“Stick this in Vlad’s laptop, count to five, and then pull it out. The FBI geeks will take it from there.”
His smile is so amazing, my heart melts into a puddle.
Then, as if he’s been planning this all along, he drops a match into a waste basket, jumps on a desk, and holds it up to the ceiling until an alarm screeches.
“Fire!” He charges into the hall and pounds on the door next to ours. A wide-eyed woman appears and Suds pushes past her.
“I’ll get Stacy. You two, take the stairwell.”
Less than ten seconds later, he races to meet us with a sleepy little girl in his arms and in the lobby, he hands me the drive. “Go. Get this back to the FBI.”
“What about you? The police are sure to know where the fire originated.”
“Make sure your damn federal buddies figure it out.”
Outside, I call for an Uber and on the way, text Kessler. Once I’m back in my temporary office, I heave out a huge sigh and turn on the light.
What the fuck?
Now normally, I’d assume the magnificent, scary-as-hell dude sitting on my couch is FBI. However, his expensive suit, starched shirt, and designer tie say he’s paid a lot more.
If he’s a Fed, I’m Mother Theresa. “What do you want?”
He shoots me a cover-boy smile laced with danger as my hand reaches for my holster. He doesn’t know Kessler took my weapon and yet doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“Sit down, Ms. Russo.”
“Sutcliff.”Why the hell does everyone insist on using my maiden name?
“Right. Apologies. As to who I am? For now, let’s say I’m an interested party.” The centers of his eyes glow red but it must be some kind of optical illusion.
“What do you want?” I wonder if he’s drugged me, the only explanation for the small globe of fire churning in his hand.
“For you to stop probing into the Russian’s business.” His handsome smile would be devastating if not for the fact he’s Satan.
Catrina jumps down from the top of a file cabinet, rubs against his ankles and purrs.
“Et tu, puss?” Ignoring me, she bows her head and allows her new friend to scratch her chin.
My pal Frankie owns an alcoholic cat. From him, I have learned felines are sometimes not to be trusted. Thus, just because my pet likes this stranger, it doesn’t mean he’s not going to kill me.
I hold my breath as he digs into his pocket, expecting to see a gun or a knife. Instead, he tosses me my phone. “My number is on top. Call me when you need help.”
Huh. I note how he saidwhenand notif.“Arrogant much?”
“No, truthful.” He places my missing weapon on the floor and backs out of my room.
After he shuts the door, I jump up and search the hall but there’s no sign of him.
Okay, that was super-creepy. I feel as if I’ve walked on the set of an old Abbot and Costello movie and there goes Lon Chaney.
Remembering the hard drive, I log into the site where the USB program was supposed to dump the contents of Vladimir’s computer. Instead, an error message pops up. According to the text, the data was encrypted and may take a while longer to post.
Shit, I open a trouble ticket with the IT department and hang up. Then, I instant message Dr. Jones. Eyes wide, I lay on my bed waiting for a call back until the wee hours of the morning. At some point I fell asleep because I wake from a nightmare. In it, Scooby and I are chased by mind-reading, red-eyed vampires wearing expensive designer suits.
Chapter 6
Suds
