“What would Chanel know?”
“Well, she was living with Greta, so if there was accounting information nearby, Chanel could’ve gotten it. But Maks realized she’d make a terrible informant given how timid and meek she was. He felt bad for getting her involved with Boris’s crowd, so he helped her leave Greta by letting her know about a trip Boris was taking to Chechnya where Greta was going along. While they were away, two things happened: a powerful family member died of a sudden heart attack, from which Boris moved up the chain of command, and Chanel escaped to her grandaunt’s house in Connecticut.”
“I’m shocked that Greta didn’t hunt Chanel down then and kill her,” Gilley said.
“Again, that was because of Maks,” Sam said. “The minute he knew that Chanel was safe in Connecticut, he called Boris and told him that he had some intel that Chanel was being looked at by the FBI as someone they might want to turn into an informant. Maks had taken it upon himself to move Chanel out of the area to eliminate her as a possible leak, and then Boris told Greta that if she took up with Chanel again, there would be no further contracts coming her way.”
“Which protected Chanel. At least for a while,” I said.
“Yes. Anyway, we still didn’t put it together that Greta was the Angel of Death until she tried to kill you, Catherine.” Sam said.
“Which surprises me,” I told him.
Sam shrugged. “Greta was a master of disguises. Anytime she interacted with Maks, she was dressed very professionally, and all the descriptions of the Angel of Death had her in these wild outfits. We were too slow to connect the dots.”
I sighed. It was all so depressing. “What will happen to Chanel now?”
Sam shook his head. “There’s quite a lot we could charge her with—obstruction, lying to a federal officer, conspiracy . . . but we all know that Chanel wouldn’t have been in the position to lie to us if Maks hadn’t set her up with Greta in the first place, so I’m recommending that we move on and let her be. She’s no longer relevant to our investigation.”
“Where is she now?” Gilley asked.
“She’s with Detective Shepherd’s sister,” he said. “I had to inform her that Greta murdered her grandaunt. Chanel took it pretty hard, and the only friend she has still in the area is Sunny D’Angelo.”
I nodded in approval. “Sunny will take good care of Chanel,” I said. “I’m glad you got her to someone who’ll look after her.”
Sam put his hands on his knees and stood up. “Now you know all of it,” he said. “And I’m gonna try and find out how Maks is doing.”
Sam walked away and Gilley and I leaned against each other, both of us exhausted.
“You two aren’t falling asleep here, are you?” a voice said. We looked up and Shepherd stood in the entry of the waiting room, a large white patch covering the wound at his temple.
“We’re hoping to hear something about Maks,” I said.
Shepherd came forward. “I just asked. He’s out of surgery. It went well.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief and Gilley wrapped his arms around my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “Thank God,” he said. Looking at me, he added, “Can we go home now? I’m dead on my feet, Cat.”
“We can,” I said, taking up his hand and squeezing it.
“Can I come?” Shepherd asked softly. “I’d . . . prefer not to be alone tonight.”
Gilley and I looked at him in shock, then Gilley turned to me expectantly.
“Of course,” I said, feeling a flush touch my cheeks. “We can all commune at Chez Cat. I’ll have Sebastian preheat the oven, and I’ll throw in a frozen pizza for dinner and then we can get some rest.”
The tension in Shepherd’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled shyly at me.
Without another word, we left the hospital together.
Chapter 21
It was nearly ten days later before I was allowed to see Maks. His recovery was very difficult given not just how much blood he’d lost and how close he’d come to dying, but because of an infection that’d set in shortly after he got out of surgery. It was very touch and go for a few days, and I worried anxiously over his health until I called my sister, caught her up on most of the events, and told her about Maks.
She’d assured me that Maks would be fine, but she’d also said that any thoughts of romance with him would soon be dashed. That led to a series of questions about the other romantic interest in my life . . . but more on that in a minute.
