I exhale slowly, weighing his words, a storm building behind my ribs. “If you already know so much, why do you need me?”
He shrugs. “You’re on the inside. Right next to Yuri Ivanov. You could get us something solid. Something admissible. Not just hearsay and rumors.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say flatly. “You’re the FBI, but you’re asking me to do your job.”
“Sometimes justice needs a little help.”
“And sometimes,” I say, my voice low and cunning, “men like you pretend to care about justice when all you really want is a shortcut.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“Tell me who killed them,” I say.
He hesitates.
I nod once. “Thought so.”
“The Ivanovs were involved. That’s the truth.”
“No, that’s speculation. That’s bait.”
He leans forward, a sense of knowing flashing in his eyes. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
My blood goes cold. But I answer with nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The women’s clinic on Clark. You’ve been there twice in the past month. I’m just saying when things go down, that baby won’t be protected just because you kept your mouth shut.”
I grip my tea so tightly I nearly crack the cup, but I admit to nothing.“You think threatening me will get me on your side?”
Spalding lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to remind you that these people don’t care who gets caught in the fallout.”
I stand.
He watches me rise, all smug patience. “You’ll come around eventually. The door is open, but it won’t stay open.”
I look him dead in the eye. “Next time, bring evidence. Not threats.”
Then I walk away, pulse pounding, the fog outside suddenly feeling like it’s followed me in.
I have no idea what to do next.
CHAPTER 16
ASTRID
My hands are still shaking when I get back to my apartment after the appointment.
Spalding’s voice loops through my head.“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
I didn’t confirm it, but I didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said enough—he knows. Which means someone’s watching me. Closely.
I pace my living room, too keyed up to sit. My belly aches with tension, a phantom pressure that’s more fear than anything else. The baby. God. How do I protect him or her when I don’t even know who I’m fighting?
And Yuri, he knows more than he’s letting on. I’ve felt it in every deflection, every measured silence. Tonight, I need it all laid out on the table—no more riddles, no more hiding in the shadows.
I grab my laptop and open the employee directory. Ivanov Holdings internal database is efficient and too transparent for a crime family masquerading as a legitimate corporation. Yuri’s emergency contact lists a building name. A few keystrokes and abit of digital sleuthing later, and I’m staring at a listing. Astoria Heights. Penthouse. Private elevator access.
Of course.
