Page 176 of Ruthless Claim

“Claire. The whole time we had those results on the table, the whole time you were going at her—she wasn’t trying to get out of it. She was stalling. She kept us sitting there asking questions while whoever hired her had a car already waiting outside.”

Valentina is quiet for a second, but I can feel her thinking. “The sob story,” she muses. “About being approached and having no choice.”

My hands clench into fists. “Yes.”

“I thought that was real.”

“It might have been,” I agree, letting my fingers trail over her arm. “Parts of it might have been. But it doesn’t matter. Real or not, she used it to buy herself time.”

Valentina sighs and tips her head back to look at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

“I keep going back to her face,” I say, closing my eyes. Fuck me, I can still see it. “When I first opened that folder she went white. That was a real reaction—that I’d stake anything on it. She was genuinely scared.” I pause, still replaying the moment in my mind. “Then she just…snapped out of it. I really thought we had her, goddammit.”

“We both thought that.”

“I should have moved faster,” I say, anger rising in me at myself. “I should have pushed harder for the name instead of letting it play out.”

Valentina shifts beside me. “Cillian,” she says gently, but I’m too far gone.

“Connor’s going to lose his fucking mind when he hears this,” I bark out a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “I had her. She was sitting right there and I was so focused on watching her squirm that I didn’t…” I run a hand over my mouth. “I thought I’d won. I sat there thinking I’d one-upped her and the whole time she was just—” I abruptly stop, digging my nails into my palm. “Connor would have had a name within five minutes.”

“Connor would have put her through a wall and traumatized a child,” Valentina says flatly.

I scoff. “It would have been effective though.”

Valentina lifts her head off my shoulder and glares at me, her eyes dark and her mouth set in a grim line. “Stop it,” she snaps.

“Why?” I shoot back. “I’m just⁠—”

“Shut up, Cillian,” Valentina says firmly. “You need to stop self-flagellating. You could have done this. Should have done that. You act like if you’d just been smarter or faster or more like Connor none of this would have happened.”

Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I open my mouth to argue, but she presses a finger against my lips.

“Excuse me, I’m not done,” she scolds as she turns to face me properly. “A car was waiting for her, Cillian. Shooters. Her apartment was cleaned out—if that even was her actual apartment and not just a bullshit address she gave you.”

My stomach bottoms out. I didn’t even think about that.

Valentina seems to see where my mind is going and she reaches forward, grabbing my chin with her hand so I’m focused on her brown eyes. “Listen to me,” she says, her cool, minty breath washing over me. “Her accounts were closed. That doesn’t happen because you weren’t fast enough in one meeting. This was planned. This was ready to happen before she even walked through that door. That’s probably why she brought Finn with her.”

All of it makes sense. Everything Valentina says is probably one hundred percent accurate. But it doesn’t stop the thoughts I’m having. I sigh tiredly.

“Hello? Earth to Cillian. Do you believe me?”

I focus back on my wife’s eyes, the brown with flecks of gold near the pupils. God, they’re the most beautiful eyes. “Yes, I believe you.”

“Good.” Her eyes warm slightly before she glares at me. “Then stop acting like Connor would have done it better.”

“You can’t deny that he would have,” I argue, feeling her nails dig into the soft flesh of the underside of my chin. I wince slightly.

My wife smirks. “Connor could have thrown her across the coffee shop and she still wouldn’t have talked. Then we’d have a mess to clean up and still no name. Claire wasn’t going to talk, Cillian. Not even the KGB could get her.”

I laugh softly at that. “Somehow I doubt that.” My shoulder throbs and I probably should have gone to the hospital, but it’s too late for that now. I’ll get some Tylenol when we get back to the penthouse.

“Here’s what’s bothering me,” I suddenly say. Valentina turns her head toward me.

“How did she know?” I spread my fingers wide on my dirty and dusty pants. “I can’t wrap my mind around that. How did she know today was the day? I sounded normal on the phone—you were there. I said nothing about DNA tests or confrontation. As far as she knew, she was walking into a coffee shop to talk about money.”

I shake my head, nearly dazed. “So how does she walk in there with a car already outside and an exit already planned?”