Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “Are we certain we can’t prove they just didn’t want Andrei’s ass in a million tiny pieces and not Sascha’s?”

  Andrei blinked. “Thanks, Sawyer. Your concern is touching.”

  He grinned. “I try my best.”

  Andrei flipped him the bird, but to Sean, asked, “The dick’s right. It can’t be coincidence that it was due to explode at that point?”

  Sean shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a coincidence. Your keynote speech was when the event hall would have been at its fullest. They’d want maximum collateral damage, not minimum. But the information available to us isn’t pointing us in either direction, so again, it’s supposition to think they’re after you. Sascha too. She’d have been watching your speech in the hall as well.

  “All I know is that the reason the bomb exploded hours ahead of schedule, is the reason why they have any evidence to work with. It was a sloppy job.”

  “Rushed,” Sawyer stated with grim certainty. “Like they were in a hurry. Like they’d only just found out Sascha was due to be there.”

  “But come on, why the fuck would anyone want her dead?” Sean demanded.

  On the brink of answering, Devon interrupted. His voice was eerily calm, his gaze staring straight ahead while focused inward too. “Sascha has lived in the UK for a while. But until she came here, she didn’t go through an advanced security check, did she?”

  “No,” Sean replied with a frown. “Nothing too complicated anyway. I don’t know how intensive the checks are for American nationals coming to the UK; but it wouldn’t be anything like what she went through after she came here.”

  “Exactly. The background check must have triggered something…” he stated calmly, like he wasn’t just blowing their minds. “Her name must have popped up on a radar no one but certain circles were monitoring.”

  Andrei hissed. “You know how insane that sounds, don’t you, Dev?”

  Devon shot him a disinterested look. “Isn’t it you who often says that the truth is stranger than fiction?”

  Andrei snorted. “Does that sound like something I’d say? Kurt’s the writer.”

  Devon wafted a hand. “The rubbish you two say usually blurs together in my mind.”

  Sawyer chuckled, then laughed harder at Andrei’s astonishment. “Just because you’re a mathematician doesn’t mean you’re safe from his jibes,” he mocked.

  “Apparently so,” Andrei retorted. “I don’t speak rubbish.”

  Devon just shrugged. “You do.”

  Sean cleared his throat. “I’m not certain this conversation is actually helping, guys.”

  “Isn’t it? It certainly cheered me up,” Sawyer pointed out with a wide grin. He settled deeper into his armchair like he was settling in for the show.

  Sean pulled a face. “Devon, what you’re implying… it doesn’t bode well.”

  “Because terror plots do bode well?” Devon asked, blandly.

  “No, but that’s just it. What’s going on isn’t that. It’s just being made to look like it is.”

  “Exactly. So, it’s someone with enough power to be able to keep an eye on certain databases that are supposed to be hack-proof, and who’s interested in destabilizing the capital.” He blinked. “Now who do we know who’s capable of wanting that, and acting upon it?”

  Sawyer and Sean looked at one another. “Russia.”

  Andrei groaned. “Not you two as well.”

  Sawyer grunted. “It makes sense. Russia’s been fucking with everything of late. We all know what they can do with their hackers.”

  “Yeah, but why the fuck would they be interested in our housekeeper, dammit?”

  Sean rubbed his chin. “You don’t think it could be to get to you, do you?”

  Andrei shook his head. “I’m not a target.”

  “Maybe you should speak with your grandfather. See what he knows.”

  “He’s not Pakhan anymore,” Andrei retorted, switching off his phone and shooting them all an irritated look. “He’s old. And ill.”

  Sean cleared his throat. “So, he may have retired, but he still has the contacts.”

  “What you really want is for me to talk to my father.”

  Sawyer grimaced. “We’d never ask that of you, Andrei. You know that.”

  He firmed his lips, nodding. “Sorry. I was being tetchy.”

  “Understandable,” Sean stated immediately. “But though Vasily has retired now, he’ll still know all the right people. Talking to your grandfather might help us cross off a name on the list.”

