“So it went well then? They liked her?” Jake clutched the phone to his ear as he darted around a cab. Traffic was crazed here, even this early.

“Liked? Try loved. Your Charlie is the toast of the fucking town, Jake.” Stacia sounded giddy. He bit back a smile, scanning the street, his brain busy even as he listened to his sister gush.

This job for Lucjan was Jake’s way of balancing the scales for what had gone down in Minnesota, but Stacia wouldn’t like it. Which was another way of saying she would go apocalyptic, her default state when it came to anything to do with Lucjan.

“Tell her congrats. I hate that I missed it.” He really did, too, even though the thought of seeing Charlie again made him as skittish as a virgin in a brothel.

“We’re thinking gallery tour.” Stacia hesitated, then, “I’m trying to get her in with Tomas in New Orleans. Maybe in a week or two. Maybe you could come up for that one.” She hesitated again. “I think Charlie would enjoy seeing you again.”

Maybe, maybe not. “We’ll see.”

A crowd of uni boys passed him, heading to an early class or breakfast, chatting loudly.

Stacia’s voice sharpened. “Is that Polish I hear? I thought you were in Nice, brother dear.”

“No, up to London for the day. Melting pot of the world. Sometimes you hear fifteen languages before tea. Going to the Underground now, we may get cut—” He thumbed his phone off without a flicker of conscience, then looked up.

The Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku rose in front of him. The building was stately but eye-catching, orange and cream spires and angles soaring with a blush of crimson, the light of the river sparkling against dozens of leaded-glass windows. It could pass for a palace or a church. Indeed, sometimes tourists mistook it for both. He knew better. The name was not world-renowned like the Louvre or the Met, but within those walls this day was something precious. Something Lucjan wanted for reasons unknown.

That was okay. Jake didn’t need to know.

Like he’d told Charlie, he tried to play on the right side of the law. Usually. But he had no qualms bending that law when necessary. That this job would outright break it, he was choosing to ignore. Lucjan had saved his ass in Minneapolis just as much as Charlie had. Jake was a man who paid his debts. He hadn’t gained his particular skill set by being a good boy, even though once he’d reached his majority, he had taken pains to keep his nose clean.

This job definitely demanded dirty. He was going do a little out-and-out flogging today and damned if the thought didn’t give him a bit of a buzz.

Lucjan had boys that could pull this job, but none so smoothly as Jake, and the crime boss knew it. Jake didn’t mind, as long as no one got hurt. Lucjan wasn’t a twisted fuck, unlike the man that’d had his mother gang-raped and shot in the head, but his brother-in-law was still a pretty evil son of a bitch. He was ruthless about protecting the small empire he’d built. No one rose to his rank in the crime world by being anything else.

Despite that, Lucjan had always been there for him and Stacia, even after his sister had left the man. And he’d never asked for anything in return. Until now. Hence Jake’s visit to this small Polish city off the Baltic Sea.

“Dzień dobry.” The museum guard opened the door. Jake repeated the greeting with enthusiastic ineptness. His lack of skill wasn’t feigned. He spoke French and Spanish fluently and German passably, and he also understood a fair bit of Mandarin. But Slavic languages had always given him trouble. His Russian was atrocious, and despite Lucjan’s amused tutoring, his Polish was even worse.

The guard smiled tolerantly and nodded his head. While they tended to be somewhat reserved, the Polish were a friendly, kind people, his brother-in-law notwithstanding, which should make this easier. Jake never assumed any job was easy, though. That kind of overconfidence could kill you.

The museum wasn’t crowded but a steady stream went in and out. Midmorning was the best time to scope most of his targets. Tours generally started after nine, which was also a primo time for school outings and tourist traffic. Late afternoon was great, too, but the later in the day, the more chance the staff would remember you. Ditto for being the first or last one through the doors. Or being flashy or secretive or standoffish or any number of other reconnaissance no-nos. Jake had “charmingly forgettable” down to an art form.

