Nothing about this morning’s visit involves Clara. I came to get information I need while the clock mercilessly ticks away. But I can’t help but needle this cop who thinks he has the right and the balls to threaten me.
Me.
Johnson stiffens for a beat. He tries to hide it and fails. “Clara’s not involved in any of this. She shouldn’t be anywhere near it, or you.”
I study him, the way his hands flex, his knuckles whitening. The rumors about how he treated her do not surprise me. Men like Detective Johnson are always about control, obsessed with it.
“She’s near me by choice; she applied for the job and won it by her own merits. She works where she wants. You don’t get a say.”
Johnson’s voice hardens. “Then fire her. Let her go. She doesn’t belong with your kind.”
“My kind?” I let my eyebrows rise in faint amusement. “Are you telling me you’re concerned about her? Or are you just frustrated that you don’t control her anymore?”
“Why?” Johnson sneers. “Becauseyouwant to control her? Let her go, Smirnov. Force her out.”
“No,” I reply simply. “I think I’ll keep her. She’s intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” The detective’s eyes nearly bug out, and he takes a threatening step toward me. Other cops begin to look our way, wondering if they need to intervene. “Stay the fuck away from her, Smirnov. I’m warning you.”
“No. Ms. Benson chose this. And you,” I let the threat hang, cold and clear, “are not welcome anywhere near her. Do you understand?”
Hetriesfor bravado but it’s all for show. “She’s too big for me anyway,” hesays flippantly, like he’saboveit, and her.
My tone drops to a dangerous level. “Resorting to disparagements. Why am I not surprised? Stay away. I won’t say it again.”
Johnson’s jaw tightens, his composure slipping for just a moment. The air between us is heavy with resentment, anger, and threats neither of us is willing to voice outright. It’s clear he’s still clinging to some sense of ownership over her, even as he pretends indifference. I lean in, keeping my voice low. “You lost the right to say anything about her a long time ago. Whatever you think you had, that’s over now. Stay away from Clara Benson, or there will be consequences.”
I turn on my heel, knowing I won’t get any more information out of Detective Johnson, and I’ll have to go through different channels. But I did get one thing I came for—I got under his skin. I doubt he’ll listen to me about staying away from Clara. Men like him never do; they always have something to prove. But the threat is there.
“I’m going to take you down, Smirnov. You better watch your fucking back!” The snarled words hit my ears when I’m halfway across the bullpen, but I ignore them.
If Detective Dean Johnson thinks I have anything to fear from him, he’s dead wrong.
8
DMITRI
Clara doesn’t know I’m watching her. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m watching her with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse, except Clara isn’t a mouse. She’s more like a cat, predatory and sneaky, ready tounsheatheher claws at any moment.
Fuck, just the thought turns me on, and I have to adjust my position.
The drone of the presentation is nothing more than background noise I tuned out long ago as soon as I realized I could see into Clara’s office from the conference room.
She’s lost in her work, papers scattered in disciplined chaos, her fingers moving with sharp intent across her keyboard. Her hair tumbles forward when she leans in, obscuring her face for a moment. It’s those moments I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her to look up for reasons I refuse to examine too closely, because I am drawn to her in a way that’s become increasingly difficult to ignore.
From here, I can see that she has already personalized her office space with impressive efficiency. There is art on the walls, along with her diplomas and credentials. Books line the shelves, as well as a few knickknacks and picture frames. I wonder at the subjects. Family? Friends? A pet? A child?
I have yet to get the full results from Pavel’s deep dive on Clara’s past, which means I still know very little about the woman with the shiny dark hair and hazel eyes that won’t let me go, the curves I long to run my hands over again.
She’s running point on the compliance audit for our new Siberian mining contracts. She, of course, pulled off the SEC audit prep. I didn’t doubt her, despite the nearly impossible odds I’d stacked against her. I’m not even sure why I did it, except I wanted to see what she could do, to see the part of her that continued to challenge me.
The light from her desk lamp catches the sharp angles of her high cheeks bones as she leans close to read something in a book, her brows furrowing in concentration. She’s biting the inside of her cheek. It’s a small, unconscious gesture, and I add it to what I’m starting to think of as my “lexicon of Clara.”
The memory of her in that penthouse months ago has become a persistent static in the back of my mind. It was meant to be an unplanned, wild moment—a release of tension after receiving the news about the mole within the Smirnov organization.
I hired Clara Benson because she is brilliant, not because I want to repeat a mistake.
But the professional focus I demand is evaporating fast when it comes to her.
