“You got it.” The waitress flashed a smile, hinting at seduction.
Madison supposed Troy was used to this treatment, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her intelligence for batting eyelashes.
“Rough day, wasn’t it, Bulldog?” Troy said, his eyes penetrating hers again.
She took a deep breath but found she couldn’t look away from him.
“Sorry, you don’t like the nickname, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I think it suits you.”
“Hmm.” She took another sip of wine.
“Did you ever see that one coming? I’m not sure what’s going on behind the scenes with this, but it’s got to be one helluva mess.”
The waitress returned with his double shot in a rocks glass.
“No ice?”
“It waters it down.” He took a sip.
“So you’re a Scotch man.” She pointed to the amber liquid.
“Oh, this isn’t Scotch. It’s Irish Whiskey.”
“Same thing.”
“That is where so many are mistaken. See, Scotch is distilled twice while Irish whiskey is done three times to give it a bit of a lighter flavor. Despite what people think, they are two entirely different drinks.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, now, don’t look at me and say it like you’re not buying it.”
There was something in the way he looked at her, the way his eyes traced her face and studied her eyes. She let her gaze drift to the couple at the bar. They were getting up to leave. The man was helping the woman with her coat. Madison’s attention went back to Troy.
He was perfect to look at, in every way a man should be. He had the sharp jaw line, the athletic build that likely came from hours spent in a gym, a deep chest, strong arms…she couldn’t forget the ripped abs.
Maybe it was time she left…but her head was feeling the wine. She couldn’t drive like this. Maybe if she focused on what she knew best—work.
“So, I could ask you the same question. Why are you here?”
“Same reason as you, I surmise. I don’t want to go home and drink alone. It’s nice to at least have people around.”
She couldn’t imagine the man would ever be alone, looking the way he did.
“You did well today,” he said, beating her to a conversation starter.
“You think so?”
“Well, your testimony was enough to support that a crime had been committed, so I’d say, yeah, you did well.”
It was hard to believe that only hours ago she had pointed at Sergey and Anatolli from the stand, identifying them as her captors, and now they were dead.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine.” Her lips twitched, remembering that she had puked in front of him. She really wished she hadn’t ordered the second wine, then maybe she could justify driving. “You know I don’t normally vomit at a crime scene.”
Amusement touched his features, but he didn’t laugh or smile. “That’s probably a good thing.”
“You could say that.” She took another sip of wine. “I got good news today.”
He took a draw on his whiskey and she found herself watching his mouth on the lip of the glass…she pulled her thoughts back to work.
“I didn’t shoot Sergey. My bullet went into a wall. So I’m off the hook for that anyhow.”
He lowered his glass, his gaze intent as always. “So you’re a bad shot.”
“What? Hey—”
A subtle smile. “Well, I mean, wasn’t the guy right in front of you.”
“I had a gun to my head.”
“Meh.” He angled his glass and peered at the liquid for a second before latching eyes with her again. “So, it’s not that you have bad aim, you don’t do well under pressure.”
Was he goading her or flirting with her? There was something in the reflection of his eyes. She dismissed the idea. Why would a guy that looked like Troy be interested in her?
She sucked in her gut and sat up taller. “I’d like to see how you would do in that situation.”
“Actually, I have been in that situation.”
“No, not you…Oh.”
“Yep. It was years ago. Everything went wrong from the start. I was working under—oh, I won’t tarnish anyone’s rep, but let’s just say he shouldn’t have been the boss. He wouldn’t listen when I told him we were breaching a property all wrong.”
“What happened?”
“So, now I have your attention.” He took a drink.
He had no idea. Why was she just noticing him now after all these years? Why did he seem to be interested in her? Then she remembered why. It must have been because she had been through so much lately that it hadn’t occurred to her before now. Maybe all men were the same.
Madison got up and reached for her coat. “I should probably get a cab home.”
“Why? Don’t you want to know the rest of my story?”
“It’s getting late. Maybe another time.”
The waitress came back with her appetizer platter and two plates. She glanced at Madison but let her gaze linger on Troy. He didn’t seem to notice and she left.
His eyes were on Madison. “Why are you leaving now? The food just got here.”
The smells of the jalapeno poppers, sour cream, the potato skins with bacon, the mozzarella sticks—she sat back down. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Right? She was just eating with a coworker. There was nothing going on.
She took a mozzarella stick first and dipped it in the marinara.
“This stuff will kill you, give it time.” Troy referred to the assortment of finger foods.
“So will our jobs.” She laughed at her joke.
“I’ll drink to that,” Troy toasted and they clinked glasses.
Madison lowered hers quickly. It was time to confront him. “How’s your wife these days?” The moment the question came out, she wished she had the ability to reverse time.
Troy downed the rest of his whiskey and summoned the waitress for a refill and held up two fingers, gesturing toward Madison.