  “The reason he’s managed to stay alive as long as he has, guys, is because he doesn’t ask the wrong questions to the wrong people,” came the rueful retort.

  “No, but if this plot does involve you, then he’ll want to know, won’t he? He’ll have means of keeping you safe. What if they’re trying to use you as a means of getting to him?”

  “When he was leader of the Bratva in his town, then yes, that was a distinct possibility. But now? No way. And my bastard father never rose through the ranks like my grandfather. He stayed in his middling position as Brigadier. There’s no reason why they’d target me.”

  “Unless it’s because you’ve been working so close to Jacobie of late.”

  Devon’s remark had the three of them stiffening.

  “Fuck,” they breathed as one.

  “We should talk to Jacobie,” Andrei murmured. “See if his security detail has had to handle any similar threats recently.”

  “Haven’t you spoken to him about the bombing?” Sawyer demanded.

  “No. He’s busy, and I’m busier. I’ve been trying to create an ethical capitalism manifesto with him.”

  “Since when were you interested in politics?” Sean demanded with a scowl.

  Andrei shrugged. “I’ve always been interested, but there’s never been any point in harvesting it. With my background, I’d never go far.”

  Sawyer blinked, also surprised at this news. Andrei was the least political person he knew. And he lived in a house full of people totally bored shitless by the everyday humdrum of politics.

  They all existed outside of that particular bubble. For a reason. Regular life bored the shit out of them.

  “That’s why I focused on the economy instead. I can do some good there, at least. Hence the manifesto.”

  Sean frowned. “You should have mentioned that to me. You know I have friends in the Party.”

  Andrei grinned. “I’d have come to you at some point, Sean. Don’t worry. Your contacts would not have wallowed in vain. But it’s been more challenging than I’d anticipated.”

  To many, that remark would have sounded like a complaint. To the men in the room, they heard the thrill of the challenge in Andrei’s tone, and nodded in understanding.

  “Can you arrange a meeting with Jacobie? Or, at the very least, his security detail?”

  Andrei shrugged. “I can try.”

  “Do,” Sean said softly. “If he tries to avoid you, I’ll let some more of my contacts do the talking.”

  Sawyer snorted. “Ever since MI6 started using you as a consultant, you think you’re James-fucking-Bond.”

  Sean just grinned. “Nah. I prefer mine stirred, not shaken.”

  Even Devon groaned at that one.

  Eighteen

  A few days later, Sawyer entered his and Dev’s workroom with a yawn.

  Their two bedrooms had a connecting door with this space. Sure, it felt like he never stopped working, but that was one part of his life that he loved. Math wasn’t work.

  It was everything.

  Well, it used to be.

  A certain American was taking up way too much of his thoughts.

  Even in sweats and yoga pants, Sascha was far too sexy for any of their own good.

  Peering around the workroom, which not only smelled of Sascha, but had also been invaded by her recently if its tidiness was anything to go by, he asked Devon, “What are you working on?”

  They both had desks. H
is was neat, Devon’s wasn’t. A mass of paper usually littered the floor, some stacked, other times it was just scattered everywhere. Today, it was in two big heaps—further evidence of Sascha’s presence—as well as the fact there was a walkway to the chalkboards that lined the room. His was the one white board, because he hated writing with chalk.

  Mathematically, there were a handful of people in the world who could keep up with Devon. Sawyer was one of those few. That didn’t lessen Devon’s brilliance or heighten Sawyer’s self-belief. Keeping up was one thing, actually creating the math Devon could, was another.

  Sometimes, Sawyer felt his purpose in life was to ground Devon. To help him reap mathematical miracles and stop him from going off the rails. Some days, that was enough. Other times, it wasn’t.

  Since he was sixteen, he’d been watching over Devon. It was an honor. One that often grated, yet a duty he’d never recant.

  Realizing Devon hadn’t answered yet, he repeated himself, “What are you working on?” Seeing Devon was engrossed, he headed over to his friend’s half of the room. What he saw, had him snorting.

  “Sudoku? You have to be shitting me.”

  Devon blinked. “What?”

