“Oh, man … she smells blood in the water. I really like her. My bet is that’s how he pays off the locals. They board the ship, and the hush money is exchanged. No electronic record. He then launders the money he receives from the payment for the drugs or arms through philanthropy. Brilliant, really. Criminal, but brilliant. The delays are something we need to look into,” Jewell said, and he could hear her fingertips flying across the keyboard.
Blake said nothing.
Elise glanced up at him, lips curving into a wry smile. “Don’t strain yourself agreeing with me.”
“You don’t need my validation,” he said evenly.
“True.” Her smile sharpened. “But would it kill you to admit I’m right?”
“Are you? Do you have proof? Not yet.”
She huffed, muttering under her breath as she scribbled notes, her pen scratching furiously. “You’d make a terrible research partner. All brooding presence, zero collaboration.”
Blake’s gaze drifted past her to a man loitering too long near the entrance. He noted the cut of the man’s coat, the restless shift of his eyes. No, he wasn’t going to do anything yet. But he wouldn’t ignore it.
Elise rose and pulled another musty ledger from the row of books. Back at the table, she flipped pages with growing intensity. “Tax filings, layered companies, charity donations, ships being stopped or detained without infractions being listed. Damn it, Blake. There’s something here, and I’m going to find it.” Her accent became more pronounced when she wasworking, and it carried a low, fierce, electric quality, filled with determination.
“If she keeps going, she’s going to put this together. I have enough information to indicate he’s using the charities to launder money. I’m working through the shell companies to see how it’s disbursed. It’ll take a hot minute. She’s got good intuition, Blake. Damn good.”
He leaned closer, his words meant for Elise’s ears alone. “And when you do figure this out, it’ll put a target on your back.”
She met his gaze, stubborn and unflinching. “Then it’s a good thing I have a watchdog.”
“We’ve never been able to pin the money down. We knew his dirty money was laundered, just not how. We know he’s the one responsible for the smuggling, that evidence is solid and is the reason he was targeted. The money is gravy, but it would probably win her the Pulitzer. Wait, I think that’s just for American-based reporters, but you get my drift. Right? Never mind, you can’t answer me.”
Blake’s jaw tightened. He really hated the fucking earpiece, but his aunt was right. If she exposed this information, she would be in line for recognition. What he was worried about was that Elise thought his presence was only about protection. About keeping her safe. She had no idea that his mission would end with Zajac’s death.
And she could never know.
CHAPTER 8
Blake leaned casually against the far wall, arms folded, eyes on Elise as she hunched over her laptop in the quiet corner of the library. She’d been immersed for hours, buried in documents and old shipping ledgers, her notes scattered across the table in neat stacks only she could decipher. Determination radiated from her, and it was sharp and relentless. The kind of single-minded focus that made her dangerous to men like Zajac. Unfortunately, that relentlessness also made her a danger to herself.
The soft click of her keystrokes stuttered. “Shit.” Elise straightened suddenly. “What?”
Blake was beside her in a moment. He blinked at the screen as it went berserk. Lines of code spilled across her desktop, files opened and closed, the cursor flashing and rolling around the screen as if it were possessed. Elise sat back, brows knitting, her mouth parting in confusion. “What the?—”
In his earpiece, Jewell’s calm, wry voice slid into the silence. “She’s good, Blake. I’ve been following her work. Elise has threaded Zajac’s donations through to shell charities and is like two hours away from tying them to his shipping manifests. Give her another forty-eight hours, and she’ll have him cold.”
Blake’s jaw tightened. “And the fireworks on her screen?” he murmured low as Elise muttered and banged on keys trying to get her computer to respond.
“My doing,” Jewell admitted without a shred of guilt. “I scrambled the system before she could stumble over something she can’t afford to see yet. I can restore everything in seconds, but you’re going to tell her Guardian can handle the deep dive. Say it’ll take weeks to run. Sell it, or she’ll have a neon target on her back. She won’t wait to publish the information once she puts all the pieces together. This buys you time until Zajac returns to Budapest. Until then, she stays breathing.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. Jewell was the best in the world with a keyboard—his aunt, his ally, the voice that had helped him navigate some life-threatening situations, but she had a brutal streak of practicality. And Elise didn’t even know she existed.
Elise staredat the lifeless screen, her pulse hammering in her ears.Hoursof work, careful cross-checking, highlighting, and mapping out connections, all of it gone in less than a minute. She wanted to scream, to slam the damned machine shut herself, but … Blake’s hand did it for her, calm, deliberate, as though he’d seen this before.
Her gaze shot to his. She was furious and hissed, whispering at him, “It’s gone. Everything. That was my proof, Blake. My trail. My God, why didn’t I write it all down on paper?”
His expression didn’t waver. He looked infuriatingly steady, as if her panic and frustration couldn’t touch him. “It isn’t gone,” he said softly, the kind of calm tone meant to settle wild children. But she wasn’t a child. When she opened her mouthto tell him so, he held up one finger. “Guardian can get it back. They’ve got experts who deal with this sort of thing every day.”
Elise crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair, suspicion prickling at the edges of her chest. “And how long will this miracle take?”
“A couple of weeks. Maybe more.”
Her stomach dropped. Weeks? She didn’t have weeks. Zajac’s ships were moving now, the donations timed in perfect rhythm with every port of call. She was close, so close she could taste it, and now, he wanted her to just hand it all off, sit back, and wait?
“I don’t have weeks,” she snapped, her voice low but fierce. “You don’t understand, Blake. I’ve found a pattern. Zajac’s ships and the donations line up. It’s not random. It has to be money laundering. If I can just dig a little deeper …”