The inside of the building was as gorgeous as the outside. He rambled from exhibit to exhibit, mentally blocking out where the visible cameras were, tracking their lines of sight and noting gaps in coverage. Within twenty minutes, he knew exactly how he was going to get Lucjan’s trinket. And exactly when. Right fucking now.

Patience may be a virtue, but being bold paid better.

The case that held his target was open and unwired but clearly monitored by no less than two cameras, not to mention a guard at the archway.

He smiled.

Child’s play.

There was a ball in his pocket, one of those therapy/stress relievers. He’d been healing well, getting his strength and dexterity back. When Lucjan had called him about this job, Jake’d actually been using the ball, working on limbering up his injured side. He’d been tossing it in the air when it’d given him an idea.

Now he waited, watching the crowds mill around the room he wanted. When a line of school children headed for the displays, it was time. Out of sight of the cameras, Jake lobbed the ball. A second later, a small crash had the guard raising his head, taking a few steps out of the room just as Jake entered it. He smiled at the kids, dipped his head to their teacher and swiped the egg from its case behind the back of a British man who was talking avidly to his bored-looking wife about Slavic art. Slipping the egg into his pocket, he tapped the man on the shoulder, asking a few questions the man was only too pleased to answer.

Easing out of the conversation ten minutes later, Jake returned to wandering the museum before slipping outside. No alarm had been raised, and indeed, he’d be surprised if the small theft was even noted until after closing.

He played tourist for the rest of the day, going everywhere a single, somewhat sophisticated foreigner might be expected to go when stuck in a small Polish city for a day. By late afternoon, he was at the harbor, watching the water lap against the dying light of day and thinking of Charlie, wondering how she’d paint the Baltic.

When he finally glanced down at his watch, he realized he needed to get moving.

The darkness came down like a slow striptease this far north, one layer at a time. Jake slid into the falling shadows with casual ease, still just another tourist looking to enjoy the nightlife.

A cab ride later, he hit a club, drank exactly one drink and flirted so badly in Polish with the bartender that she dissolved into helpless giggles before he moved back outside and up the stairs he’d been told more than a week ago to take to the third floor.

He knocked twice, then waited. A woman opened the door, a stunning brunette with mischievous dark eyes and a body that belonged on a magazine cover.

“Dziękuję, Dahlia,” Lucjan said, his tone dismissive, but polite.

The woman nodded before giving Jake a long, sultry look and slipping past him. The door clicked shut.

“So,” Lucjan said, leaning a hip against his desk and pulling on a pair of driving gloves. “When do you plan to—”

“It’s already done.” He pulled the egg from his pocket and tossed it from one hand to the other, grinning.

Lucjan shook his head. “I should have known. You’re crazy, Kuba.”

“Crazy good, you mean.”

“Have you ever been to the Gdańsku before?”

“No.” Jake shrugged.

“I stand by my statement. Zwariowany. Still, I am grateful. No trouble?” Lucjan held out his hand and Jake passed the egg over.

“None at all.”

Barely looking at the egg, Lucjan nodded. Jake studied his brother-in-law with a frown. Lucjan Kowalewski didn’t look like an intimidating man at first glance. Then you looked again and, if you were smart, scurried in the opposite direction. Lucjan was shorter than him, though only by an inch or two, about six feet even. His body was that of a fighter, muscular, but compact. His light brown hair was buzzed close to his scalp, nothing to get ahold of in a street brawl, not that Lucjan had been on the streets for years. They had that in common.

Though not much else.

And if Stacia knew he was helping Lucjan right now—

Jake sighed.

“So why all the bother for an egg? I mean, it’s a pretty fucking egg, but come on, it’s no Fabergé.”