  “One of the world’s brightest mathematicians can’t be engrossed with Sudoku. It’s all kinds of wrong.”

  “I like it,” came the stubborn reply.

  Sawyer folded his arms across his chest. “Let me guess, this is one of Sascha’s ideas.”

  Devon grinned knowingly. “She said it would help me.”

  “Help you what?”

  “Seem normal.”

  Sawyer bit back a chuckle. “Would you leap off a cliff if Sascha told you it was a clever idea?”

  “She wouldn’t do that, would she?” Devon asked, his eyes widening at the prospect.

  Sawyer often wondered how it was he could forget how damn literal Devon was, when the man reminded him thousands of times a day.

  Grimacing, he stated, “No, Dev. She wouldn’t encourage suicide.”

  “Oh. Phew.”

  His lips twitched as he took a seat on the corner of Devon’s desk. “How long have you been working on that?”

  “A few hours.” Sawyer peered at the Sudoku square and had to shake his head. Devon had used the puzzle to leapfrog onto one of their current problems. He’d done quite a decent job of it too.

  “You weren’t supposed to do that with it,” he said. “You were just supposed to fill each square with the numbers one to nine.”

  Devon blinked. “Surely not. That’s far too easy.”

  His grin was lightning quick. “Yes. That’s the point.” Well, it wasn’t, but the point of the puzzle sure as hell wasn’t what Devon was doing with it.

  Seeing he was about to argue, Sawyer changed the subject. “What’s going on? It wasn’t Sascha’s day today, was it?” Devon allowed Sascha one morning a week to maintain the havoc of the room.

  “No. She came in to avoid Katrin.”

  Sawyer’s smile flatlined. “I can’t believe that bitch is still here.”

  “A belief Sascha concurs with if her mumbling was anything to go by.”

  “You bastards are all soft as shit when it comes to women.”

  Devon shrugged, erasing a digit as he murmured, “I don’t hear her anymore.”

  “Who? Sascha?”

  “No,” Devon scoffed. “Of course, I hear her. Her accent does grate from time to time, but I like what she has to say.”

  “I’m pleased to be such entertainment.”

  “Ah, the woman herself,” Sawyer declared with a grin, looking over his shoulder at the door where she stood pouting.

  “My accent grates, Devon?” She strode into the room and planted her hands on her hips.

  Seeing he was busy, she peered at his work, then shook her head. “I explained three times how it works, Devon.”

  Sawyer grinned. “He said it was too easy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Devon!”

  Her bark stirred Devon’s attention. “Sascha? Didn’t you go already?”

  “I came back.”

  “Why?”

  “To hear my accent being denigrated by you.”

  “Denigrated? Hardly,” he scoffed. “It’s particularly pleasing when you go all breathy.”

  Sawyer nodded, in complete agreement. “And when she cums, that’s sexy as fuck, am I right?”

  “Definitely.”

  Sawyer laughed as Sascha’s ears turned pink. “The most honest room in all England,” she said gruffly. “I don’t know why I even come in here.”

  “Because you signed an NDA agreement,” Devon reminded helpfully.

  “The other cleaners have too.”

  “Yes, but they’re not as smart as you, and you don’t understand what any of this is about.” Devon frowned. “Plus, we know you won’t take pictures and send it to our rivals.”

  “Since when did you have rivals?” she asked, cocking a brow at him.

  “Since forever.”

  Sawyer grimaced. “Sad, but true. It’s all about the math for Dev and me, but that’s not true for everyone.”

  “Sean once told me that some of the problems you’ve solved, earned you millions of dollars.”

  Sawyer nodded. “Yep. That’s how we got started. Helped pay for this place as a matter of fact.”

  “Seriously?”

  At her gawking, he smirked then winked at her. “Yeah. We’re pretty smart.” He pointed at Devon. “Of course, he’s out-of-this-world smart.”

  “I’m not an alien,” Devon said with a huff.

  Sawyer rolled his eyes. “You might as well be with some of the shit you come out with.”

