Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “I was talking to my friends. Strategizing. Come in for a moment. I want to talk to you.” He went back to the desk.

  Remi followed him in. “You weren’t talking to anyone. It was silent in here.”

  Neven glanced at the heavy door. “I thought this room was soundproofed.”

  “For the average human, it is.” Remi’s smile was wicked.

  Neven’s first instinct was to find a lie that would explain the silence. Then he remembered the way both Remi and London had responded to blunt dismissal. He spoke with a careless tone. “I’m here. Let’s talk about the shipment. Shut the door, so no humans can hear.”

  Still smiling, Remi went back and shut the door. He didn’t grab one of the stacked chairs. He just stood in front of the desk, his arms crossed, waiting.

  Neven didn’t want to sit down and put himself in the lower position, except that he suspected Kristijan wouldn’t have given a damn about it. He sat and pushed the rolling chair back, so he didn’t have to tilt his head up to look at Remi.

  “You know the details about the operation. The…” He made himself say it. “The people held captive until the train leaves. We have to do something.”

  “Do what, exactly?”

  “Shut it down,” Neven said firmly. “Let everyone go. Tell Usenko to find another supplier.”

  Remi didn’t move. He didn’t even frown. “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I’m in control here. I give an order to the men sitting in that bunkhouse at the back of the estate and tell them to let everyone go. What’s to stop me?”

  “You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Remi shot back. “For a start, a flood of homeless, recently detained foreigners stumbling into a little village like Božidarko, looking for help, will raise all sorts of flags with people whose attention you don’t want. Authorities you don’t have in your pocket. Something like that would travel all the way to Belgrade and that’s an even bigger pocket of people you don’t want looking at you.”

  “Where are they all now?” Neven demanded.

  “They’re safe enough,” Remi said easily. “They’re warm, they’re barely hungry and they have water. They’re better off where they are for now.”

  “How can they be? They’re being held against their will.” He shook his head. “This has to stop.”

  “Humans and their tiresome insistence upon morals,” Remi breathed, rolling his eyes. “Think it through, Kristijan—”

  Neven squashed the impulse to correct Remi. For now, he was Kristijan, so he let Remi continue to speak.

  “You cannot simply halt this process. Kristijan would not do that, so you would have to come up with a good reason why Kristijan is choosing to shut it down. Everyone has a stake in seeing this work. Everyone has an interest. The men would resent the loss of one of their biggest pay days ever, just to begin. Then there’s the village, too. Do you have any idea how much revenue flows from this estate into village coffers? There are staff and contractors, sub-contractors and all the support services that go into an operation of this scale.”

  “Everyone in the village knows what we’re doing?” Neven was appalled. He’d known that the whole village conspired to build Eastern Europe’s largest hacking conglomerate, only this was a different scale altogether.

  Remi rolled his eyes. “Not everyone. The cook who makes the food we feed them may wonder at the order. However, she’s making money, so she will only wonder. Everyone in the village knows not to ask too many questions about anything, or else the money dries up. If you shut down the shipment, the loss of revenue would impact the whole village.” Remi shrugged. “Then there’s Usenko.”

  “What about him? He could find a dozen or more criminals with as few morals as Kristijan and get his slaves that way.” Neven was becoming annoyed and increasingly frustrated. Why was this so hard?

  “Probably,” Remi said easily. “However, Usenko thinks you are tougher than any of the other sons-of-bitches out there, which is why he went into business with you. If you try to back out of the contract, if you tell him the deal is off, for whatever reason you come up with, then he’s going to know you’re not that tough and that’s when it will get bad.”

  “Why?” Neven said flatly, holding onto his patience.

  “You’ll be telling him you’re weak.” Remi waved a hand vaguely towards the east. “You think Usenko wants to cooperate with us? You think he’s doing this for mutual gain? He’s doing it because he has to. He has no foothold on this side of the Black Sea, which means he must work with those of us who do. If he thought for a second that one of us was weak, he would take advantage without hesitation. He would move in and take over.”

  “So? Let him,” Kristijan said.

  “God’s teeth…” Remi muttered. “You don’t get it, do you? He won’t just set himself up behind that pretty desk. He’ll wipe out everything and everyone here. He’ll sterilize the whole town, as they’re all part of it. Then he’ll put his own people in here, people he trusts, whom he knows are not weak. The whole shipment will start up all over again, this time with nothing and no one to stop it.”

  Neven stared at him. “Then how do I shut this down? For good?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Remi said. “It’s not as though I’ve ever thought about it. Up until five hours ago, I thought Kristijan was hellbent on delivering the contents of the siding to Usenko as agreed.”

  “You know this stuff. These people. How do I withdraw without pissing them off or looking weak?”

  “You don’t,” Remi said flatly. “You signed a contract. A contract that doesn’t get enforced via lawyers and fines. Non-compliance with this sort of contract gets you dead.”

  “There’s a contract?” Neven said. His voice sounded weaker than he liked. The conversation and the building sense of bleakness was stealing the strength from it.

