Maks got into the Maserati and stared at me in disbelief. “That was very strange,” he said. “For a minute there, I thought the man was going to put me in cuffs and take me on a ride to the station, but then he just let me go.”
“Very strange indeed,” I said, but I knew that my call to Shepherd had done the trick. He’d relented and sent a message through dispatch to have the officer stand down. “Should we be on our way?”
“We should,” Maks said, and within moments we were once again back on the road.
We arrived a few minutes later at a lovely eatery in Northampton and I walked in on Maks’s arm feeling like a movie star.
As we entered, we turned heads and sent lips quietly murmuring. It was a sinfully scrumptious feeling to know that we were causing a stir.
The hostess seated us in a cozy booth and presented us with menus and a wine list.
“So,” I said after she had departed.
“So,” he repeated.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” I began. “And here I am. . . .”
Maks dropped his gaze to the table and covered my hand with his. “Yes,” he said. “I should get on with it.”
“It?”
“The hard part.”
“I don’t know that I like the sound of that.”
Maks’s gaze lifted and I felt that special thrilling shiver that only came when he looked at me with those gorgeous smoldering eyes. When he spoke, he did so in barely above a whisper. “Catherine, what I’m about to tell you can never be repeated. If it were repeated, it could cost both of us our lives.”
He had my full attention. “This is about Greta, isn’t it?”
“In part,” he said. “As you know, Greta was an assassin, working primarily for Boris Basayev.”
“Basayev was the guy that Heather double-crossed, right?” Heather Holland was a former neighbor. She’d been murdered four and a half months earlier, and for a while there, I’d been the primary suspect.
“Yes,” Maks said. “And, as you probably also know, Boris runs a powerful branch of the Chechen mafia.”
“I did know that,” I said. “Although, I kind of wish I didn’t.”
“I understand,” Maks said, squeezing my hand. “I wish you didn’t either.”
“What I want to know is how do you know all this, Maks?”
“Because I work for them,” he said, so casually you’d have thought I’d asked him about the weather.
My breath caught, and it was a moment before I could ask him about that because our server appeared at the table and asked if we were ready to order.
I ordered the sea bass and Maks ordered the short rib and then we were once again alone and I had a chance to speak privately again. “What do you mean you work for them?”
“I’m a liaison between two of the most powerful branches of the family,” Maks said. “One branch is rooted in Toronto, the other is rooted in New York City. I make sure peace is kept between the branches by representing both interests and negotiating deals when they need to be made.”
I stared at Maks in stunned silence for a long minute. Just knowing this about him was something I was quite sure I could be murdered for, and it frightened me to the core. “So . . . you’re a member of the mafia?” I whispered.
“Yes and no,” he answered, rubbing his thumb along my fingers. “And, this is the part that you must never, ever repeat to anyone, Catherine.”
“I won’t.” And then I recalled what Abby always told me about Maks, which, other than nothing, was that she couldn’t tell me or anyone else, for that matter, anything about him other than he could be trusted. Completely. I sucked in another breath as I at last connected the dots. “You’re an informant.”
Maks’s eyes twinkled. “Yes.”
“For the Feds?”
Maks gave a one-shoulder shrug. “More or less.”
“How is that more or less?”
“Officially, I work for CSIS—”
“CSI—like crime scene investigators?”
Maks chuckled. “No. Not them. CSIS, which stands for Canadian Security Intelligence Services. Your equivalent is the CIA.”
“Ahhhhhh,” I said, understanding fully. “So you’re . . . a spy?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m like an informant for the CSIS, but on loan whenever I’m in the US to the FBI.”
I blinked rapidly and reached for my water glass. This was a lot to take in. “That’s the business you had with my sister,” I said, to let him know I’d already put a little of it together.
“I can’t talk about that,” Maks said, but his eyes told me that I was right.
“Because it’s classified?” I asked almost as a joke.
Maks shrugged noncommittally and pulled my hand to his lips to kiss my fingers. I didn’t know if I was terrified or turned on.... Maybe both.
Our server came back with the bottle of wine that Maks had ordered, and we were both silent as our glasses were filled and our server departed.
Lifting my wineglass and, taking a tentative sip, I nodded to Maks. He’d chosen a beautifully smooth cabernet for the table. “So, you’re not really a bad guy, right?” I asked, setting the glass down and running my finger around the rim.
“Oh, I’m bad. But I’m reformed bad.”
“What does that mean?”
Maks inhaled deeply. “It means that once upon a time, I was a bad man. And I lost some people I loved because of my actions. It made me reevaluate my entire existence, and not wanting their lives to be given in vain, I reformed and sought out the good guys, knowing I could be of service. Now, here I am a decade later, still atoning and still of service.”
I stared at Maks and it was as if, in that confession, he’d opened himself up totally to me. It was like a window to a lovely home that was normally kept shuttered had just opened up, and I got to peek at the decor, which was beautiful, but a mess; as if someone had gone in and displaced all the furnishings.
“You lost your family, didn’t you?”
