Chapter Three
“You want me to take Beck’s order back and keep it warm until he shows up?” Knox’s waitress asked. Like all the other girls who waited tables at Trident, she was dressed head to toe in black T-shirt and jeans, but her attitude fit the outfit. All emo and one hundred percent don’t-give-a-fuck like everyone else in the place. Then again, when Jace had set out to launch his first club, that had been his attitude, too. God only knew how many years later, the vibe still stuck.
They also had the best damned bar food in Dallas. Knox motioned for her to go ahead with the delivery. “Nah, he’s no more than a few minutes out. Once he bites into those wings he’s not gonna care about temperature so much as you keepin’ the beers coming.”
She shrugged, slid the basket of nuclear goodness to the counter and took off.
Too starved to wait for his brother, Knox tugged his own order closer and dug in. He’d just polished off the first wing and was halfway through draining his draft for relief when Beckett rounded behind him and pulled out the stool on Knox’s right. “You got the hot ones, right?”
Like he’d get anything else. The celebration party welcoming him and Beckett to the brotherhood had taken place at this bar and, whether it’d been intended or not, the scalding wings had ended up both a rite of passage and tradition born all in one shot. He nodded and dug in for another round. “Just came out a few minutes ago. Jessie’s working the grill, so you can bet your ass we’re gonna pay for this later.”
Beckett unrolled the napkin from around his silverware and shook it out like a man braced for combat. “Worth it.”
“Yep.”
Pausing only after he’d laid waste to this first wing, Beckett knocked back a giant slug of beer and asked, “So what’s this shit about JJ digging into you?”
Knox shrugged. “Hell, if I know. The articles weren’t anything important. Just random commentary that covers everything that’s common knowledge from the last eleven years.”
Beckett hesitated. “Eleven years?”
Throat on fire and eyes watering enough to make him wonder why the hell he kept torturing his stomach the way he did, Knox nodded and wiped off his fingers. “All the way back. You remember that piece that came out after I helped the Feds?”
“The one with the mugshot from your first bust?”
“Yeah, that one. She had it. Not entirely sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she had every story that’s been published with my name on it.”
“But not the rest of us.”
Knox shook his head and went for another round. “Nope. Just one from last April’s rally that had a picture of all of us in it.”
“And you think she kept it because you’re in it.”
“Don’t know what to think. On one hand, I wanna give her cred for bein’ so thorough. On another, I want to unravel what’s got her so focused so I can tie it off and redirect.”
“Could just be she’s got a crush.”
“No way. She’s never met me. Doesn’t add up.”
Beckett frowned and tossed the decimated remains of one wing to his basket. “Not like you live under a rock. You could’ve run into her anywhere. As much as you and some of your girls hit the bars, it’s not a stretch she saw you, and you never saw her.”
“They’re not my girls.”
Rolling his eyes, Beckett pushed his basket away and snagged his beer. “Hookups. Stable. Whatever. You fuck. A lot. The way she reached out to you on that job with Natalie’s ex, it would explain a lot.” He leaned both elbows on the bar and grinned. “Might be you’ve got your own stalker.”
“JJ seem crazy to you?”
Levity disappearing in a heartbeat, Beckett aimed his gaze toward the bar, but it was distant. “Nope. Not even a little. Everyone I saw her with acted like she was a ray of sunshine. Real touchy feely, but not in a bad way. More caring than anything.”
The waitress dropped off two fresh beers and spun away without pausing long enough to see if they needed anything else.
“By the way,” Beckett said, “JJ’s taekwondo’s not bad for a beginner. Probably has another three to six months before she’d be solid enough to use the skills in a real-life situation, but she’s got a natural ability for it.”
“You watched her?”
“Fuck yeah, I watched her. So did every other being on two legs with a dick and a pulse. And that includes the old farts at the nursing home.”
The image he’d found of JJ in her apartment pinged in his head. It’d been taken at a distance, but even without the facial detail she’d seemed softer than in the state and federal pics. “I still think she’s hiding under this JJ person’s ID.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got conflicting photos on the same social.”
“So? That shit happens all the time these days. You know that.”
“Between strangers, yeah. But I bet I could count on one hand the number of times it happens where the two people in question know each other.”
Beckett set his beer back on the bar and gave Knox his undivided attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Snagging his phone out of his back pocket, Knox thumbed up the photos he’d saved from his online searches, starting with the older version. “This is the Jeannie Simpson—aka JJ—I found on an outdated trade site.” He flipped to another picture. “This is the JJ Simpson on file with the state of Texas and the Feds.”