  Remi made an impatient sound. “A verbal contract. Signed by a handshake. Usenko’s brigadier made the deal with you right here in this room and she made sure you were clear about the terms.”

  Neven swiveled the chair, so his face was turned away from Remi’s relentless gaze. “I’m going to have to think about this.”

  “What is there to think about?” Remi asked with a reasonable tone. “You’re locked into this deal, with no way out that doesn’t involve bullets.”

  “There has to be a way out.”

  Remi laughed. “And you said you were another Kristijan.” His tone was withering.

  Neven shook his head. “You want to see the end of days, Remi?”

  Remi hesitated. “You’re asking me to take your word that this catastrophe hinges on the shipment failing. If I believed you about the end of days—I’m not saying I do—but if I believed you then how can such a disaster emerge from a single little thing like a train not making it to the ship that is waiting for it?”

  “I explained that to you.”

  “I’ve heard better fairytales.”

  “Then why are you even standing here discussing this with me?” Neven asked. “Why even entertain the notion of shutting down the shipment, if you don’t believe me?”

  Remi considered him for a while. “I suppose…because I’m bored.” Then he smiled. “You’re the most interesting thing that has happened in a good long while…at least since I met Kristijan.” His smile broadened. “Keep trying, doppelganger. You’re good entertainment.”

  Neven couldn’t pull together a sane response. His surprise was too great. He watched Remi open the door and leave. The man didn’t look back.

  Neven massaged his temples. His headache was building. Too much leap-frogging, too much strain. He still had dinner to get through. He had no idea what to do to stop the shipment.

  Except that Remi had given him one hint.

  Neven pulled out his phone and thumbed out the text to Veris.

  prisoners in a siding somewhere | shunting yards around Božidarko?

  He put the phone away and went to get ready for dinner with L
ondon McCallum.

  Chapter Nine

  Most people enjoyed their evening meals eaten with family.

  London dreaded them.

  She woke around five that afternoon, almost surprised to find that she had been able to sleep at all. Even lying on the bed had felt unnatural and strained. The bed was too big, too luxurious and too soft. She liked her smaller double bed in her little flat, back in Chelsea. She missed the sound of buses and traffic. The grounds around the estate, on the other hand, were well guarded and the most she ever heard through the bullet-proof windows was the flutter of wings when birds struck at their reflection.

  Even though she had slept, London still ached from head to foot. It was a long term weariness that wouldn’t budge until she got Kristijan out of her life.

  As she prepared for dinner and freshened her makeup, London reflected upon Kristijan’s odd behavior and responses, earlier. Had she disconcerted him so greatly with the divorce papers that his confidence had stuttered? It didn’t seem likely. Perhaps he was distracted by one of his business projects.

  Business projects. There was a sterilized euphemism. London had only discovered what Kristijan was and where his business revenue came from after she had asked for a formal separation. He had kept it hidden from her for two years. Did that make her naïve, or Kristijan far too sneaky?

  It explained why Remi always seemed to be silently laughing at her. He probably considered her to be the world’s greatest fool—blithely happy and in love with one of the most powerful organized crime bosses in Europe.

  Even London knew she had been an idiot. Recalling how ignorant she had been made her cheeks burn even now and her gut to roil.

  It didn’t help that she had the evening meal to get through before she could come back to her room and bury herself in a book. The Egyptian history book was already on the bedside table, waiting for her. Even though Kristijan didn’t eat—couldn’t eat, she had only learned at the end of the marriage—he always insisted on sitting at the table with her. He even had the cook serve a meal in front of him. Appearance was such a driving force with him. The appearance of a happy marriage. To be seen having an elegant dining experience with his wife. He would chop up the food and move it around, so it looked as though he had eaten some it.

  It was bad enough that Kristijan sat at the table with her, even now when her returns to Serbia were due to extortion. What made it far worse was that his odious lover, Remi, would often sit at the table with them.

  London could rarely finish a meal when Remi was there, too. He would not pretend to eat the way Kristijan did. He was a lieutenant, after all. Yet his presence at the table and the easy conversation between the two men reminded her of their real relationship. It made the food stick in her throat and turn to dry ashes in her mouth.

  How had she been so blind? Remi was a walking, talking reminder of the degree to which she had been duped. Just the sight of him made her feel ill with humiliation.

  London waited until the last moment before heading to the big dining room with its hideous square Art Deco chandelier. She felt a degree of relief when she saw that only Kristijan was there.

  He hadn’t sat down, as he normally did. He was standing by the sideboard, holding a big crystal glass of some brown liquid, that caught the light and twinkled. He was wearing one of his elegant suits. It was a different one from earlier in the day. He’d got dressed for dinner.

  The suit, the glass of whatever…it was all acting for the sake of appearances, for the staff to see and for anyone who dropped by during the meal. Frequently, that would be Kristijan’s men, looking for directions, or reporting in. They would see the pair of them and Remi, too, sitting at the table as normal people did.

  She sighed and took her seat. “Sorry I’m late,” she lied and picked up her napkin.