Anyway, I was finally given the all-clear by a kindly nurse at the hospital to visit Maks the next day, and after staying up late that night to prepare something special for him, I wasted no time getting over to the hospital to see him the next morning.
“Hey there,” I said, entering his darkened room on tiptoe.
He stirred in the bed and smiled weakly at me. “Catherine,” he said, my name rolling off his lips like a soft rumble of far-off thunder. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I came to sit next to his bed and brushed the hair back from his forehead. Even lying weak and unshaven in a hospital bed, he was still sexy. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fantastic,” he said, his voice coarse and barely above a whisper.
I smiled. “I’ll bet.” Reaching down, I pulled a large container out of a warming bag and set it on the rolling dinner tray. “I won’t stay long, but I wanted to bring you this. I know you must be tired, so if you want me to store it somewhere, I can do that for you.”
“I’m tired of this bed,” he said, peering at the container. “What did you bring me?”
I lifted the lid and allowed the smell to waft out. Maks bent forward and sniffed. “You made me beef Wellington?” he said.
I grinned. “As promised.”
Maks chuckled, but it was a weak sound and it worried me. “Ahhh, delightful,” he said. Then he lifted both arms slightly, which seemed to take significant effort and caused him some pain. “Cutting into that might be a challenge for me, though.”
I pulled the container close and used the fork and knife I brought to cut the food. “Would you like me to feed you?” I asked.
“Very much,” he said.
I offered him the first bite and watched happily as he chewed it and rolled his eyes up in pleasure. “That’s amazing,” he said.
I fed him a few more pieces, but then paused when he lay his head back on the pillow and sighed as if exhausted. Putting the cover back on the container, I said, “I should go.”
Maks limply reached for my hand. “Don’t go just yet,” he said. “Catch me up on everything that I missed.”
“You haven’t heard the story yet?”
“Bits and pieces,” he said. “Greta’s dead, yes?”
“Yes, she’s in the category of very dead, actually.”
“Chanel?”
I grinned again. “She’s good. She was heartbroken after the loss of her grandaunt, but lately she’s been in the company of someone who’s taking very good care of her. Together they’ve been doing a lot of exploring and sampling all the best restaurants in the area.”
Max eyed me curiously. “A new suitor?”
“Definitely.”
“Who?”
“One of my clients. I don’t know that you ever met him. His name is Willem Entwistle. He’s a lovely young man. He saved our lives, you know.”
“The dwarf?”
“Little person, and yes.”
Max let out a wheezy chuckle. “Good for Chanel,” he said.
“Good for Willem. They actually make a terrific couple. And, according to Willem’s Instagram, they just bought an alpaca together.”
“An alpaca?” Maks said. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“Well, if alpacas are involved, it must be serious.”
“I think it could be,” I said with a giggle.
“How’s Gilley?”
I looked at my watch. “I suspect he’s much better right about now.”
“Why?”
<
br /> “Because I booked him a flight to Marrakesh to visit his husband. He should be deplaning right about . . . now.”
“You’re a good friend, Catherine.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”
Then I caught Maks up on the rest of what’d happened, from right after he’d passed out to the ten days since he’d entered the hospital.
“I miss all the good stuff,” he said when I’d finished.
I put his hand to my cheek and felt tears sting my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re still with us, you know.”
He pulled my hand feebly to his lips and kissed it, and we simply enjoyed the sweet moment between us for a bit in silence. And then Maks said, “I’ll need to get back to Toronto soon.”
“Toronto? You’re leaving?”
Maks nodded. “As soon as I can walk out of here I’ll have to go home and explain what happened.”
“What do you mean? Explain to whom?”
“Mikhail Magomedov.”
“That sounds like a made up name.”
He smiled. “It’s real. I swear.”
“Okay, so who is this Mikhail Magomedov and why does he need explaining to?”
“He’s the new head of the organization,” Maks said simply.
I shook my head a little. “Wait . . . you’re still dealing with these mafia people?”