Lucjan smiled and tucked the tiny glittering orb into a box already on his desk before reaching for the bottle of brandy that squatted next to it. He poured himself a shot, raising an eyebrow at Jake, who nodded and received his own a second later. Lucjan sipped at the liquor as he talked. “There is a man in the city, a man who I wish to placate. But this man needs nothing, asks for nothing. There is nothing I can offer him that he cannot get himself. But this man has a woman. A woman who is not his wife. They visit the museum once a month. This is her favorite, she has told the man so several times. He wishes to impress her.”

“Seriously, all this so some chick can have a bauble on her dresser?”

“Have you never done anything stupid for a woman?” Lucjan’s look was bland.

He laughed. “Not this stupid.”

“Everyone is stupid when it comes to love, Kuba. Men because we think with our dicks, women because they think with their hearts, but in the end, it’s all the same. Stupid.”

He frowned while Lucjan downed another shot. “You don’t really believe that.”

“Don’t I?” Lucjan looked up, his eyes hooded and dark. “Four years ago today, I married the only woman I will ever love. I married her knowing it was under false pretenses, knowing she meant to use my affection for her own ends. I walked into that shit with my eyes wide open.”

Oh, shit. Was that today? Fuck. That was why Stacia had called him earlier. This day was the second hardest of the year for her, and he hadn’t even remembered. Goddamn it. “Lu—”

The other man raised a hand. “And I didn’t fucking care. I still don’t care. I just want her back.” Lucjan tapped the box under his hand, a twisted smile on his lips. “How stupid is that?”

He knew that saying anything was unwise, so he kept his mouth shut, silently reminding himself to call Stacia again tonight. He wouldn’t mention the anniversary, and she wouldn’t either, but they both would know why he’d called back.

Maybe it would even make her feel better, though he doubted it.

Lucjan scrubbed a hand over his face, then picked up the box. “I’m flying out shortly. I’ll be gone for a day or two. You made sure someone downstairs will remember you?”

He didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow.

“All right. Then you go back down and meet Dahlia outside the men’s room. The price she will give you is way too high, but you’re a stupid foreigner, what do you know? You will go back to her flat. She’ll invite a friend. You’ll all be very, very loud. The neighbors will agree you had lots of fun. You’ll stumble back to your own hotel around nine or so, if the policja don’t come to question you first.”

“And where will I really be spending the night?”

It was Lucjan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “If you refuse Dahlia, she’ll be hurt.”

“She’ll have to be hurt then.” He didn’t care for Lucjan’s sideline any more than his sister did, even if prostitution was legal in Poland. That there might be another reason behind his reluctance to hit the sheets with a willing stranger was something he refused to think about too closely.

Lucjan shrugged, but was there was a gleam of something like approval in those golden brown eyes. “Dahlia will say she was with you all night regardless.”

He nodded. “And I appreciate that. But I’m really not interested.”

Getting to his feet, Lucjan waved a hand at the door for Jake to precede him. “Fine, but you should sleep there at least. In the unlikely event we need the story, the more truth there is to it, the better.”

“Fine.” He couldn’t keep the lack of enthusiasm out of his tone.

Lucjan smirked. “I promise, she’ll keep her hands to herself. I’ve never known you to be so shy, Kuba. Perhaps that gunshot wound did you some serious damage below the belt, eh? I may need to speak to Matthias about his medical skills.”

“Shut up, Lucjan.”

---

Dahlia was hurt, exactly as Lucjan had predicted. And frustrated when Jake plucked her off his lap and set her to one side an hour later.

She’d attacked as soon as he sat down on the too-soft settee in the too-dark and garishly colored apartment she rented in the Mariacka District. “You don’t think I’m pretty, is that it?” she pouted, but her slender hands were clenched into tight fists pressing into her thighs.

“You know you’re beautiful. I just prefer women who have a choice,” he said with a shrug.

Dark curly hair tumbled around her petulant face as Dahlia tossed her head. Her lip curled. “Nobody is forcing me to do anything. This is my chosen life. For now.” She ran a hand up his arm, letting her shoulder drop so that the thin strap of her top slid down, exposing deep golden skin and the ripe curve of her breast. She was a very beautiful woman. In another time, another place, perhaps he would have taken her up on the offer, but right now, all he could think of was porcelain skin blushing pink in the winter light.

