes my hand to walk me to the kitchen. Kosta’s house is sleek and modern, but also warm and comfortable, with clean lines, rich fabrics, and splashes of vivid color. The kitchen is huge, with a banquette in one corner that looks like it would seat eight comfortably.

I settle down and watch as Kosta moves through the kitchen with the obvious ease of familiarity. When he sets a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me a few minutes later, I stare at the food, then at him. “How did you know these were my favorite?”

“I asked Tonio to ask Cait.”

Sudden tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away. This man. So good to me. He brings his own plate, and we eat in contented silence for a few minutes. When we’re finished, Kosta takes our plates before I can and gets them loaded in the dishwasher.

“Do you get motion sickness, anything like that?” he asks.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Drink some more water, babe. I’ll be right back.”

Perplexed, I do as he says, and hear him going up the stairs. He’s back in no time with a sweatshirt, which he hands to me before leading me to his garage. “You have a bike!” I say when I notice the Ducati. Cait’s told me about her rides with Tonio.

“We’ll take that for a spin sometime soon, babe, but not today.” He guides me to the black sports car he brought into Revved yesterday and opens the passenger door for me, then takes the driver’s seat. Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling into the regional airport. I notice that we have an escort on the way there, but Kosta doesn’t mention it so I don’t either.

When he leads me to a sleek little jet with no crew standing around, my eyes get big. “You have a pilot’s license?”

“Yeah. I’ve been flying for almost twenty years now.” As long as I’ve been alive, just about. Maybe I should feel funny about how much older he is, but I don’t.

Inside, it’s roomier than I expected, and luxurious. I wander its length while Kosta runs through the pre-flight checklist. Finally, I pull on the sweatshirt and strap into the co-pilot’s seat next to him, and we taxi down the runway.

When the plane lifts off, I get a rush of adrenaline. “Woo-hoo!” I shout, hands in the air, then subside and shoot Kosta a sheepish glance. “Sorry.”

He’s smiling. “Not a problem, babe. Gives me that feeling too.”

We climb to a cruising altitude, heading out over the countryside. “How far can we go?” I ask.

“The plane’s got a range of about three thousand nautical miles without refueling.”

“Wow.”

“Once things are back to normal, pick a destination and I’ll take you there. New York, LA, Seattle, wherever. We can even go overseas if we stop to refuel.”

“Paris?” I say immediately.

He gives me a look that makes my heart swell. “Yeah, babe. I’ll take you to Paris.”

I want to say things, foolish romantic things, but I don’t. There’s still too much unsettled between us. But Kosta knows it too, and doesn’t make me wait. “Time to talk, carina.”

“Yes.” My hands fidget in my lap. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

“Ask your questions, then I’ll fill in the gaps.”

“Okay.” The sky is perfectly blue today, without a cloud in sight. Being up here makes everything so serene, so peaceful, the world’s problems only distant abstractions. It’s a perfect place to talk about difficult topics, but still I hesitate.

“Ask,” Kosta prompts me gently when I don’t speak.

Taking a breath, I stick a toe into what feels like shark-infested waters. “Right before I came to the club last night, I heard that there are … rumors about your family, that maybe they’re into … illegal activities.”

Without hesitation, he says, “Certain members of my family are of interest to the police.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper. Then I ask the question I’m dreading the answer to. “Are you also … of interest?”

“By association, yeah. I’ll be plain, babe: all of my business activities are completely legitimate.” I let out a shaky breath, relief leaving me weak. “But because of my family, I’m always under scrutiny.”

“They think you launder money for them or something?”

“The cops suspect me of anything and everything, babe.” His tone is even, without a trace of bitterness, which I’m not sure I could manage if I were in his shoes. “Money laundering, drugs, you name it. And along with that, there are certain elements in the city who assume that because of my family, I should be open to activities they want me to be a part of.”

“Is that what the dead guy was talking about? Deal with him or he’ll deal with you, that whole thing?”

“Yeah. And in retrospect, I wish I’d let him talk. It looks like his organization decided to use him to try to fuck with me. He might have been trying to get out, offer me info.”

That reminds me of the other question I’ve been wanting to ask. “Is that why you think I’m not safe? Because they’re trying to fuck with you?”

“Hitting him outside my club, as fast as they did, says to me they were waiting for him to come out. They know the cops aren’t stupid, and the cops know I’m not stupid. Like you said, I wouldn’t leave a body lying around to implicate myself. So he may have been left there to lure me out.”

“Oh my god. You mean they were watching?”

“They might have been, yeah. If any of them recognized you as a cop’s daughter, that would have made them hesitate. But then, if they saw you with me, figured out you matter to me, they might still decide hurting a cop’s daughter is worth the risk.”

I’m no longer sorry that I went gonzo on him last night. Maybe my instincts were right. “Your reaction to the dead guy — before he was dead, I mean — it seemed …”

“It was extreme, babe. Because of things you don’t know about yet.”

I look at him. He’s focused on flying, hands on the controls, eyeing the instrument panel. His profile is so handsome, but there’s a tight set to his jaw. “Do you want to tell me about them?”

“I don’t, but I will.” His voice sounds heavier, weighted with pain and reluctance, and I almost tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to talk about it. Except he does.