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“I came here for a drink,” I tell her truthfully. “To relax after work. Ms. Novak suggested this place.” Surprise winds its way through her eyes, and then they widen as I offer her my hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced. Dominika Kusek. Most people call me Nik.”
She takes my hand. “Most people call me a wannabe gangster girl, but you can stick with Brie.” Ouch. And then she switches into Russian, just to twist the knife a little more. “So, has your boss sent you to kill me? She seemed to think I needed extra security.”
When I reply, it’s in slightly less perfect Russian, because I was taught by my father, who in turn learned it from his grandmother. “You should be careful. Playing around with EvaNovak is dangerous.” Then, switching back to English, I add, “Enjoy your drink.”
I turn to leave, but she grabs my arm. “Wait,” she’s saying, her fingers hard on my bicep. “This part of my life—I need to keep it secret.”
I turn back to study her for another moment before I shrug. “Sure.”
She still doesn’t let me go. “How do I know you won’t tell Eva Novak about this?”
I look down at her hand, then back up to her eyes, intense and captivating. “You don’t.” I pull my arm away.
I walk back to my seat with my mind whirling. Brie Colombo,hereof all places. Is she a lesbian? Bi? Eva told me to take the night off, mentioned this bar simply because she—like me—prefers the company of women, and happened to know of it. I’m sure she never expected me to run into the Widow Colombo.
Or…did she?
Eva Novak is a very successful woman because she knows things that other people don’t—and is careful never to let on that she knows.
I order a club soda to clear my head, though it’s a poor substitute for the vodka I suddenly crave. My eyes never leave Brie for long. She’s flustered, fidgeting with her drink, her disguise doing little to hide her natural grace. A leggy blonde approaches her, all curves. Then a tattooed butch. Brie turns them both away with a polite smile and a shake of the head.
I feel a flicker of…something. Satisfaction? Relief?
Why should I care who she chooses to spend her downtime with?
Across the bar, a cute femme keeps trying to catch my eye. Any other night, I might be interested. Her coy glances would be enough to draw me in. Tonight, my attention is elsewhere, trapped in the orbit of a woman I shouldn’t want anything to do with. She’s as phony as the city she calls her home.
And she’s a client of the Consortium.
Our first rule is: don’t get involved. Neutrality is the bedrock on which the Novak Consortium was founded. We sell to anyone who has the money to buy, and we are not swayed by politics or promises.
So even if I wanted to go back over there and flirt with Brie Colombo—which I don’t—I couldn’t.
Don’t. Get. Involved.
Brie throws back her drink and stands. Guilt twinges in my gut. Did I chase her off? Before I think better of it, I’m following her up the stairs and out onto the street.
“Mrs. Colombo,” I call out.
She whirls around, the gold fringe of her dress shaking around toned thighs, her eyes flashing. The small side street is deserted, dark, but she responds in a harsh whisper as though we’re surrounded by people. “Stopcallingme that. Are you following me?”
I’m about to retort when I see it—a motorcycle speeding toward us, too fast for this narrow street, and a telltale glint in the rider’s hand.
My body moves faster than my mind. I jump at Brie, encircling her with my arms tight so she can’t struggle, and take her down, twisting so that I’m the one who hits the hard concrete instead of her.
Three shots ring out.
I roll, drawing my own weapon from the holster at my ankle, but the bike is already speeding away, a black blur in the shadowed street. But then the motor changes, and I know what exactly what that fucker is doing.
He’s coming back.
Cursing, I haul Brie to her feet. If it was just me, I’d stand my ground, take my chances. But with her?—
“Run!”
We sprint to the main street, and I find myself impressed by Brie’s speed in three-inch heels. There—the parking lot where I left the Consortium SUV I’m driving during our time here. I yank her into it and we watch the bike zoom past. Soon enough he—or she—will turn around, though. We need to get out of here.
“Hurry,” I tell Brie, pulling her toward the black SUV. “Which way to the Golden Sands?” I ask as we come speeding out of the lot onto the street, my eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. No sign of the bike yet, or cops, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe.
