That earned him a quick laugh, low and genuine. She slipped into the café he pointed at. It had a sun-faded awning and tiny iron tables clustered near the window. Blake followed, positioning himself with a clear view of the entrance. He needed a caffeine injection and sugar to keep him going.
Elise ordered in flawless Hungarian, tossing a smile at the barista that made the young man stumble over his words. Blake could see the guy tracking her when she went to gather napkins for the order. She thanked him and turned to Blake with two steaming cups and a paper bag. “See? Charm has its uses.”
He accepted the coffee, his eyes never leaving the door. He could charm people. Maybe. Okay, probably not, but that wasn’tnecessary in his line of work. He rarely worked with people, and when he did, it was other assassins. He shrugged. “Depends on the target of that charm.”
She sat across from him, tearing into a warm croissant, flakes scattering onto the table. “You make everything sound so mysterious. That’s not what I’m doing. All I’m doing is reading records and connecting dots.”
“That’s how it starts,” Blake said, taking a bite of his filled croissant. The damn thing was fucking good. He ate the two she’d bought for him, then took a sip of his coffee. When he finished, he said, “Dots can get you killed.”
She rolled her eyes, sipping her coffee. “You’re exhausting. Do you ever relax? Or does the suit come with a permanent stick up the?—”
“Elise.” He cut her off with a warning look, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the smallest twitch.
She smirked, satisfied at getting under his skin. “Yep. Thought so.”
They finished eating, and Elise stuffed the last of her pastry into the bag as she rose. “Library. Budapest port authority logs, Hungarian tax filings, shipping schedules. If I’m right, his charity work aligns perfectly with his criminal operations. No one wants to see it, but it’s there. The thing is, I don’t know what those operations are yet. But I’ll find the value of A, then we can define the value of B.”
Blake stopped her before she left the small café. “I go first. Always.”
“By all means.” She extended her arm to him. When she followed him, he asked, “What does that mean, the value of A and B?”
“Something Étienne said to me all the time. When we are tracking a story, we need to define A. The fact or the reason for the story. Then find the cause. What happened because ofthe fact or reason? That’s B. Add them together, and you have a story that makes sense. You have proof, and that makes you a responsible reporter, which Étienne was.” She sniffed a bit. “He had so much life left in him.”
“Was he your lover?”
“What?” Elise stopped and gaped at him. “Of course not. Don’t defile him in that way. He was a gentleman. Always.”
“My apologies.” He noted the fact that while she might never admit it, she loved the reporter. Perhaps as a father or brother figure, but that type of reaction only came from deep-seated emotion.
Blake walked beside her. His gaze flicked constantly, reading every face. He didn’t doubt she’d find something. She had the instincts, the relentless hunger for truth. But instincts like hers painted targets on foreheads.
By the time they reached the library, an elegant old building with tall arched windows and worn stone steps, Elise was already buzzing with energy. She bounded up the stairs, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Coming, Mr. Suit?”
Climbing after her, he maintained his unreadable expression. “Stay close. Don’t run ahead of me again.”
“I’d say the same to you,” she shot back, grin sharp and unrepentant. “Except you need to keep up.”
Blake suppressed a sigh. Keeping her alive would be the hardest job he’d had in years.
The library smelled of old paper and polished wood, a kind of place where history clung to every corner. High shelves rose toward the ceiling, and the morning light filtered through tall arched windows.
Elise moved with quick purpose, bypassing the main reading hall and heading straight toward the archives. She obviously knew where to go. It wasn’t her first dive into the stacks.
“Here,” she whispered, sliding into a narrow table tucked between towering cabinets. She spread her papers across the surface like a general laying out a battle map.
Blake stood a half-step behind her chair, angled so he could see both the aisles and the entrance. Anyone approaching would have to get past him first.
Elise tugged a ledger closer, fingers flying as she flipped pages. “I’m looking for something that ties the donations to the ships that arrive. Like, why would they do that?”
“Laundering money,” Jewell said in his ear. He instantly and silently agreed with his aunt.
“I mean, could he be laundering money somehow with the donations?” She shook her head. “But how would he get the money from the charities without the governments noticing?”
“Payoffs,” Jewell answered the woman’s question. “I’m on it. She’s probably right. But let her do this the old-fashioned way. Don’t give her any help. The bosses said that if she tracks this down on her own, she has every right to publish the article. Not until your target is in Budapest, however.”
Blake blinked at that bit of information. But then again, releasing the article might take the bullseye off her back. Making a hit on the woman rather than discrediting her work would be risky for Zajac. Not that the man cared. The sales of his weapons and drugs made him insulated and arrogant. Arrogance was deadly.
Elise tapped his leg. “Look at this.” She pulled out her notes and pointed to one sheet and then the other. “See? Charity donations occur every time one of Marek Zajac’s shipments is delayed, whether it’s leaving or entering the port. It could be in Antwerp one month, Budapest the next. The port authority ledgers list a departure or arrival time, indicate a delay, but don’t indicate why. But only for Zajac’s ships. There’s no rhyme or reason to when the boats are stopped. Why are they stopped ordelayed? There’s no record of infractions in these logs. However, infractions are listed for other ships. It’s public information.” She moved to grab another ledger off the shelf. “This was all before they went digital. I can access the public records through their portal, but I want to get as much background as I can so I know what I’m looking for.”