Maks pushed a smile onto his lips, and just like that the shutters closed. “There are things I can’t talk about, Catherine, and things I won’t talk about. That loss is a little bit of both.”
I nodded and wrapped my hand around his, feeling very close to him all of the sudden. I’d been through an awful divorce after which my own sons had declined the invitation to live with me full time, so I understood on at least a small level how devastating it was not to come home to your children every night. “I’m so sorry, Maks.”
“It’s the past,” he replied. “I prefer to focus on the future. Which we must also talk about.”
“The future? You mean our future?” (Was he kidding? We’d barely just met!)
“Of sorts,” he said. “I need your help. And I wish that I didn’t because I’d rather not involve you directly. I want nothing more than to keep you out of this business, but things have changed since the last time we saw each other and I find I’m beginning to attract some unwelcome attention.”
“Whoa,” I said, reaching again for my wineglass. “This is a lot, Maks.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned any of it.”
“No, I’m glad you did. It’s better to know whom I’m getting involved with. And, my sister says I can trust you. Abby wouldn’t lie to me about something like this.”
At that moment Maks’s phone buzzed from the inside pocket of his suit coat, and he retrieved it quickly to look at the display. He looked at me a bit pained when he said, “Catherine, I apologize, but I must take this. I’ll make it short and be right back.”
“Of course,” I said.
Maks made a quick exit out of the booth and I was left with my thoughts, which tumbled over one another until he returned just a few minutes later.
“Again, I apologize for that.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I understand.”
Our dinners arrived then and Maks took up his fork and knife but didn’t cut
into his dinner while I simply stared at my entrée, not really sure if I was hungry.
Finally, I picked up my fork and a bit of my courage as I got back to the topic at hand. “What do you need my help with?”
Maks exhaled, as if he’d been waiting to see if I’d want to continue the thread of our conversation before the interruption of his phone call. “I have a handler,” he began. “He’s part of your government and he relays messages to the men in my government. I’ve recently become aware that my movements are being tracked, along with anyone I associate with.”
I stiffened. “Anyone?”
“Yes. Even you. But you’ll check out, Catherine. There’s no need for someone in the organization to suspect you of being anyone other than who you are.”
“And who am I?”
“A wealthy local businesswoman. Completely legit and completely outside anything to do with the organization.”
“Except for the fact that the Angel of Death attempted to murder me after she also tried to frame me for Heather Holland’s murder.”
“Yes, but all of that has already been explained to Boris. You’re clear.”
“Good to know,” I said, thinking I would’ve rather not known that Boris Basayev knew anything about me.
“Anyway, as I was saying, I have a handler. Occasionally I need to pass a flash drive on to him, but with this new scrutiny, it’s become quite difficult to be seen in the company of someone my business associates don’t recognize as being part of the organization.”
“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted, lowering the bite of sea bass back to my plate. “You want to pass the flash drives on to me and have me give them to your handler, right?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God, this is like something out of a spy novel.”
“It is a bit, I agree,” Maks said.
I shook my head, thinking it through. “Where would I meet your handler?” I finally asked, thinking that perhaps it wouldn’t be so terribly risky if it was simply making a drop for Maks now and then.
“Your office,” he said.
“My office?”
“Yes. You have the perfect cover, you see. You’re a life coach and my handler would be a new client for you. You could meet in your office, deliver the flash drive, and he would be on his way at the end of the hour.”
“Is everything satisfactory?” our server said. He’d come up behind me and I jumped at the sound of his voice.
“We’re fine,” Maks said to him. “Thank you. If we need anything more, we’ll wave.”
The server bowed and backed away.
When I looked again at my plate, I realized my hands were shaking. “Do you think he overheard us?”
“Probably.”
My eyes widened. “Aren’t you worried about that?”
“No,” Maks said. “He’s fine.”
“How do you know?” I asked, turning to look toward our server, who was busy talking to another table.
“Because he’s my handler.”
I gasped and quickly looked back toward Maks. “Come on!” I whispered. “You’re joking!”
“No, actually. He’s the reason I feel free to talk to you here in this setting.”
I took another quick peek at the server. He was about average height, maybe five eleven at the tallest, with sandy brown hair and skin that looked as if it’d seen the sun recently. He wore a sport watch, white shirt, black pants, maroon apron, and matching bow tie. His silhouette was trim and athletic—he was built like a runner, and given the watch, I’d bet that was how he kept so fit.
“What’s his name?” I asked, wondering if Maks would really tell me.
“Sam. Sam Dancer.”
“Sam Dancer,” I repeated. “Is that made up?”
Maks glanced curiously over at the server. “I’ve no idea, actually.”
“Huh,” I said. “Well, for a name, Sam Dancer sounds completely unremarkable.”
“Exactly.”
I tapped the tabletop, thinking about what Maks was proposing. “Is there anything else I’d have to do?”
Maks shifted in his seat. It was the first time I’d seen him looking uncomfortable since we’d sat down. “Yes, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible.”
“What is it?”
