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Nebraska’s mother was whatever she was—I’d yet to figure that out. And her father was a contract killer and enforcer for the Bratva. So what did Charlie Michaels do? He basically led his daughter to follow in her biological parents’ footsteps.
What the fuck?
“I can see you don’t understand why I’ve done what I’ve done,” Charlie murmured.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, Mr. Spears. I had two choices when I took Nebraska in. Hide her away and do whatever I could to protect her until I died, which in my line of work could’ve happened at any time, or make her a worthy adversary. I decided it was best to give her the tools she’d need to protect herself against the enemies of her parents. I’ve been lucky, she’s been lucky, and no one has made the connection. Pidge hid her pregnancy from Dmitri. She was successful in hiding her daughter for twelve years. The moment Pidge heard Dmitri was in the US looking for her, she faked her death and sent Nebraska to live with me. You can hate what I’ve done as much as I hate I had to do it. But you cannot disagree that Nebraska deserved to have all the tools necessary to protect herself.”
I couldn’t argue with that even if I disagreed with the tools he’d taught her.
EIGHT
There was nothing exciting about flying into Cairo International airport.
The landscape was brown.
Just brown.
From the buildings to the dust.
A few palm trees dotted the entrance to the terminal building but other than that, just brown.
That was until about twenty minutes outside of the airport and the iconic Waldorf Astoria came into view. The lush greenery and extravagance around the hotel looked out of place among the surrounding smaller buildings. Farther west of the airport the landscape changed once again giving way to high-rises and giant billboards advertising luxury condos and cellular companies. The closer you got to the river and downtown Cairo the buildings got taller, city buses added to the already hellacious traffic and the highway became a maze of roadways that was nothing short of dizzying. In all of my trips to Egypt I’d never attempted to drive in the city. There was no such thing as rush hour traffic in Cairo. With a population of over twenty million jammed into the city the streets were packed 24/7. It was noisy and bright and busy—one in the afternoon or one in the morning, the people of Cairo seemed to never sleep. The streets were never empty, there was bumper-to-bumper traffic then there was slightly less traffic. And people thought New York city was insane. They’d obviously never visited Cairo.
By the time my taxi stopped in front of the Ritz-Carlton I could already feel the pollution coating my skin—not that I had much skin showing but the parts that were exposed were already grimy with sweat and dust.
After paying my fare, which included a five-minute standoff with my driver reminding him he’d already given me a price back at the airport and no I wasn’t paying the “traffic tax” he was trying to persuade me into paying, we finally negotiated a price which was less than what I was quoted at the airport. With a wink and a smile I gave the driver a twenty-dollar tip—which was triple the cost of the ride. My generosity was met with a scowl.
What could I say, I liked to haggle, I liked sharpening my skills even if that meant wasting time on a busy street with a taxi driver and in the end still paying more than what I’d agreed to.
As a side note: there were three prices in Egypt—the local price, the Arabic price, and the tourist price. I always bargained for the local price but ended up paying the tourist price in the form of gratuity.
After twenty-six hours in airports I just wanted to get into my room, wash off my day, and sleep. I’d worry about calling Armani tomorrow. I’d worry about Maddon and what he was up to after I met with Armani. Then I’d worry about what Zane and Kira were up to. Then maybe after that I’d give some time to ponder why I couldn’t stop thinking about Easton Spears.
Maybe.
But probably not. I needed to focus. Easton was a distraction I couldn’t afford. Not that he was so much of a distraction as he was a weird fascination. I was naturally curious, I couldn’t sit in a restaurant without wondering about the lives of the people dining around me. I couldn’t order a coffee without studying the barista or sit in a meeting without pondering how and why the man across from me had become who he’d become. I needed to understand people. Charlie had once told me I got my inquisitiveness from my mother. He’d also told me it was both a gift and curse. He wasn’t wrong but I’d gladly embrace the curse if it was a gift from my mother. Though there were times, like with Easton, I wished I could turn it off. I’d probably never see him again, unless Zane figured out the truth—not that I’d recognize the truth anymore. What had started, had now morphed and changed into something I no longer fully understood. But I knew Zane’s secret and when he figured out I was on his payroll he’d likely go ballistic. As amusing as it would be to watch the Almighty Zane Lewis find out there were things that he didn’t know, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually want to be present for the explosion.
Another reason I needed to forget about Easton and concentrate on what I could control.
One step at a time.
Before you can take control of a situation, you must first have control over yourself, Nebraska. Emotions kill. Distractions kill.
Charlie’s long-ago lesson played in my mind as I approached the security checkpoint to enter the hotel.
Welcome to The Nile Ritz Carlton, where one must pass through a metal detector to enter the lobby.
By the time I was in the elevator exhaustion had hit. When the doors slid open on the eighth floor my limbs felt sluggish and my eyes gritty.
Forget the shower, I just wanted a bed.
And to sleep for the next forty-eight hours.
I pushed open the door to my room, closed it behind me, secured the locks with no other thoughts than falling face first on the mattress when something caught my attention. The gauzy drapes were open, the exterior door ajar allowing warm air to fill the room, along with the unmistakable smell of the Nile River. But that wasn’t what had my stomach clenching.
Nope, it was the man standing on the balcony. His hip and elbow rested on the railing, eyes on me looking relaxed—like he belonged there, like he was an invited guest, and not the intruder he was.