“Like I said. Not an uncommon mix up.”
Knox flipped to the picture he’d snapped this morning. “This is the photo I found in JJ’s apartment. I already dug deep for death records that might explain the mix up and came up with nada.”
“You think she killed the woman?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Just think it’s mighty damned fishy they knew each other and one of ’em isn’t showing up anywhere these days.”
For at least fifteen seconds, Beckett sat and turned his beer in a circle. He shook his head. “She’s not the type. Doesn’t feel right.”
“Might not feel right, but it looks pretty bad on the surface.”
“I’m tellin’ you, I didn’t get that read off her. She’s a volunteer at a fucking retirement home.”
“I explained that. Best place in the world to canvas for a new social security number.”
Beckett frowned. “You’re wrong on this one. Can’t give you any concrete evidence, but I’m willing to bet you’re diggin’ up the wrong tree.”
“Gotta start digging somewhere. I got nothing but old data and dead ends online.”
“Then take the meet she asked for.”
Damn it, he hated not having the upper hand. “I don’t like it. Maybe I need to take another pass and see what I can uncover on the older woman.”
“Fuckin’ A, brother.” Beck hung his head as though digging deep for patience, then pinned Knox with a serious stare. “She can’t weigh more than a buck twenty sopping wet and while she might outsmart one of us, not a chance in hell she can get past the collective brotherhood. You want a thread to follow? Then get up close and personal.” He leaned in for emphasis. “Take. The. Meet.”
More than anything, Knox wanted to fidget. To get up, pace the length of the bar and give his mind some unencumbered space to work. Better yet, he’d appreciate a high-octane LAN connection and a lot of uninterrupted time with his computer. Instead, he pulled up the picture he’d taken at JJ’s apartment and gave it another once over. “She’s something to look at, huh?”
Beckett chuckled and fisted his pint. “Good enough I’d be willin’ to bet you’re angling to have her fill up Tiffany’s spot inside of one face-to-face.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” He pulled out his wallet for money to cover the tab, the need to get back online and see if he’d missed any loose ends making him as itchy as an addict with the promise of a new high on the horizon. “Looker or not, I’m not crossin’ sex and work.”
“One grand,” Beckett said.
“One grand, what?” Why he even bothered acting dumb after all these years was beyond Knox. He knew exactly what Beck meant. After all, he’d been taking his brother’s bets even when they were ten. Although, back then they’d wager with stolen booze or cigarettes instead of cold hard cash. Still, luring Beckett in was half the fun.
Beckett tossed a twenty on the bar and spun to face Knox. “One G says you cross the line with JJ and you do it inside of a month.”
Oh, yeah. This one was gonna be a cakewalk. No way was he going to sleep with someone with secrets like JJ’s. He grinned and held out his hand. “You’re on.”
* * *
Starved, sweaty, and still tingling from the after burn of adrenaline, Darya trudged up the staircase to her apartment. She’d always thought the people who compared Texas summers to hell on Earth were being a little melodramatic, but after experiencing ninety-five degrees on horseback she was starting to think they were right. And here she’d thought after escaping her homeland there would never be such a thing as too hot.
She unlocked the deadbolt and put a hip to the door, practically stumbling into her air-conditioned apartment. First order of business—water. Lots of it. Right after that, she planned to stand in a lukewarm shower for at least thirty minutes. Though, if her butt got a say in the agenda, it would probably want another thirty minutes soaking in the tub. Nothing made a woman realize how certain muscles were used less than others like a two-hour trail ride.
She wouldn’t trade the experience for anything, though. All her life she’d wondered what it would be like to ride such a beautiful creature, and now she knew. Not from books and not from movies, but in real life.
One more experience to add to her ever growing list of accomplishments.
An hour later, she padded from her bathroom in cotton pajama bottoms and ultra-soft T-shirt feeling mostly recuperated and noodling over what her next adventure might be. JJ had tried to get her to go sky diving once, but Darya had chickened out over the jump point. Maybe she was ready for something that daring now. Or bungee jumping. She’d heard the Texas State Fair was pretty impressive and had some miniature-sized bungee attractions. Maybe she could start there and see if she could actually follow through.
