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“Work for you?”His low laugh sends chills down my spine as he says casually,“Sure, what do I have to do?”
“You will be the office dogsbody and do whatever the fuck anyone asks you to and you start at nine am and finish at five-thirty. Your evenings will be spent at the Anderson institute where you will learn to kick your habit and just in case you consider skipping that, I will be accompanying you.”
“You’ll soon get bored.”
“I won’t, you see, Dylan–” I pause to grab his attention and the threat in my voice is real as I hiss, “Because if you step out of line, or treat me for a fool one moretime, I will be the one crying at your grave and probably the only one at that. So, this is last chance saloon, for you and for me, because blood only goes so far before it runs out.”
There’s a short silence and then he says huskily,“I promise you, bro, I’ll clean up and prove I can do it. I want to make you proud of me, to be in a position to help you one day, and if it takes me the rest of my miserable life, I will make it up to you.”
I say a little more warmly, “That’s all I wanted to hear, Dylan. Now make the call and set up the meeting. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
As I end the call, I’m surprised at the tears in my eyes because I’m more angry than anything else, but Dylan is my brother. The only blood relative I have left and despite my threats, he is still the single most important person to me in the world.
CHAPTER 5
ANA
Apattern is emerging, and it’s an intriguing one. There are eleven big successful companies who make up the bulk of the donations every year, alongside the smaller, more irregular ones. They follow the same blueprint. All independently owned companies with a successful man at the helm. The sums never waiver and every company is doing well despite the nature of their businesses and their competition who are struggling in the economic climate.
When I come to my own family’s contribution, it follows the same pattern and every single donation was signed off by my father from a holding company called Hybrid Blue.
I discovered it in a file marked ‘confidential’ in his safe at the house. It is not listed as part of the Romanov empire and was created solely in my father’s name. The company was not part of his last will and testament andon closer investigation, it was signed over to Veronica Scott-Stanley one month after its creation.
When my brother Valentin met Polly and they went through her aunt’s estate, it was discovered to be a small part of it. I spent the last hour checking its association with The Rose Foundation and, like the others, the sum of three hundred and sixty thousand pounds was donated every year since its conception. On closer inspection, the company accounts reveal that is the exact sum it makes in profit every year from the sale of a particular breed of rose called Hybrid Blue.
I decide to call my brother Valentin and ask for his help in uncovering the secrets of this business, but not here. I must be covert in my investigations because in one day I’ve uncovered a trail that will definitely lead me somewhere.
It’s almost as if The Rose Foundation is the nucleus that these businesses revolve around, and I am intrigued to uncover the mystery because I sense that once I do, my father’s murder will be solved.
My colleagues departed for the day and only by pretending to leave and then hiding in the restroom could I return to my desk unnoticed. It paid off because I’ve had uninterrupted hours to search for information and when I finish my investigations on one company, I decide to end the day there.
I’m tired. Both physically and mentally and could use a long hot bath and room service. So, I close down my computer and grab my purse and prepare to head backto the luxury of my hotel room and a much earlier night than yesterday.
The office is desertedand in darkness and as I head to the entrance, the only person left is the security guard on the main desk, who doesn’t give me a second look. As I step onto the sidewalk, the darkened sky is illuminated by street lights and, as I turn to the right, I fix my purse securely across my body, anticipating that everyone I meet is hostile.
I head toward the Connaught, intent on room service and a date with the tub, my homework firmly secured on my iPad that is safely settled in my purse.
My heels click along the sidewalk and the occasional call of a homeless man high on meth and facing rock bottom serenades me as I pass along with many more of them cowering in shop doorways.
I try not to make eye contact with anyone. It’s always better that way and unlike in Russia where I have a driver and protection, Los Angeles is taunting me that I’m here on my own and I’m the fool who demanded it.
My mind is occupied with my mission and I almost miss him, but a well-timed glance in the right direction reveals my new boss striding in front of me in the distance. I blink, unsure if my eyes are deceiving me, but on closer inspection, I don’t miss the swagger of the man who hasn’t left my mind since I met him in the bar.
My heart is racing on adrenalin as I make the decision to follow him. There is something so sneaky about how he walks, checking side alleys and searching the shadows as if danger lurks ready to pounce.
We carry on for a few blocks and my sixth sense tells me this is not his way home and as he disappears down one of the alleys into the shadows I edge a little closer, keeping my eye trained on the entrance. I notice two men following him in and something tells me they don’t look friendly.
Instinctively, I grip my purse a little tighter, grateful for the small gun I always keep inside. I may be a protected Russian princess, but I learned how to protect myself, and all the hours of training I endured may be tested in the next five minutes.
I check the surrounding area and note nothing out of place and as I edge along the wall, I remove my phone from my purse and call up the camera. I slip to the floor and pretend to retrieve something from the ground, angling my hand around the corner so I can see what is happening. I capture the scene and pull back, studying the photograph, zooming in on the four men who are surrounding James Warner.
It appears they are conducting some kind of transaction because James is offering them an envelope and doesn’t seem happy at all and from the expressions on the faces of the men surrounding him, this is not a social occasion. I can only guess what’s inside the envelope and wonder if the money that’s changing hands is from thecompany he works at, which raises a giant red flag and makes me determined to study the accounts as a matter of urgency tomorrow.
I dash off a quick text and share the photograph, sending it to my brother Titus to identify the other men in the picture, confident I will hold the information by the time I wake up tomorrow. I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do next because despite the fact James could be involved in the misery surrounding my father’s death, there is something about him that I like.
The memory of the night we met is still playing on repeat in my mind and hasn’t left. I am so frustrated that we never finished what we started, yet that will always be impossible now. The ache inside persists when he glares at me and my heart races when he looks my way, suggesting there may be unfinished business between us.
I hear nothing from the alley and risk another shot with my phone but as soon as I slide the camera around the corner, a sharp object against my back causes me to stumble and a husky voice whispers in my ear, “Move and don’t say a word or it’ll be your last.”