Dahlia dug her nails into his shoulder, smiling when he swore at the sudden stabbing pain and caught her hand in his.

There was blood on her fingers.

Psychotic bitch. What was Lucjan thinking?

At his snarl, she simply smiled and rose gracefully to her feet.

“If I don’t leave a mark, how we will prove you had any fun?” She fixed the strap over her shoulder.

“I doubt Lucjan would approve of you slicing me open.” Blood began to seep between his fingers.

Dahlia tried for a sneer, but her lip started to tremble when she saw the blood. With a swish of her skirt, she vanished into the bathroom. A minute later she emerged with a basin of warm water, a hand towel thrown over her arm.

He raised his eyebrows when she knelt at his feet and handed him the towel.

“What’s this?”

“It isn’t for you, it’s for him. Lucjan. Don’t tell him I hurt you,” she whispered, her dark eyes huge.

He frowned, dipping the towel into the water. “I was exaggerating. It’s only a scratch. Are you really afraid he’ll be angry?” His gut tightened. He’d never, not once in the years he’d known his brother-in-law, gotten the impression his violent lifestyle extended toward women. If he had, he’d have kept Stacia as far from—

Dahlia laid a hand on his knee, biting her lip. “No. Not like that. I just . . . don’t want to disappoint him.”

Ah. So that was why she’d been so upset when he’d rebuffed her advances. She didn’t want to let Lucjan down.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

“Dzięki.” She nodded, dropping her hand into a pocket of her skirt, handing him a bandage and some antibiotic ointment. He took them, dropping the towel in the basin. Dahlia watched, a question growing in her eyes.

“What?” he asked finally.

“Your sister is Anastacia, his wife, yes?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head in wonder. “They are married still, yet she lives apart from him?”

He lifted his unmarred shoulder, having no idea what Lucjan told his people and not interested in fueling a gossip mill. “It’s complicated.”

“Ha! Musi być szaloną suką to abandon a man such as that one.”

“Watch it.” He handed back the small tube of medicine. His Polish might be lousy, but he had caught “crazy” and “bitch” clearly enough.

She raised an eyebrow. “Will you beat me for talking about your sister, even if it’s the truth?”

He blinked at her as she got to her feet, picking up the basin with its pink ribbon of blood swirling through the water. “I’ve never raised a hand to a woman in my life.”

She laughed. “When no one else is watching, all men hit.”

“Not this one.”

A sneer. “All men are the same when they are alone in the dark, grunting and pushing themselves deep.” But her sneer faded, replaced with something thoughtful. “Though, perhaps you are right, Lucjan is not such a man. Truly, your sister is a fool to let him go.”

He didn’t answer. Jaw set, she handed him a pillow and a blanket. Her smile was thin when she waved at the settee. It was tiny, barely five feet long. “Sleep well, Mr. Harris.”

With a sigh, he sat down and watched Dahlia stomp back to her bedroom, resigning himself to a long night.

The dreams, though, were unexpected.

Dark and terrifying. He was in the kitchen again, on his knees on the tile counter. Then he was out there in the dirt. In Dad’s place. Don’t look up, don’t look at the steps. Don’t.

The words pounded in his head, but he raised his eyes.

It wasn’t Mum sprawled there, though. It was Charlie. Her blue eyes wide and fixed as he crawled forward. “No. No.”

Before he could reach her, Charlie started fading away, the sand obscuring her, wiping out her every feature, one by one.

Until there was nothing left.

---

Dahlia shook him awake at half past six.

Then a knock came just as he was getting out of the shower, washing off the dregs of some horrible dream he couldn’t quite remember. The rap was polite and stiff. He sighed.

A cop’s knock sounded exactly the same, no matter where you were in the world.