“Then we revisit,” I said. “But we’re not there yet.”
Nikos studied me with the particular attention of a man measuring something. Then nodded, the same careful neutral nod from the Ashford Club, the one that meant I’m accepting this answer and reserving my judgment.
“The gala,” he said, standing. “Get tickets. Get in front of him.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “Jared. Four to six weeks is not a long time.”
“I know.”
“Be sure that you do.”
He let himself out with the same ease he’d let himself in. A moment later, I heard Raia’s voice again in the corridor, her tone that of a woman escorting someone firmly toward the exit.
I sat in the empty private room for a while.
The problem had a shape now. Clear edges, clear constraints. If I moved forward with the job the way Nikos intended, I walked into a house under false pretenses and betrayed the trust of the one person in it who’d never done anything wrong. If I pulled back entirely, she was unprotected when the arrest came, and it was coming, with or without me.
There was a third option forming at the edges of the problem. Get her out before the arrest. Warn her. Give her enough to leave on her own terms. But that required telling her things I couldn’t tell her without telling her everything, and everything included the beginning, included a name in a file and a photograph anda man who had decided to use her before he had the chance to know her.
I didn’t know what she’d do with that. I knew what I was afraid she’d do with it.
I took out my phone.
That was not something I did. I sent the logistics after a scene, times, addresses, arrival instructions when required. I did not follow up to say things like… like what, exactly? I’ve been thinking about what courage looks like and I think it looks like you. That was not a text message. That was a problem wearing the shape of one.
I looked at the screen for a moment.
The correct message was nothing. The professional message was nothing. The version of me that had functioned cleanly and efficiently for eleven years without once sitting in an empty private room on a Friday afternoon holding a jacket he’d forgotten like some kind of lovesick idiot had a very clear position on what I should type right now.
I typed:Last night was exceptional. I don’t say that. To anyone. I want you to know it.
I sent it, not giving myself a chance to object.
Then I sat with the phone in my hand and looked at the closed door and thought about a woman who submitted as an act of genuine courage, and a problem with a clear shape, and a window of four to six weeks that was already, quietly, running.
Chapter 9
Polina
The restaurant Dottie had chosen was the kind of place that didn’t take reservations, had handwritten menus on a chalkboard, and smelled gloriously of garlic and fresh bread. It was tucked into a narrow South Philadelphia street between a dry cleaner and what appeared to be a very small accounting firm, and it was absolutely perfect in the way that only places completely unbothered by their own existence could be.
I had suggested somewhere quieter. Dottie had sent back three laughing emojis and an address.
Vlad and Dimitri took a table by the door without being asked, which was its own kind of practiced humiliation. The smooth,automatic choreography of men who had been managing my public appearances for so long that we had all stopped pretending it was anything other than what it was. The owner, a small woman with extraordinary eyebrows, looked at them, looked at me, and made the calculation in about four seconds. She seated them without comment and brought them water and bread without being asked, which told me she had seen this particular arrangement before and had decided that efficient accommodation was better than curiosity.
Dottie was already at the corner table when I arrived, wearing a yellow dress that should not have worked and absolutely did, with hoop earrings the size of small planets.
The moment she spotted me, her face lit up.
Nobody looked at me like that. Like they were simply glad I’d shown up.
“Girl.”
She was on her feet before I reached the table, pulling me into a hug before I could arrange myself into a proper greeting. Warm and unselfconscious, she smelled of something expensive and cheerful.
Then, as if remembering something, she added, “Oh. Raia sends her apologies. Erik got pulled into something at Midgard and she ended up playing crisis manager.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Tuesday,” Dottie said with a shrug. “It sounds like Tuesday.”