  “My shit is gold dusted. Well, Sawyer says it is where Andrea was concerned,” Devon retorted mildly, his interest in the conversation waning as he went back to the Sudoku.

  “Who’s Andrea?”

  Sawyer smirked at the pique in her voice at the mention of the other woman’s name.

  “A professor back at Oxford,” Sawyer explained with a smile. “She had a crush on him. He could never do a thing wrong, hence the gold-dusted shite. She’d have joined the Dev Fan Club, but the faculty wouldn’t have appreciated her fucking one of the star students.”

  “Plus, I didn’t want to fuck her,” Devon pointed out. “She had black nails.” He shuddered. “They were always chipped too.”

  Sascha blinked. “That’s a problem? When you work in the chaos you do?”

  “I think he’d have seen past the chipped nails if Andrea had shaved her pits.”

  “Ewww, she didn’t shave?”

  At Sascha’s crinkled nose, he had to laugh. “No. She didn’t. She was a free spirit.”

  “Since when do free spirits wear black nail varnish?”

  “Chipped black nail varnish,” Devon corrected with a shudder. “There’s a difference. Her fingers always looked bruised.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I stand corrected.”

  “I don’t know, but she used to wear tank tops and shit, and you could see the full bush.” Sawyer chuckled at the memory. “It was funny as hell watching Dev try to avoid her.”

  “Funny for you,” he said with a scowl.

  Sawyer conceded that with a dip of his head. “True.” To Sascha, he asked, “Did you come back for a reason?”

  “No. I like being in here sometimes.”

  He blinked. “You do?”

  “Yep. It’s a restful place to read.” He realized then she had papers in her hand. She lifted them. “A manuscript from Kurt,” she informed them.

  Sawyer smiled. “We’ll have to get you an armchair.”

  “Like in Sean’s office?” She bounced on her feet in excitement. “The unofficial meeting grounds of the house?”

  Devon snorted. “As long as this doesn’t become one too. Only you’re allowed in here.”

  “Gotcha,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m blessed.”

  “Yep,” Devon told her. “I think I deser
ve a kiss for that too.”

  Her lips widened in a smile. “You deserve one for breathing, handsome.”

  When he shot Sawyer a smug look, she laughed, swept down to kiss Sawyer first, and before their lips could barely do any kind of tangling, she reached over the desk, the delicious curve of her ass a bitable temptation, to anoint Devon’s mouth too.

  “No fair. Why did he get one?” Devon grumbled.

  She grinned.

  “Why was it so damn short?” Sawyer growled, his hand coming up to shape that fine ass of hers. “I’m sure you wear these to torture us.”

  She peered at him over her shoulder. The coy move shouldn’t have amused him, but it did.

  “Yoga pants are for exercise,” she told him primly. “Can I help it if you think they’re for something else?”

  She went onto her heels when he slapped her butt gently—well aware of the delicacy of her head—then peered at him over her shoulder. “What was that for?”

  “Teasing me.”

  She smirked. “But I do that every day.”

  “Hence the spank.”

  “Sawyer can be quite kinky,” Devon advised, his tone that of a professor imparting wisdom onto his students.

  “Oh, he can, can he?” she demanded, but Sawyer saw the sparkle in her eyes, and the laughter bubbling from her like water in a fountain.

  “I think we should get some work done,” he said grandly. Moving from the desk and heading to his.

  “Oh, that means it’s a good one,” she teased. “Come on, Devon. Spill with the gossip.”

  Devon peered at her over his puzzle. “Gossip? It’s fact.”

  She laughed. “Jesus, Devon, you’re too cute sometimes.”

  His nose wrinkled. “What every man aspires to… cute.”

  Shaking her head, she headed to the spindly office chair that held a stack of papers and files.

  Sawyer, seeing this, said, “Wait there, Sascha. I’ll go get that armchair from your room. You can use that until we get you another. How’s that?”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, but I want to. I want you to be comfortable,” he told her simply, and for whatever reason, that had her eyelashes fluttering low to shield her gaze.

  “Thank you,” she told him breathily as he just nodded at her and headed up to her bedroom.