Madison glanced at the waitress, back to Troy. “Oh, I don’t think I—”
“Nonsense. Tonight we drink.”
“Okay.” The consent slipped off her tongue. The energy coming off him in reference to her question made it easy to subject herself to his direction. Heartache had festered in his eyes.
“You had a gun to your head. You never finished that story.” Maybe if she could get him back to that, he’d forget about his pain.
“I have a lot of stories, Maddy, and all of them are true. Give us some time and you’ll hear all of them.”
Give us some time?
“All right, well, today…” she started, hoping that he would pick up the conversation and it would move right along, but he seemed like he was caught up reflecting. She had to fix this. “Before you got here I was thinking about how strange it was that the Russians were knocked off today. I mean, why? Was it just because I was getting close to finding the truth?”
“I think that is a good possibility. The one thing troubling me, is how did they know when and where to strike? The sniper would have had to receive advanced notice so he that could get set up, be there at the right time.”
“Here you go.” Two glasses of whiskey were set on the table. “How is everything?”
“Good. Thank you.” Troy dismissed the waitress and lifted his glass toward Madison. “We’ll toast again.”
“You’re big into toasting.”
“I love new beginnings.”
New beginnings? Her heart sped up. She’d been thinking brave before he’d arrived, about opening up her heart and moving on, but faced with that real possibility—she was terrified. She’d get up to leave but the food was delicious and she was frozen in her spot.
“Now, it’s not as strong as regular whiskey, flavor-wise, and it has an almost creamy texture to it.” They tinked their glasses and he said, “Cheers.”
They both took a draw. Madison’s eyes widened.
“A little strong for you?” Troy asked.
“Actually, it’s pretty tasty.” Madison licked her lips.
Troy smiled, and Madison realized he didn’t often.
She took another sip and then it was like everything aligned. The fog from the alcohol cleared and left perfect vision. Troy had mentioned how the sniper knew when and where to strike. He would have been given advance notice. The preliminary hearing wasn’t publicized and, although it wasn’t necessarily unheard of for this type of information to seep to the media, she just had a feeling. Someone from the inside fed the sniper what he needed to know, and she had a good idea who.
Troy put a couple of fries in his mouth. After swallowing he said, “So, the sniper knew when and where, it’s almost like someone on the inside informed him.”
“I was just thinking that exact same thing.”
“Well, it’s logical.”
He obviously wasn’t big on compliments.
“I think I know who it is.” She reached for her whiskey.
“And you’re not going to tell me?”
She shook her head. “Not until I’m certain, but I know what my first step is tomorrow morning.”
“What is that?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t like it.”
“Try me.”
“I’m going to see Dimitre Petrov.” She expected an adverse reaction, him choking on his food, followed by protestations about how stupid that was. She met with a different outcome.
“I think that’s a good idea.” He pointed a fry at her. “And the bulldog can carry it off.”
“Would you cut it out?” Madison laughed, despite herself.
“See, you say you don’t like the reference, but I think you do.” He popped another fry in his mouth.
-
Chapter 31
HERSHEY SLEPT AT THE BOTTOM OF HER BED, which had become a regular occurrence. And to think it had all started with forgetting to latch the kennel a few times. He figured out that her soft spot was him pawing at her comforter, begging for refuge in the “cloud.”
She had beat the alarm again, and, between squinted eyelids, made out a six on the clock. She listened to Hershey’s light snores and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the assassination—why and why now?
If Dimitre had ordered the hit on Lexan years ago, things seemed to point to the fact that he’d gotten away with it. The only variation was her involvement with Sergey and Anatolli, and the shift in power. She had met them on their playing field and came out—essentially—the victor. Did the answer have something to do with that?
But now, instead of them paying for all the wrongs, the blame rested on Dimitre. Why do that? He must have figured he could get away with it like he ordinarily did.
But the one thing that had kept her up until the early hours was Mason Freeman and his company’s envelopes. Was it simply a coincidence that Knockturnl had also chosen stationary with the infinity symbol?
Either way, Freeman had a lot to answer for. He had a lot at stake, even back at the time. Of course, they had questioned him in depth, but he’d insisted he had nothing to do with the murder of the attorney.
His line of defense was he had no need to kill a man when he already had his girl.
At the time, the logic seemed sound enough, but then again, maybe it circled around to her prejudiced outlook. If the lawyer hadn’t been murdered, would Freeman have ended up with Jessica?
She would go over all of this with Terry today, and pay Freeman a visit, but first things first.
THE YEARNING FOR RETRIBUTION HAD been replaced by vindication, but it was still one step at a time. There were ways to go about things, times to swallow pride and—for the sake of full restitution—there were times to hold back.
This time was one of the latter. Dimitre planned to outwork things methodically.
