“I still can’t believe you workwiththe authorities?”
He squeezes me gently. “No one in this world is whiter than white, Erin. We all have to release our demons somehow. So long as we don’t make a public mockery of the system, we’re able to use it to our advantage, and you’d be surprised at how many law enforcement agents are on our payroll.”
I blink repeatedly as if it might wake me up from this surreal dream.
“So, what’s stopping you from finishing this now?” I ask.
“I need to prove the identity of the man who’s orchestrating this entire scheme.”
“And that wasn’t the Russian you—" Fear won’t let me finish that sentence.
“No—he was just a face, a middle man. A representative if you will.”
“So, now he’s gone, the real player is going to reveal himself?”
“That’s what I hope.”
I nod, finally understanding.
“You think he’s Russian too?”
Augusto braces slightly, like he’s confronting an uncomfortable truth. “I believe it’s Nikolai Morozov, the head of the Russian mafia.”
I jerk backward out of August’s arms with a frown. “Morozov?”
“Yeah.” Augusto watches me keenly.
“I’ve heard that name before.”
His face relaxes a little. “On the news probably.”
I shake my head, trying hard to place the name. “No, I don’t think so. I’m ashamed to say I rarely watched the news. I’ve heard it somewhere else.” I hammer the heel of my palm against my head. “God,wherehave I heard that name?”
Augusto yanks my hand away from where it’s pounding my temple and pulls me into him again.
“Don’t you worry about it, Erin. I know what I need to do. There’s a room that’s been marked as off-limits through the whole retreat. I’ve been watching it daily and getting tapes of the security footage from our guys in Boston. I know the routines and when it will be safest for me to break in. The identity of the person leading all this is hidden in there. The second I get it, we can leave, okay?”
I pull gently away and face the window, looking out at the torchlights fanning across the gardens. A shiver runs through me at the thought of being discovered. It was me out there just a couple of nights ago, with the missing man. What if my fingerprints are on something? What if I left a fragment of clothing from where I stomped through brambles?
Augusto warms my side. “They won’t find anything, Erin. Trust me.”
My shoulders loosen a touch, but then I start thinking about the end of the week. About packing my things. About going home. About how easily this could all vanish like a strange, vivid dream.
And how much I don’t want it to.
“What’s going to happen when we leave?” I whisper.
I sense him watching me carefully. “I’ve made it clear what I want, Erin. I want you. In whatever shape or form I can get. But I know things are complicated for you right now, so you don’t need to decide anything just yet.”
I don’t know why my heart flutters so wistfully at his words—I should be familiar with what he wants by now. And if I was in any doubt, the way he puts my pleasure first every single time should persuade me of it.
But I think of my daughter. Of her settling into a new life a million miles away from her friends. And of her fierce little heart.
I think of Gerard and how quickly he’d weaponize my innocent foray into the heart of an illegal arms trade if he ever found out. How he’d paint me as reckless and unstable. Unfit to be a mother.
He’d fight me for custody of Paige.
And he’d win.