“You’d have to continue dating me for a bit.”
“Naturally,” I said, purposely withholding any reassurance that I’d be happy to do that, although, the thought of continuing our relationship did give me a little thrill. And it also filled me with anxiety.
“And,” Maks said, “you’d have to stop seeing Shepherd.”
I lowered my chin. “I’d have to what now?”
“The detective. You’d have to put some distance between the two of you.”
“Why?” I demanded. I didn’t like that part. In fact, of all the parts that Maks had told me about so far, that was the one I disliked the most.
“Other than the obvious reason that Shepherd is law enforcement and I could hardly excuse my girlfriend cozying up to a member of the police—”
“He saved my life,” I said curtly. “And he’s my friend, Maks.”
Maks put up his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “Be that as it may, Sam and I believe the reason my movements are being so closely monitored is because there’s a leak within the East Hampton P.D.”
“A leak? What do you mean, a leak?”
“Someone there is reporting back to Boris about what I’m up to.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” I said. “You make it sound like Shepherd is personally keeping close tabs on you.”
“Is it so ridiculous, Catherine? Not an hour ago, wasn’t I pulled over, even though I was only going five miles over the speed limit? Wasn’t I harassed by one of East Hampton’s finest shortly after picking you up and crossing paths with Detective Shepherd?”
I bit my lip. I knew that Shepherd had in fact been the one to sic that cop on Maks, but I couldn’t readily admit that to Maks now.
“He’s not the leak,” I insisted.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him. And I know his sister. They’re good people.”
“Good people do bad things all the time,” Maks said easily, and I had to take that in for a moment because he, more than anyone, would probably know.
“Listen,” I said at last. “Here’s what I’m willing to do. I’m willing to pose as your girlfriend as long as I’m not in any immediate danger—”
“You’re not.”
“And I’m willing to have Sam come to my office and pose as a client and give him your flash drives, but I’m not willing to give Shepherd the cold shoulder. Not after all he’s done for me, and besides, if I were to do that and he was the leak, wouldn’t he find that pretty suspicious?”
Maks drummed his fingers lightly on the table for a few moments, thinking that over. “You have a point. I agree,” he said. Then he took up my hand again. “And thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help me more than you could know.”
“Well, you did save my sister’s life, and my brother-in-law’s to boot. I figure the Coopers owe you at least a little gratitude.”
Maks chuckled. “If you knew what I’d done for the two of them, you’d probably think I was owed more than a little.”
“Maybe someday you’ll tell me?”
Maks ran his thumb along the inside of my palm. “Perhaps . . .” was all he’d commit to.
A bit later as we got up from the table, Maks asked, “Would you care for a nightcap at Chez Maks?”
I wound my arm through his and leaned in against him. With a sigh I said, “Would it be all right with you if I took a rain check? It was an exhausting day.”
“Of course,” Maks said, patting my hand and kissing the top of my head.
It was a lovely moment, but the truth was that I hadn’t declined his offer solely because I was tired. I’d also said no because there’d been a lot revealed about Maks at dinner, and I felt the
need to take a step back and process it all.
Once we were home, Maks walked me to my door, and when I turned to face him I caught Gilley peeking at us through the window of Chez Kitty, but he ducked out of sight once he realized I was glaring at him.
“We’re being watched?” Maks asked, thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of the guesthouse.
“We were.”
Maks grinned. “I like Gilley.”
“He’ll be absolutely thrilled to hear that.”
“And I like you,” Maks said, lifting my hand to kiss it.
“I’m equally thrilled,” I laughed.
“Are you?” Maks asked, and there was this sweet hopefulness in his eyes that sort of undid me.
Leaning in, I cupped his face and kissed him tenderly on the lips. He responded in kind and it was such a lovely, light, promising moment that I could’ve almost forgotten all the caution I’d felt on the drive home.
Pulling back, I said, “Good night, Maks.”
“Good night, Catherine. Until we meet again.”
With that, he was gone, and I went inside to sit in the dark and think troubled thoughts.
Chapter 4
I found Gilley in his kitchen at Chez Kitty the next morning, busily putting the finishing touches on a giant fruit bowl that he’d placed in the center of the dining table, already set for two.
“Can I help?” I asked, when he whipped back over to the counter to retrieve a coffee carafe and a bowl of yogurt.
“I got it,” he said. “You sit. And talk. And tell me everything.”
I smiled and wished very much that I could tell Gilley everything. Or even most of everything. Or even really something, but what could I actually tell him that wouldn’t betray my promise to Maks?
“We had a lovely time,” I began.
Gilley took his seat and poured me some coffee. “Obviously not too lovely.”
I stared at him in confusion.
Gilley waved as if it were obvious. “You were home by ten and went to bed alone,” he said. “I mean, how scintillating could the conversation have been to make up for that?”
I sipped my coffee. “Actually, scintillating is an apt way to describe our conversation.”
“Do tell,” Gilley said, resting his chin on his hand to stare at me with big, expectant eyes.
To Coach a Killer Page 5