Fedor checks his mirror and pulls into traffic. “I saw him. He moved on.”
“Okay.” I settle into the seat and try to dismiss it as paranoia, which would be reasonable given that I’ve spent the last two months as a protected witness in an ongoing criminal operation. Paranoia is practically a job qualification at this point.
Ten minutes into the drive, I notice a dark SUV two cars behind us. It’s been there since we left the campus. I watch it through the side mirror for another three blocks.
“Fedor, the dark SUV, two cars back, has been there since campus.”
“I know, and I’m monitoring the situation.” He glances in the rearview and continues driving for another few minutes, checking periodically while I watch constantly. “Turned off,” he says before I can tell him that when I see it happen, “About a mile back. Probably nothing.”
Probably. I rest my head against the window and tell myself the man at the crosswalk and the SUV are unrelated. Miami is full of dark jackets and dark SUVs. I’m being watched by a paranoid surveillance apparatus every hour of every day, and sometimes that awareness makes threats out of coincidences.
I don’t fully believe myself, but I let it go for now.
Adrian isin the study when I walk through the door, and he stands when he hears me. I come in carrying the course catalog, the preliminary credit evaluation, and the application packet. When I start talking about it, the excitement in my voice surprises me because I haven’t heard this from myself in a long time. It’s certainly been absent the last two years while I was at Echelon and faltering rapidly during the first four years of my employment.
“The hybrid program would let me take most classes online with in-person intensives for the lab work. Dr. Reyes said my work experience might qualify for experiential credit, and several of my existing college credits should transfer.”
He comes around the desk and leans against the edge, giving me his full attention. “Which program did you like best?”
The question is small, but the way he asks it, like my answer is the most important thing he’ll hear today, makes me swallow hard. He’s not guiding me toward an answer, suggesting options, ranking programs, or optimizing my timeline. He’s just asking and waiting.
“The bachelor’s in hospitality management with the beverage concentration is still the one, I think. It’s the most practical application of what I already know, and the capstone project could be built around venue operations.”
He nods once. “When can you apply?”
“The next intake is in three months. I need to complete the application, submit transcripts, and write a personal statement.” I set the materials on his desk. “I want to do this, Adrian. Not because you suggested it or because it’s practical, but because I’ve wanted it for years, and I finally have the space to try.”
“Then try.”
I grin at him but then step closer with a shiver as I remember how my outing ended. “There’s more.” I tell him about the man at the crosswalk and the dark SUV. His face changes, not dramatically, but enough for me to recognize the operational focus replacing the personal attention.
“I’ll have Grigor pull footage from the campus security cameras, and Fedor will file a report on the vehicle.” He touches my arm briefly. “You did the right thing noticing and reporting it. It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather verify that.”
I nod and let him handle it because this is his area of expertise. I let myself be excited about having a goal after all of this is over, something beyond being a mother and a...whatever I am to Adrian. I don’t have a word for it yet. Girlfriend sounds too casual for a woman carrying his twins and living in his homes under armed guard. Partner sounds too corporate. We’ll figure it out, or we won’t need to because the answer will become obvious before either of us has to name it.
For now, I have a course catalog, a credit evaluation, two babies on the way, and Adrian, who asks me what I want and listens when I answer.
That’s more than I’ve had in years, and I’m not letting go of any of it.
18
ADRIAN
The restructuring documents fill three screens on my desk. I’ve spent the morning reviewing Karpov’s frozen movement and Eric’s increasingly erratic investigation while my attorneys finalize the legal separation framework for the legitimate holdings.
The framework is clean. Twelve shell companies need to be dissolved, seven need to be restructured under new beneficial ownership, and the shipping network needs to be transferred to an operator I trust enough to hand the keys to without looking back.
Viktor arrives at eleven with his tablet and a tight expression. “Eric Hayes is drawing attention.” He sits across from me and pulls up a file. “Internal affairs within Miami PD has begun flagging his behavior on the Echelon case.”
“Flagging how?”
“He’s accessed databases outside his assignment, including criminal intelligence systems, federal warrant archives, and immigration records that have no connection to a missing employee investigation.” Viktor scrolls through the report. “He filed two requests for surveillance warrants using justification that his supervising lieutenant questioned, and he’s already received one formal reprimand for contacting a witness’s known associates without authorization.”
“Marisol?”
“The same incident Rebecca Fischer complained about, but it gets worse. After the formal interview, Hayes approached Marisol outside her office without her attorney present three days ago. He was persistent enough that she called Rebecca from the parking lot while Hayes was still talking.” Viktor looks up. “Fischer filed a second complaint. The precinct commander is taking it seriously because Hayes is creating a liability.”
“Is Marisol the only one he’s harassing? I don’t think Aurora has other close friends in the area.”
