“She would not do well in our world,” he answered simply. “You know the life her family has led. She hates it. Has stated plainly that she wants to live a simple, lawful life. She could never stomach the things I have done in mine.”
“Then do not tell her.”
Roman shook his head. “No. If I take a bride, there will be no lies between us. No secrets.” He inhaled deeply and tried to release the agitation swimming beneath his skin. “And besides that, she has shown no signs of interest on her part. I will not force my attention.”
To his credit, Kir didn’t argue back. Just nodded and quietly respected the boundary that had been set.
Roman motioned to the folder on Kir’s lap. “What is that?”
As if he’d forgotten all about it, Kir shook his head and tossed it to the desk in front of Roman. “The results of our search.”
“And?”
“Nothing. The tag is an old one. Out of date and last registered to a vehicle other than the one you saw.”
“Stolen.”
“Indeed.” He sighed and braced his forearms on each armrest. “The prints lifted from the knife and Bonnie’s apartment provided no leads either. Whoever they are, they have no records in Louisiana or surrounding states.”
It made sense. He’d known from the fear in her assailant’s eyes that they were inexperienced. Still, he’d hoped for at least a misdemeanor somewhere to give them a lead.
He nodded and set the folder aside.
“Where would you like to go from here?” Kir asked.
Where could he go? He had no leads. He had a woman that called to him on the most fundamental level living with him that he didn’t dare touch. Whose kiss he craved, but didn’t dare taste. “I do not know.”
In the monitor, Bonnie playfully backhanded Jacob’s shoulder and laughed loud enough he could faintly hear it through his open office door. Bohze, but he loved that sound. One he’d heard more and more frequently in the three days since the barbecue and doubted he’d ever tire of hearing.
“Perhaps I will take her back to her father’s house,” he said shaking off his thoughts. “See if there is anything there we might be able to use.”
“A reasonable action.” Kir stood, buttoned his suit coat and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything, let me know.”
Roman flipped the monitors back to the standard restaurant view to avoid further distractions and pulled up the monthly P&L he was supposed to have finalized two days ago.
Kir paused just before he reached the doorway and turned as though a sudden thought had struck him. “What was that catch phrase Anton used to preach to us? The one on assumptions?”
Roman chuckled, the rants their former vor had harped on insistently easily coming to mind. “‘Assumptions are the enemy. They will either cost you money, or get you killed.’”
“Yes, that’s it.” Smirking, Kir inclined his head. “You might want to remember that, my friend.”
Roman frowned. “In what regard?”
“Bonnie. She might want nothing to do with the things her blood family does, but they are different people driven by different goals. Perhaps you should let her choose how she feels about our family rather than make the decision for her.”
Roman held completely still. Didn’t so much as move a muscle outwardly. But his heart jolted at the thought.
His family was nothing like what they’d learned of Bonnie’s. His family had honor. Operated from their own set of rules and in the best interest of those around them. Innocents were protected at all cost.
But that didn’t address how reserved she’d been around him. How, while she’d opened up in general, she still kept a respectful distance. “She still hasn’t shown interest. She’s just now getting comfortable around everyone. Why would I jeopardize that with my own selfish actions?”
Kir smiled at that. “Just because she hasn’t shown interest doesn’t mean it’s not there. From what Cassie’s told me, Bonnie’s had few, if any, teachers in her life. Perhaps she doesn’t know what to do or how to make her interest known.” He shrugged and turned toward the hallway, but offered one last parting remark. “In either case, moy brat—assumption is still the enemy.”
Chapter Twelve
Off work at ten o’clock at night on a Tuesday. Talk about your foreign concepts.
Bonnie marched through the back door of André’s that Roman held open for her. The few days of low sixties they’d had over the weekend had given way to thick clouds and a never-ending mist that made the mid-forty temps feel more like zero.
Striding beside him into the employee parking lot, she ducked her chin deeper into her jean jacket and did her best to keep up. “You know, I’m fine staying until closing. My body’s used to late nights, and I didn’t even start today until two in the afternoon. Stopping at ten is like a half day for me.”
“You have worked enough.” The way Roman said it, Bonnie kind of got the impression he’d had a day from hell and needed some quality time vegging in front of one of the massive flat screens hung around his house. He opened the passenger door to his truck and held out his hand. “Now, we have some place to go.”
“We do?”
He nodded.
“Care to share?”
“I would prefer you get inside the truck where you’re not cold.”
She frowned at him, took his hand and climbed into the cab. “All right fine. Be tight-lipped about it.”
He shut the door behind her, but there was a tiny smile on his face before he disappeared around the back of the truck.
Mission accomplished.
