“You don’t give up, do you?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Right, sorry.” After a beat, she said, “I don’t know my number. The phone is new. You can send a message through Evangeline Develin.”
She was becoming more and more complicated by the second. He acknowledged her with a simple nod, said nothing more.
En route back to DC, she said, “You don’t need to go back to the crematorium. I’ll drop you at home, but you shouldn’t stay there. It’s not safe.”
Never one to be fearful, she had a point.
“I’ll grab a few things, camp out with one of my brothers.”
Back in DC, she parked in front of his home, cut the engine. “I’ll go in, make sure you’re safe.”
He flashed her a smile. “Get to work. I got this.” He collected her hand, kissed it softly. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Which part?”
“All the parts.” With a wink, he exited and shut the SUV door.
As he made his way toward the front door, he pulled his pistol from its holster.
This is war and I’m at the center of it.
HALSTON
Gabriel joggedup the front steps. She waited as he unholstered his weapon and disappeared inside his home. A shudder slid down her spine.
He’s fearless.
She pulled down the visor, glanced at herself in the mirror. Her wig was askew. She straightened it out, pulled into the early morning rush hour traffic.
Get it together or you’re really gonna mess things up.
AT TEN O’CLOCK THAT MORNING,she entered the embassy, trotted up the half flight and down the expansive corridor toward her office. She’d never once been late to work since she started working for Bulgrov.
I’ve never killed a man either.
If she continued thinking about the Russian mobster, she’d lose it, so she shoved the Bratva from her mind—for the zillionth time—and hastened her pace.
As she passed the Ambassador’s office, his familiar voice caught her ear. She slowed, glanced inside. He was seated behind his desk, two men sitting across from him in the guest chairs, their backs to the door.
“Minka!” Ambassador Bulgrov jumped up, strode around his desk. “I was concerned. You’ve never been late.”
“Ambassador Bulgrov, welcome,” she said as she shook his outstretched hand. “Adjusting to American food.”
He furrowed his brow. “Aren’t you eating in the compound?”
Crap.
The men—both wearing dark suits—joined them.
“Yuri, I am busy man,” barked the large one with a heavy Russian accent. “I don’t have all the day. We finish meetingnow.”
She’d never heard anyone telling her boss what to do. Everyone in Russia showed him the utmost respect.
Halston adjusted her James Bond eyeglasses, tapping the frame once to snap a photo of Bulgrov’s visitors.