She pulled out her desk chair, powered on her laptop and settled in to see what not-so-extraordinary things had happened while she was out conquering the world. As always, a healthy string of spam filtered in. She paused on the latest sale notifications for J.Crew and Banana Republic, taking note of all the latest styles. Someday she’d be able to afford whatever clothes she wanted, and she’d be the one to buy them. Not a benefactor, no matter how kind or selfless. Definitely not some megalomaniac out to rule her life.
Distracted by her thoughts, she clicked on the next email.
No pretty pictures or bold graphics.
Just text.
Frowning, she scrolled back up only to have her breath hitch in her throat.
Knox Torren.
Finally!
She straightened in her chair, blew a shaky exhalation through her lips and started at the top.
JJ,
You still up for talking? My upgrade’s done and have some time freed up early next week. I’ll have Katy put you down for Monday the 18th at 2p.m. at Citadel Security. Let me know if that date doesn’t work for you.
He accepted. Maybe he hadn’t exactly waxed poetic with his response, but he’d given her a solid time to meet. So what if it didn’t come with a bunch of extraneous words. If she could sell him on her idea, she’d be that much further along in making her future her own.
Okay, granted, she’d be sporting a future with someone else’s name, but it would still be hers.
But more than that—she was actually going to get to meet Knox Torren.
She anchored her heels on the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around her shins, a barely contained schoolgirl squeal pushing up the back of her throat. Not since she’d landed her personal assistant position with Yefim had she been this happy. This filled with delight and certainty. It was like winning the lottery and landing a date with your high school crush all in one fell swoop!
Now for how to reply. He’d been brief, so he’d probably appreciate the same approach. Maybe a simple one-liner affirming that the time worked for her and she’d see him then. Or maybe even that would be too much.
She released the bear hug around her shins, reached for her mouse to click the reply button—and froze. Hand still hovering inches from the desktop, all she could process were the three items lined up perfectly beneath her external monitor. She’d moved the Post-its before she left. She was sure of it.
Her heart thrummed an angry, erratic rhythm, and a frantic buzz fired in her ears. One look at the front door confirmed the deadbolt was secure. The blinds were closed and no one was in her apartment, not unless they were hiding under the bed. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to her bedroom.
You’re being silly. The boogeyman doesn’t exist. You’re just imagining things.
But she’d moved them on purpose. That much she remembered clear as day.
Dropping to her knees, she yanked up the dust ruffle, peered beneath the bed and let out a shuddering breath. No one. Just the box where she kept her toys and the one reminder of JJ she’d dared to bring with her sitting exactly where she’d left it.
She stood and wiped her shaking, sweaty hands on her hips as she scanned the room. Everything else was perfectly tidy. Not a thing out of place. So why did she feel like a thousand eyes were on her?
Ruslan’s face flashed with crystal clarity in her mind, the possessive leer he’d given her the last time she’d seen him roiling her stomach as it always did. It had been a warning and a promise. One she’d run from and never looked back.
Taking two steps to the closet, she fisted both sides of the doorjamb, her gaze locked on her suitcases lining the highest shelf. The safe move was to run. To make sure Ruslan never had a chance to make good on his promise. He wouldn’t kill her. To do so would defeat his purpose, but she’d end up an empty shell all the same. She’d seen it too many times with men like him. Powerful men who used women as trophies at best and whores at worst.
She swallowed and took two more steps into the closet. Her pulse fluttered at her throat. A butterfly desperate to escape.
Live enough for both of us.
The last words JJ had spoken. Yefim hadn’t extracted the same promise in words, but his eyes as he’d set her escape in motion had said the same.
And running wasn’t living.
Squaring her shoulders and gritting her teeth, she stomped out of the closet and into the living room, checking every detail along the way. She settled at her desk chair and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. There was always the possibility whoever straightened her things wasn’t Ruslan. After all, if he’d tracked her down, he’d simply cart her away kicking and screaming no matter who heard. Avtoritet, what Americans would consider captains in the Russian bratva, answered only to their pakhan.
No, it was entirely possible someone else had moved her things. Maybe even someone as harmless as a maintenance man. Granted, them touching anything was grossly out of line, but the idea wasn’t beyond reason.
Still, she’d be wise to stay on the alert. If Ruslan really was after her, she’d need to think smart. Pay attention to her surroundings, fortify her resources and build what allies she could. She zeroed in on the email she’d left pulled up, resolve thickening even as her fingers settled on the keyboard. Step one was solidifying her future.