  Kristijan sat opposite her, instead of at the head of the table and pulled the placemat and cutlery around in front of him. “Did you sleep well?”

  “No.” She looked at her watch. “What is for dinner? I’m hungry.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then shouldn’t you ring the bell and find out?”

  He glanced at the little silver bell that normally sat in front of him, almost as if he was startled by the idea. Then he reached and picked it up and gave it a small shake, instead of his usual vigorous ring.

  The staff were always on the alert for Kristijan’s calls. The two waiters, who came up from the village each night just to serve their meals, sailed into the dining room from the corridor that led back to the kitchen, with a tray each. They deposited a bowl of soup in front of London and Kristijan, bread plates and a basket with a folded napkin inside.

  The scent of hot bread rising from the basket made her throat close over queasily. Normally, London couldn’t resist fresh baguettes and artisan loaves. A French patisserie at the end of her road in Chelsea made French-style croissants every morning.

  Yet now, eating anything seemed impossible.

  The waiters hurried back to the kitchen, to wait the next call of the bell, leaving them alone. Kristijan arranged his napkin over his knee and picked up the spoon. He dipped it in the soup and scooped up a small spoonful and sniffed it.

  Then he ate it.

  London stared at him, her heart thudding. “I thought you couldn’t do that.” Even her voice was strained.

  Kristijan’s gaze met hers. The same black eyes. The same sharply angled jaw. The same little scar. “Under the right circumstances, I can.”

  The impulse to ask him what were the right circumstances was strong. Only, London had never asked him about his true nature. She still had trouble even thinking of it, let alone saying it aloud. She had little idea what real vampires were like. She didn’t want to know. Did they even drink blood, the way they did in the movies?

  Once she had got past the initial shock of finding out Kristijan was a vampire, she had realized just how different real vampires were. Kristijan could move around in daylight, although she didn’t remember ever seeing him sleeping…or eating. He had a reflection and showed up in photographs. He didn’t melt at the smell of garlic and crucifixes had no effect upon him.

  Ultimately, she just didn’t care to find out more. Maybe the “right circumstances” were that once a year, Kristijan got to eat and those calories served him for the rest of the year. Perhaps tonight was that rare once-in-a-calendar event.

  She watched him dip the spoon again and swallow. It looked astonishingly normal…except she had never seen him do it before. The novelty of seeing Kristijan actually eat took her mind away from the tension of eating with him. She realized she was eating the soup only when her bowl was nearly empty and she was forced to slant it to spoon up the last of the delicious broth.

  Reaching for the bread, after that, was easier.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Kristijan asked. “They put two bottles out.” He nodded towards the sideboard.

  A bottle of red and a white wine in an ice bucket, as usual.

  “White, please.” After all, what harm could come from a glass of wine?

  He got up and turned to pick the bottle out of the ice bucket and London ran her gaze over his physique. She had always been drawn to his tight hips and his ass, which was nice and firm, yet she couldn’t remember consciously noticing it the way she was now—not since she had moved back to Britain.

  A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye made her turned to look towards the big arch. The formal drawing room was beyond that. Remi was striding across the drawing room carpet, his arms swinging. He looked as cheerful as she had ever seen Remi get. Most of the time, he brooded. When he looked at her, he scowled.

  He came into the room and pulled out the chair at the far end of the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Things to do and all that.”

  She stared at him. Remi was speaking English. Voluntarily.

  Even when he came to pick her up and escort her back to Serbia, Remi had always used his distorted Louis
iana French with her. He would speak English when dealing with other people, then would revert back to French.

  Now he was using English freely.

  Kristijan put the glass of wine in front of London. The bottle was still in his hand.

  “Leave the bottle,” London told him. “Please,” she tacked on. She would need the fortification, now Remi was here.

  She put her spoon in the soup bowl. “I’m ready for the main course.” She picked up the glass and sipped. It was an adequate Chardonnay. It would do the job. She took two big mouthfuls and let it burn down her throat.

  Kristijan was frowning. She stared back at him, daring him to challenge her.

  Instead, he reached out and picked up the bell and rang it once more.

  Remi leaned back in his chair. “I see we’re all getting along as usual.” He sounded pleased about it.

  London ignored him. She topped up the wine glass, filling it almost to the brim this time.

  “You’re worried about the divorce proceedings,” Kristijan said to her.

  London felt her jaw slacken and caught it up again. What could she say to that? If she confirmed she was terrified that Kristijan would punish her in some way for daring to start legal proceedings against him, he would use her fear against her. If she denied it, he would know she was lying.

  The two waiters entered the dining room, saving her from having to answer. They silently put their plates in front of them.

  London looked down at the meal. Sarma and a fresh salad. Her heart sank. She hated Sarma. She had tried to like the Serbian dish. Cabbage rolls would never be a favorite.

  Of course Kristijan would make sure the meal was one she didn’t like. He enjoyed torturing her in petty ways like this. He had been lying when he said he had no idea what was being served. If she complained, though, he would be scathing in his response and make her wish she had not spoken at all.

  Better to eat and suffer through it.