She buckled her seat belt and bit back a grin of her own. Why she got such a thrill out of getting the big Russian sourpuss to lighten up she couldn’t say, but the last three days she’d made it her mission to do so. Making him watch Desperate Housewives. Talking him into a late-night run to a coffee shop for a latte. Giving him grief for leaving the toilet seat in the downstairs bathroom up. Of course, none of those things were really normal things she did or an issue for her, but it’d been fun watching his responses.
The strategy also did double duty in keeping her mind off the things Cassie, Evie and Ninette had said—all of which she’d decided couldn’t be right because there hadn’t been a single incident since Saturday that she could interpret as interest on Roman’s part.
Roman opened his door, situated himself and started the engine. The drive to his home in the Garden District wasn’t an overly long one, and the two times they’d driven it so far, they’d either had companionable silence, or Bonnie had done the conversational lifting.
This time, Roman barely made it out of the parking lot before he changed the game. “Tomorrow, we will go shopping.”
Bonnie looked at him. She couldn’t have heard that right. No man—especially one like Roman—willingly uttered those words to any female. “Huh?”
“Shopping. Be ready at noon. You need a new coat.”
She did? She glanced down the length of her at the tailored black slacks, white button-down and snappy black vest buttoned over it. Granted, her jean jacket didn’t look all that great paired with the standard-issue André’s uniform, but it wasn’t like she’d worn it in front of anyone. “Why? This one’s fine.”
“You’re cold.” He glanced her direction only long enough to add, “You will not be cold.”
God, this guy was a kick in the pants. Yeah, she knew he wasn’t literally ordering her not to be cold, but the weird pronouncements made her want to giggle. Not ribbing him a little when he made them was like passing up a chance to snuggle a purring cat. “I won’t?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” She waited a beat then said, “What if I like being cold?” She kept her head straight ahead when she said it, but she caught his scrutiny from the corner of her periphery.
He must have caught her smile before she hid it, because he harrumphed a second later and went back to staring out the windshield.
She chuckled and gave the guy a break. “Seriously. I don’t need another coat. In another month or two we’ll be back in the seventies. No point in wasting money.”
“Money spent on you is not a waste, and I will be the one spending it.”
Hold up.
What?
“I don’t need you to buy me a coat.”
He nodded and shifted his voice to that of a reasonably sound man. “As you wish. You do not need to.”
“Good. Glad we agree.”
“I, however, need to,” he said without missing a beat. “Therefore, you will be ready at noon, and we will shop.”
What. The. Fuck.
Were they arguing over shopping for coats? Seriously?
Maybe he’d caught onto her game and had decided to turn the tables on her.
Yeah, that had to be it. He’d probably find a fishing show when they got home and make her watch it. Or force her to learn how to unload and clean one of those wicked looking guns she’d found neatly stored in various closets around the house.
Actually...the latter option didn’t sound that bad. After her run-in with the dudes at her apartment, the idea of a concealed carry held a lot more appeal than it used to.
Regardless, if he wanted to play, she was ready. “Fine. Shopping at noon. Can’t wait. Maybe while we’re there, I’ll stop at one of those fancy makeup shops and see if they can do a makeover for me. Really change up my look. How’s that sound?”
She’d expected another grunt.
Maybe an outright refusal or a groan.
Instead, his voice softened, the tenor of it low and as thick as velvet. “You cannot improve perfection.”
Her breath caught in her throat and the quiet between them swelled to match the tight sensation behind her heart. She looked at him. “Did you...” Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak and her mind short on words. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He glanced at her for only a moment, but the heat behind his gaze was enough to mark a woman for a lifetime. “Then the men before me were fools.”
Whoa.
A pleasant swirl pitched low in her belly even as the minions in her head scrambled to evaluate his words. Did he mean the men before him as in guys she’d known in general? Or the men she’d dated before him? It had to be the former. The latter implied the two of them had an established connection. A relationship. And while they’d been practically joined at the hip since Friday night, there hadn’t been anything more than polite contact helping her into or out of the truck since Saturday.
Roman cut into her thoughts. “Is tending bar what you want to do?”
“Huh?”
“Working behind the bar. Is that what you want to do? What you enjoy?”
She was still scrambling to keep up, the little yellow dudes she always imagined pulling the levers in her head thoroughly confused. “Schlepping drinks? No way. I mean, maybe when I first started, it was cool. But after you’ve served one drunk, you’ve served ’em all.”
“Then why do you do it?”
She snapped her head back. “Is this a trick question?”
“No. I want to understand why you continue to work as a bartender.”
“Because I’m a high school dropout, it’s a job I can practically do in my sleep and I have to eat.”
“But you have your GED.”
The statement tripped her up almost as thoroughly as his earlier compliment. “How do you know that?”
He grinned, turned onto the highway and gunned the engine. “Is that a trick question?”
Right. She’d forgotten Mr. Mafia Dude and his penchant for digging into details.
Wait. “Why are we on the highway?”
