I sit back, pondering his suggestion. The idea isn’t bad. In fact, the indirect punch at Josiah via his wife might even be more effective.
“This girl, where does she stay? What kind of security does she have?” I ask, latching onto the idea.
“She stays in an apartment in Chicago, not too far from their place. Josiah has provided her with security, but she's a lot more relaxed and doesn’t always use them.”
“Does she know who Josiah is?” I ask, wondering if she is somehow linked to the Bratva or just an innocent bystander sucked into his world.
“She worked with his wifebeforethe wife met Josiah. She isn’t involved in the Bratva side of things with Josiah at all. I’ve never seen her connect to any of it. Not the business, not anything.”
“Mm,” I ponder, rubbing my hand over my jaw and feeling the rough texture of my unshaven skin. “I like her for this,” I confirm. “It’s better than nothing, and it’ll certainly cause shit for Josiah, which is my goal, after all.”
Yaroslav stands, setting his half-finished water down on the coffee table between us. “Shall I put together an information package on her for you? I can go to Chicago and further my investigation, focusing directly on the girl,” he says, getting ready to leave.
“Just put together what you know about her so far. I’m going to Chicago myself.”
While I trust Yaroslav, I want this to go without incident. It has to be perfect. She appears to be my only shot at making this work, which means I can’t leave this up to chance. I will do it all myself from here on out.
***
I could have flown. It would’ve been a lot faster. But the drive was more incognito than announcing my arrival with the touchdown of my private jet. Attracting attention to myself before I’ve even set foot in Chicago would not be smart.
On the passenger seat of my black Audi is a folder. It’s closed, but there is a photograph sitting on top of it—a photograph that could have been pulled from the pages of a magazine. The girl is fucking gorgeous. She’s twenty-three, according to Yaroslav’s information. Long, honey blonde hair that looks like silk hangs over her shoulder in a messy braid. She has warm, bright brown eyes that catch the light and look almost golden. Her lips are peach, full and soft. She’s smiling in the photo, and there are dimples in her cheeks, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
I’ve studied this photo for hours already. Hours, while I plotted hunting her down and finding her in Chicago. This photo, in particular, has captivated me in strange ways. It’s a candid moment caught by my private investigator, a silly smile and a carefree expression. She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t even aware of the camera.
And all of her natural beauty is shining in full radiance.
I’m parked outside a local gym. She went in there over an hour ago, and I’ve been patiently waiting for her to come out.
It’s my third day in Chicago and my third day following her around. Yesterday, I sat at a coffee shop watching her from the back of the small space as she sat by the window sipping hot chocolate and reading a book.The Count of Monte Cristo. Finding her reading Alexandre Dumas was a surprise, but it wasn't the first thing about her that's caught me off guard so far.
She’s an intriguing little creature, and I find myself eager to know more about her.
Outside the coffee shop window, soft flakes of snow fell, and she kept getting distracted from her book to look at it. And every single time she looked, she smiled.
And every time she smiled, my heart seemed to move inside me.
This morning, her first stop was the gym. She left her car parked on the side of the road and jogged across the street in an oversized black hoodie which swam around her, making her look even smaller and cuter, especially with her bright pink leggings showing off her slender, well-toned legs.
Her hair is pulled up in a bun on top of her head, neat and beautiful.
From where I’m parked, I can see her lifting weights in the upper level of the gym. She isn’t wearing her hoodie inside, and she has a gorgeous body. The tight gym gear leaves nothing to the imagination as her subtly toned abs show through the open space between her leggings and matching long-sleeve crop top.
She looks strong and fierce, and the fact that she didn’t go into the downstairs yoga class or one of the spinning classes, but the weights area, impresses me.
Time doesn’t seem to exist when I’m watching her. Hours can go by without me glancing at my watch. I have become entirely captivated by everything she does.
When she leaves the gym, her high bun is a mess. Soft strands of escaped hair are now falling around her face, framing it. She smiles and says thanks with a gesture of her hand to a car that slowed to let her cross the road.
Those dimples are too cute.
I chuckle to myself as she opens the trunk of her car and tosses her gym bag into it, bending over to throw the strap inside. My body ripples with a current of desire.Damn, that is a fine specimen of a girl.
She climbs into her two-door Jeep Rubicon, a cute car for a cute girl, and as I follow her through town, I wonder how aninnocent civilian got wrapped up in Josiah’s Bratva world. Poor girl has no idea about the truth of who she's spending her time with and the risks that come with it.Like me. Risks like me.
The image of her as helpless prey and me as the hunter flickers through my mind. The many ways I would toy with her.
My thoughts get carried away, and there is a dark smile on lips when she pulls over near the beach. Driving past her, I park further up the road so as not to make things too obvious.
