He's still too thin. Six weeks in my building and he's barely gained anything. His face is sharper than it was, cheekbones more pronounced, and there are shadows under his eyes that tell me the sofa isn't comfortable and the sleep isn't good.
I feel a flush of guilt before I bury it hard. He was thin when he got here. I’m trying to make him eat. He fights me. He doesn’t have to sleep on the sofa either. Neither of those are my choices.
"You're early," I say.
He doesn't startle. My scent precedes me the same way his does. "You said nine."
"I said nine fifteen."
He shrugs. We’ve not had sex since the heat and he’s not tried to kiss me the way he did. I can feel that he wants to, but he’s holding back.
He steps in and takes the chair furthest from the desk, sitting the way he always sits, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded, making himself small.
I take Viktor's chair and pull up the archived footage of Cath Beresford's section from the main floor. Theo's eyes go to the screens immediately.
He leans forward. The pullover shifts and the light from the monitors catches the underside of his jaw, the soft hollow of his throat.
I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline. There's a mark still visible below his ear, the last remaining bruise from the heat, yellow-green now, almost gone.
I watch him watch the feeds. His eyes track across the screens with a focus that shuts everything else out.
His index finger taps a rhythm on his knee that corresponds to something on the screen I can't follow, some pattern he's pulling from the movement of chips and bodies and cards.
He's beautiful when he works.
The door opens. Viktor comes in. He takes the third chair without looking at Theo.
"Stokes called in sick," Viktor says. "Second time this week."
“Think he knows that we’re onto him?” I say.
“He doesn’t,” Theo replies. “Not with the way he signaled the play yesterday. He’d have held back. Or tried redirect. It’s something else.”
Viktor looks at him. First time he's acknowledged Theo directly since walking in.
“Perhaps,” Viktor says. “But let’s talk about Beresford. I’m still not convinced we do this. We talk to her and she tells the wrong person, the entire operation goes to ground. We have the names now.”
I don’t take my eyes off of the screen where the footage shows Cath Beresford glancing at a bearded man in a green tie and immediately looking away, her jaw tight.
I’ve known Cath since I was six. She used to make me sandwiches and I used to play with toy cars on the floor of her office while she drew up staff rotas and reported on the takings for the night. I was at the weddings of both her children. Until Theo proved to me that she was involved, I would never have believed it. Part of me still doesn’t. In many ways, Cath has been a better parent to me than my father ever was.
Beside me, Theo is pulling himself even closer than he usually does. I can see his knee jiggling the way it does when he is nervous.
“You have thoughts on this?” I ask.
He glances at me, to the screen, and the back to me again. “What happens to her if she doesn’t tell you what you want? Does she end up in a ditch?”
I frown. "Nobody is ending up in a ditch," I say.
"You run a crime empire."
"I run a casino with legitimate gaming licenses and quarterly audits. No crime to see here. I just want to talk to her.”
It’s evident from the look that Theo gives me that he doesn’t believe me an inch. To be fair, I wouldn’t either.
I put up my hands. “I’ll admit that the business was originally built on not-completely honest proceeds and my father’s methods were a little more… hands on than mine have ever been, but times have moved on.” I lean forward. "I have no intent of risking time in a federal prison just because someone decides to cheat the casino. People try that every day. We keep everything above board. The Castellanos haven't figured that out yet, which is one of the reasons they're losing ground."
Theo stares at me. His pupils are wide and I can see the ring of gold around his irises. He's recalculating. I can see it happening.