While he enjoyed elongating the inevitable, his impatience had him yearning for immediate righting of wrongs.
“You have a visitor, Dimitre.” Jacob unlocked the door.
Dimitre looked up from the cot where he was reading a dark, crime thriller. He had long ago earned the right, and the power, to question those who were seemingly in charge. To him, they were stooges who simply wore the uniform and did his bidding. “Who is it?”
The guard’s Adam’s apple heaved and lowered. “She told me to tell you to…”
“To what? Speak.” While he had patience when required, he possessed very little to none when it came to timidity. He stood and walked to the open door.
“She said for you to get your ass into the visitor’s room.” Jacob’s eyes begged for mercy at the directness of his statement, but pity and compassion were not part of Dimitre’s genetic makeup.
“Who the fuck does this woman think she is? I will not see anyone without a name.”
Another heaving swallow. “She thought you’d say that.”
“Spit it out, Jacob, or you will bury your family.”
“She says her name is Detective Knight.”
Rage surged through his system and he clenched his fists. The last time he saw her, she was doing her best to hammer the last nail into his proverbial coffin, and that didn’t account for her latest transgression.
USUALLY ONE AGES IN PRISON. The amount of time left alone to contemplate one’s decisions brings most into a quiet respite, or else it makes them calculate how they’d get away with it better in the future. Typically, their eyes hold the haunted truth. But Dimitre appeared to be living the high life.
He walked in, secured by cuffs, but the guards didn’t follow him and latch him to the table. When Dimitre’s eyes connected with hers, they widened with what Madison concluded as delight. But she knew it was an act. An uneasy energy filled the room.
“Detective Knight. Time has been kind to you.”
She slapped the photographs of Sergey and Anatolli on the table—both pictures taken at the scene.
Dimitre never reached for them and barely acknowledged them, yet Madison swore she witnessed gratification touch his features.
“Oh, what a pity,” he said.
“You seem real heartbroken over it.”
“No sense wasting tears. Accomplishes nothing.” He looked into her eyes. The truth didn’t even lay far beneath the surface.
“You had them killed.”
He leaned back. “Now why would I do that?”
“Only you would know.”
“And you think that I will share that with you.”
Madison studied his face. There was no doubt that he had ordered the hit on his own men.
“I must say, you come in here with all this drama, and here I thought you came for me. Make small talk. Chit chat.”
Dimitre suited the orange of his jumper. He was born for bondage behind bars, but she could tell he ran this place like he did people on the outside.
Despite being imprisoned, he had been granted free reign and, she’d wager, more yard time than the other inmates.
His skin was tanned, unlike the pastiness it was when Madison saw him years ago. And if his complexion wasn’t enough proof, the fact they didn’t secure him to the table and his biceps bulged under the edge of his short sleeves, was.
“You like the way I look.”
He must have picked up on her analyzing him.
“You look too good for prison. I’ll have to see if I can change that.”
Sergey and Anatolli’s laughter pierced my ears.
On the count of three…
I couldn’t move…then the click of the revolver…
Sweat drippe
d down her back and her heart raced. They were dead yet they haunted her from the grave.
“So, you’re not here to free me.” He clasped his hands on the table.
“Who works for you on the outside?”
Dimitre’s face went stoic.
“Who besides Sergey and Anatolli?”
Still no response.
“Why did you kill Bryan Lexan?”
He looked through her.
“You had him killed,” she kept going.
His eyes snapped to hers. “I have been behind bars.”
“There was a letter...” Madison switched the topic of discussion to see if he’d keep up or slip. “It was from you, about the lawyer.”
Dimitre slammed the sides of his fists into the table. “Like it said, I did not kill the lawyer.”
“Oh, I believe you.” Madison leaned back in her chair, playing reverse psychology on him.
“You believe me? Ha, that is joke, da?”
She lunged forward. “I don’t think you killed him, but I do think you had him killed. Who did it?”
“After all these years…you came here before. We have what you call déjà vu moment.”
She remained silent.
“I take care of my own business.”
The sliver of evil that flashed through his eyes rushed Madison’s mind back to the room again.
On the count of three, pull the trigger.
She took a deep inhale. She had to pull herself together. Terry had barely conceded to staying outside of the room, behind a wall of one-way glass.
“Let me help you,” she began.
“You are funny woman. I am in prison. What can you do for me?”
“Guess you haven’t heard. We have evidence that your business was used as a place for serial murder. See, we found your little hidden room. You do know what that means…you will never see life from the outside again. Unless—”
He laughed. “You cannot tie back to me.”
“Well, you got rid of your men. You’re the only one left to take the heat. You work with me, we can cut a deal.” Saying the words pained her, but she would feed him any line if it made him talk.
“What deal?”
“We’ll discuss it after I get some information.”
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