Yuri chuckles, low and dangerous. “Next time,” he says, voice rough, “I’m locking the damn door.”
I sit back down, smoothing my skirt, pretending to focus as I reopen the file.
But we’re not fooling anyone.
Not even ourselves.
CHAPTER 29
YURI
“I’m assuming this isn’t a date,” Astrid says as we walk side by side down Ontario Street, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm.
Two of my men follow half a block behind, pretending to loiter near a newspaper box. A third crosses the street ahead of us, hands in his coat, eyes sweeping the restaurant facades. It's subtle. Barely.
I huff out a laugh. “Only if your idea of romance involves eighty-year-old Bratva royalty and threats delivered over espresso.”
“Sounds charming.”
“Mmm. We’re meeting with Ivan Abramov and his brother Denis. In from New York. Old money. They don’t call meetings just to catch up.”
Astrid glances over. “Abramov. Tatiana’s father? That’s unusual, isn’t it? I thought you said he preferred to keep things at arm’s length.”
“He does,” I confirm. “Which is exactly why this meeting makes me uneasy.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but I see the calculation in her eyes. Always thinking, always ten steps ahead. It’s one of the things I admire most about her.
“He didn’t say what it was about?”
“No.” My voice is clipped. “Just that it was important. And that he didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.”
Her brow furrows. “Could be about the Feds. In one way or another.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Two guards keep pace behind, two across the street in staggered formation.
“If he’s reaching out, it means something’s going on. I just don’t know what.”
She nods. “I suppose you’re about to find out.”
“I intend to.” My gaze lingers on her a beat too long. “In the meantime, I want you going over those documents I found at the cartel warehouse. Anything you can learn will help.”
“Of course.”
“Regardless of whether or not the Abramovs are involved, I’d like to keep them where we want them while we’re still untangling the Spalding situation, see if I can gain access to any useful information. That’ll involve a little diplomacy.”
Astrid glances over, sharp-eyed. “You really think he’s dirty?”
“I know he is,” I reply. “The alias he uses showed up on a set of financials we pulled out of that warehouse. Funds moved cleanly and buried in just the kind of paper trail a Bureau rat would think no one would bother to trace.”
Her lips form a thin line, a storm of thoughts flashing through her mind.
“There’s a cluster of wire transfers like that in those papers,” I tell her as we walk. “Dates, amounts, offshore accounts—enough to suggest movement but not enough to say who’s holding the leash.”
“Maybe the cartel?”
“Could be. Could be that the cartel is a front for someone else. Someone worse.”
