I need to discuss this, but not with Gela listening. I use the code we set up when civilians might overhear.
“So the caterer’s truck is stuck in the traffic?” I ask, wondering if there’s a way for us to get our shipment.
“Yeah, they aren’t letting the shipment go through,” Leonid explains.
“And what if the food gets greasy?”
“These officers aren’t on our roster, but we can try bribing them,” Leonid sighs. “They were flagged by men being paid off by others, we believe.”
Shit. The Zakharovs have these feds in their pockets.
“Fuck,” I hiss, then remember where we are. “And there are two more trucks on route?”
“Yes.”
And we have more ships heading the same way. God damn it.
“Tell them to map it again and head in through the back. Or to find another venue to set up at. We don’t want the party cancelled.”
“Done, brother.”
When I hang up, I notice Gela watching me with a raised eyebrow.
“Problem with your party planning?” she asks innocently.
I shrug. “Just some logistics to work out.”
“Mmm.” She taps her pen against her desk. “So the shipment's been flagged at customs, and now you need a new route to bring in whatever illegal goods you're trafficking?”
My jaw nearly hits the floor. “What?”
“Oh, I'm sorry, was I not supposed to understand that extremely obvious code?” She rolls her eyes. “The food willget greasy, really? I’m guessing someone isn’t accepting your bribes.”
She dismantled our code in seconds, like she’s breaking apart a toy, and it should piss me off, but all I can think is that she’s clever enough to become a part of my world. With that thought comes fear of all the dangers she might face should she ever adopt this life wholly.
I cross the room to stand near her desk, lowering my voice. “You shouldn’t be listening to my conversations.”
What I want to do is shake her by the shoulders and tell her to stay safe, to stay away from trouble and information that can put her in danger. But she and I aren’t in a position to be that honest…yet.
“No kidding.” She rises and plants her arms on her desk, meeting my gaze with a playful energy in them. “But if you're going to keep me here while you run your operations, you might want to be a little more creative with your secret spy talk.”
I shouldn't find her sass attractive, but god help me, I do. “And I suppose you could do better?”
“I could, actually,” she says with confidence as she flips her hair back over one shoulder, a move that basically turns my heart into a frenzy. “Want to tell me what the problem is?”
“Okay.” I begin to feel entranced, dying to know what she might just come up with, even though I wish she hadn’t understood a word I said. “So, here’s the thing.”
After I tell her what happened, she lets out a low whistle and falls back on her chair.
“I could call the chief of police and see if he has a contact in customs,” I groan as I pull up a chair and sit beside her.
“Are you insane?” She shakes her head. “When you call a powerful man, you get powerful people involved in your mess. Anyone he knows in customs might already have it out for you. You need to stop playing it high-level, and stoop low.”
“Carry on,” I ask, the curiosity burning bright in me as I swivel to face her. She drags her heels on the floor, reaching closer until our knees touch. I try not to think of that too much, the heat spreading up my legs, as she fixes on my eyes.
“Well, bring on another ship. Fill it with something completely innocent, like toys, and tip off the same guys. It might be expensive, but meanwhile, your illegal goods are in two other ships heading to another route with no eyes since the focus will be on the one with the toys in it,” she finishes, then seems to catch herself. “Not that I'm helping you commit crimes.”
But it's perfect. Instead of fighting the increased scrutiny, we lean into it. Make the shipment look like exactly what they're searching for—but with nothing illegal inside. While they're focused on that, the real goods move through a different channel.