“It’s my job, Catherine.”
“But . . . why hasn’t Sam and his cronies brought these guys in? I mean, don’t they have everything they need now that you’ve turned Paul Sutton in to an informant?”
“Paul has gone missing,” Maks said.
“What do you mean he’s gone missing?”
“Sam got word to me this morning. Paul has either fled or someone within the organization figured out he’s a liability and took care of him.”
“You mean . . . he may be dead?”
“Yes.”
I was aghast. I’d thought for sure that now that Basayev and Greta were both out of the picture Maks would be able to stop this whole mafia informant thing. “So, you’re going to continue to work undercover.”
“I am,” he said. “I’m going to take credit for killing Greta, which should help cement me as a trusted member of the organization and allow me access to even more information.”
“Which will also ratchet up the danger,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.
“No,” I said, setting his hand down on the bedsheet.
“No, what?”
I closed my eyes for a long moment, and when I opened them I looked directly at Maks. “No, I can’t be involved with anyone who does what you do, Maks.”
Maks winced and didn’t say anything. He simply waited me out.
I sighed and dropped my gaze to the bedsheet. “I have two boys. They need their mother. If we were to see each other romantically, who’s to say that some member of that organization wouldn’t suspect you as an informant and make you disappear, and me along with you?”
Maks nodded. “Of course you’re right,” he said. “But . . . I’ll miss you, Catherine.”
I put my hand over his, and brought my gaze to his face again. “Promise me you won’t get killed,” I said.
“I promise to do my best to stay alive,” was all he would commit to.
It would have to be good enough.
I left Maks a short time later, a bit sad, but also relieved.
I’d probably also already decided that, between Maks and Shepherd, as vexing as Shepherd could be, I was likely better off with him as a romantic partner than Maks.
Speaking of which . . .
“Well, hello, pretty lady,” Shepherd said when I stepped out of the car to join him for a picnic by the beach where I’d nearly been taken out by a hot air balloon.
“Hello yourself,” I told him. Pointing to the spread on the picnic table, I added, “This is nice.”
“Made it myself,” he said, taking the plastic cover off two take-out orders that were clearly from Cittanuova’s Italian restaurant. I laughed and rolled my eyes.
“How’s Maks?” Shepherd asked next as he handed me one of the dishes and a fork.
“Good. Still recovering, but good.”
Shepherd nodded and dug into his pasta. I felt for him, because I knew he was itching to ask me if I was going to start seeing Maks again. I decided to put him out of his misery.
“Maks is leaving for Toronto as soon as he recovers,” I said.
Shepherd paused the energetic stabbing of his food. “Oh, yeah?” he asked so casually you’d have really thought he didn’t especially care.
“Yes. I don’t think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”
A tiny quirk to the corners of Shepherd’s lips appeared. “You don’t say?”
“And I know it’s still very early in this thing between us, Steve, but I just wanted you to know that I don’t plan on seeing anyone else besides you as long as we’re an item.”
Still playing it cool, Shepherd simply nodded. “Have you forgiven me yet?” he asked, and his question took me by surprise.
“Forgiven you?”
Shepherd stopped poking at his pasta and looked up at me. “For not telling you about Chanel.”
I sighed. “What went on between you and Chanel isn’t any of my business. Plus, it was all in the past. Just promise me that if you decide to see me exclusively, that you’ll tell me, and that you won’t break that promise as long as we’re together.”
“That’s a fair ask,” he said, and went back to poking at his pasta.
The moment felt awkward and I found myself doing more poking than eating too. A long silence played out between us and I started to regret bringing up the topic.
“Hey, Catherine?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like to see you exclusively, and I promise that, as long as we’re together, it’ll be just you and me. That sound okay to you?”
A slow grin inched its way onto my lips. “Yeah, Steve. That sounds okay to me.”
“Good,” he said.
And it was.
To Coach a Killer Page 32