Roman checked over his shoulder and the rearview mirror as he merged into traffic. The lights from the car behind him reflected like a spotlight on his steel gray eyes. “I told you. We have an errand to run.”
“Which is?”
He paused as though considering whether or not to answer. “We’re visiting your father’s home. I want to see if there are any clues we might have missed.”
Two sentences. Five seconds at most to utter them. But in that span, every inch of her skin and her lungs felt as if they’d been smothered with a thick, choking sludge.
Why?
Roman was trying to help her dad. Her brother. She should be grateful for his efforts. Not dreading stepping foot in the place where they’d gone missing.
“So, what would you do?” Roman said. “You had brochures for a medical assistant program. Is that an interest?”
A diversion. That’s why he’d started asking all those questions. A mechanism to distract her from the task ahead of them. “I got the brochure, yeah, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized doctors’ offices mean lots and lots of cooties. And seriously...can you imagine me trying to have a bedside manner? They’d probably fire me before the first day was out.”
Roman smiled at that, but kept his eyes on the road. “Then what would you like to do?”
Hmm. Good question. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that makes money.”
He frowned. “Money is not the best driver for a career. Better to do something you enjoy. Something that comes naturally.”
She chuckled at that. “Not exactly a slew of things that fall on that list. At least none that make money.” She paused long enough to think of the things she’d done well on in high school. “Computers are all right, I guess. I had a knack for ’em before I left school and learned a lot of shit from Kevin I shouldn’t have, but I’m not willing to go there. I liked the creative stuff—English and art and stuff like that.”
He cocked his head slightly. “Like the pictures you had in your room.”
“Not pictures. Designs. For the jewelry I like to fool around with.”
“You make jewelry?”
“Yeah.” She wriggled her hand in the air so the beaded bracelets she’d worn that day jingled against the truck’s otherwise quiet interior. “Nothing big, but I like doing it. Gives my brain a break.”
“Then why not do that?”
Her scoff was short and full of irony. “Yeah, I thought the gist of this conversation was how to make money. I’m not going to be able to pay rent with beaded bracelets and cheap earrings.”
“Who says that’s all you’re capable of doing? Your designs were unique. You should learn how to do more.”
“Mmm hmm.” What else could she say? All she really knew were the skills she’d learned from her art teacher in high school, from craft supply vendors and what she’d figured out for herself. On some level, she accepted other people made a living out of designing and making jewelry, but she didn’t have a clue how a person went about getting to that point.
The more she sat with the idea, the more the need to fidget prodded her backside. “What about you?”
He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow in silent question.
“You said you’re an advocate of going with natural skills, so what exactly is it you do?”
The shift in his body was subtle, a tension creeping into his torso and a slight tightening of his hand on the wheel that she’d have missed if she hadn’t had her eyes glued to him. It took at least five seconds before he answered. “I help others who grew up like me. I manage what my vor asks me to.” His gaze slid to hers, and his voice rumbled with a sad finality. “And I handle tasks others won’t.”
Explanation wasn’t necessary. Hell, as sad as he’d sounded, she didn’t want an explanation. Even regretted diving into the topic. So, she steered things back to neutral territory. “What do you mean you help people? You mean, like a mentor?�
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“Something like that.” He exited the highway.
Bonnie waited, hoping he’d add more. When he didn’t, she dug a little deeper. “How did you grow up?”
He kept his silence. Though, from the look on his face it was more for a lack of words or not knowing where to start than outright refusal. It took until he turned onto Louisa Street before he finally answered. “I had no family growing up. I was delivered to an orphanage as a newborn and lived there until I was twelve.”
Fuck.
And she’d thought living with her drunk-ass family was bad. “Someone adopted you?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He turned onto her father’s street, drove to the cul-de-sac and turned the truck around before parking. “Sergei saw me walking home one day. Watched three other boys bullying me and how I eventually dissuaded them from bothering me any longer.” He paused and his mouth crooked upward a little on one side. “He followed me home that day. Befriended me and eventually pulled strings to have me mentored by his vor.”
Hoooly shit. The badass Russian really was a knight in tarnished armor. “So, you’re paying it back. Finding people like you and giving them a leg up.”
As soon as she said it, the pieces clicked. It all made sense. Sooo much more sense than the idea that he might be attracted to her. “You’re helping me. That’s why you were there Saturday night. You think I need help like you did.”
Without the engine’s rumble in the background, the cab’s quiet was deafening. Even more concerning was the piercing stare he aimed her direction. “My brother reminded me tonight that assumptions are our greatest enemy. Do not make the mistake of assuming my intentions. Particularly where you are concerned.”
With that, he opened the door and slid out, the thud as the door slammed shut like a giant exclamation point on his words. Which might have meant something if she had the vaguest clue what the hell he meant.
His intentions? Where she was concerned?
Mine to Keep Page 14