“Come in,” I say. “Close it.”
He does, coming to stand in front of my desk, hands loose at his sides.
I open the bottom drawer. The folder is thin — two weeks of work from Alexei’s contact in Logan Square, a background that used to take months and now takes a competent analyst less than forty-eight hours. I slide it across the desk.
He picks it up and opens it.
“The woman is Maren Lavelle,” I say. “Twenty-seven. Pediatrician at Northwestern, lives in Logan Square. She’s Elizabeth’s closest friend.” I pause. “Landon Webb has been unable to reach Elizabeth since she moved into the estate. He’s redirected his attention.”
Dmitri looks up from the folder. “What do you need?”
“Surveillance. Close protection. She doesn’t know she needs it, which means she can’t know it’s happening.” I lean back. “Keep her safe. Keep Landon away from her. Don’t let her see you.”
“You want me to babysit her,” he says, studying me.
“I want you to interpret it however you like.”
He looks back at the folder.
I’m aware that this assignment is not purely strategic. Maren Lavelle needs protection. That part is real, straightforward. I told Elizabeth I would handle this, and I intend to. But there are other men I could send. There are three in this house right now who have the skillset and the temperament for close surveillance work.
I chose Dmitri because I’m a territorial son of a bitch.
He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s disciplined enough to know that involving himself with household staff is a line he doesn’t cross, and he didn’t cross it. She initiated the conversation, not him. It meant nothing.
None of that matters. He needed to be elsewhere.
But Dmitri isn’t a clean choice, and I know it.
He came to me eight years ago. And what made him exceptional in the field is the same thing that eventually made the field too risky for him. He commits. Fully, totally, with an obsessive, primal focus. When Dmitri is assigned a target, the target becomes the center of his world. And he keeps sinking deeper until all boundaries start to dissolve. In controlled doses, this makes him the most effective man I have. Without limits, it makes him a liability.
I pulled him after an incident in Detroit that nearly became catastrophic. I reassigned him to driving. A vehicle is a controlled environment: clear parameters, defined routes.
Now I’m sending him to shadow a woman. To watch her movements, learn her schedule, occupy her periphery for weeks, possibly months.
“Consider it done,” he says, closing the folder, tucking it under his arm, and turning to leave.
“Dmitri.”
He stops.
“She doesn’t see you,” I say. “Under any circumstances.”
Without turning, he nods once and leaves.
I work until eleven.
There’s a shipment review that Alexei flagged three days ago that I’ve been moving to the bottom of the stack. The review takes forty minutes. I sign off on two supplier agreements and decline a third.
I read the latest intelligence summary on Dushku’s movements. He’s been quiet this week. Not a positive sign. Dushku’s silences are not rest but preparation.
I should not be thinking about going to my room, but I am. Thoughts ofherconsume me.
I close the last folder and get up.
She’s in bed, sitting up against the headboard with a book open across her lap and the duvet pulled to her waist. She looks up when I come in, and her face brightens with a shy smile.
I stand in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary.
