by Jasmin Quinn
“Yes.”
She turned to face Anto directly. “How much reconnaissance have you done?”
Anto shrugged. “That’s pretty much it. I haven’t been inside the house. The office is in a high-rise building. Lots of glass and security.
Isabelle scratched a little itch on her forehead. “I’ll do the house first. It makes the most sense.”
“It will be alarmed.”
Isabelle threw Anto a withering glare. “Wow, you really are the brains of the operation.”
Anto grinned. “Ah sarcasm, the shield of the insecure.”
Isabelle pursed her lips and balled her hands into fists. “You’re such a fuck!”
“Ladies stop bickering,” Jack said and Anto cracked a huge smile.
“You’re right, Jack. We’re getting sidetracked.” Then to Isabelle, “I am asking, and I suppose stating the obvious, because I will be going with you.”
“Like hell you will,” Michael snarled. “I’ll be going with her.”
“Sorry boys, no one is going with me. I work alone.”
And then the table erupted in a chorus of voices, all disputing who was going and why. Rusya held up a hand, such a small gesture, but such power behind it. “Why not let her go alone? All we want are the photos of the pages.”
Anto said, “Rusya, she has sticky fingers. I’ve seen her pretty little nest. Lots of expensive baubles. She didn’t come by them honestly.”
Jack nodded. “Isabelle likes the pretty stuff, don’t you sweetheart? I don’t think we can trust her to enter Scott’s house and not help herself to something of value. We don’t want him to know you’ve been there.”
Michael slapped the table with the palm of his hand, not too loud, but enough to draw the attention to him. “I’m going with her. To make sure she’s safe. And while I’m there I’ll keep an eye on her sticky fingers.” He threw Anto a scornful glare.
Isabelle shook her head. “I’m not a complete fuck-up. I know when to keep my hands in my pockets. If you want me to get you a copy of this list, then let me go in alone. Michael, if you or Einstein over there come with me, it increases the risk of getting caught. I want to be in and out and be done.”
“We can discuss this later, Isabelle.” The hard set to Michael’s mouth suggested that they would definitely be discussing this later. Michael took a drink of his bourbon, then tossed the entire shot. He turned to Rusya. “By when?”
“Four days,” Jack answered.
“That’s not much time for me to prepare,” Isabelle said, but it was a thought out loud. Her mind was already working overtime. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she filtered various plans through her head. It had been a while since she had been to Shaughnessy Heights. She realized she missed the affluent neighbourhood.
“For you, Isabelle, four days is ample time.”
“Maybe, but I have to map out two entry plans. The house be will the easier entry point and it’s more likely there. If it’s that valuable, he’ll keep it with him.”
“Hopefully he isn’t sleeping with it.” Anto of course.
“If he is, then I’m afraid I’ll have to kill him.”
Again, a chorus of male voices, objecting. Except Anto, who laughed at her. “She’s not a killer. She wouldn’t risk getting blood on her pretty new shoes.”
“Why do you think they’re red, asshole?”
“Enough!” Michael barked. “Isabelle’s not killing anyone. You want the book, stay the fuck out of our way and we’ll get you the book. Now someone please tell me why Isabelle’s should do a goddamn thing for you?”
Jack pulled a piece of folded note paper from a pocket inside his jacket and tossed it over to Isabelle, who picked it up and opened it. On one side was a list of the names of six rich prominent and very dangerous men. Rusya Savisin was among the names. On the other side were items that she’d stolen from them. Michael took the list from her fingers and studied it.
“These are jobs I did for you, Jack.” Isabelle could feel a chill sweep over her. Wasn’t there supposed to be honour among thieves. What happened to the code?
“Are they, Isabelle?” Rusya took a swallow of his drink.
She turned toward him. “I don’t understand.”
“Jack was giving me a preview of your skills.”
“And the others on the list?” Michael’s voice held a dangerous edge.
Jack threw him a narrow glance. “The same. Six men, all very interested in Isabelle’s skills.”
Michael abruptly stood up, bumping the table with his knee, rattling the glasses. “What the fuck were you going to do, Creed? Sell her to the highest bidder?”
Jack got to his feet as well. Then Anto. Then the two men at the nearby table. Only Isabelle and Rusya stayed seated. “Sit down,” Rusya said, his words barbed. “All of you.”
Anto sat first, throwing a disappointed frown at Rusya. Then Jack, and finally Michael. Rusya nodded to the two Russian thugs still hovering nearby and they sat as well. But the tension in the air was palpable. Isabelle found herself wishing Michael had not come with her and also hugely relieved that he was with her. But he was furious. She didn’t think he ever lost his cool.
Michael was right, their relationship was too dangerous. It made him off-balance. He was giving up too much about himself, about his feelings toward her. He would kill for her, and it seemed like he might be willing to die for her. She ventured a quick glance at him, but he was staring hard at Jack. He wasn’t touching her anymore, one hand was on the table, clutching his empty tumbler, the other fisted and resting on his thigh, a tenseness that betrayed to her and the others at the table how close he was to pulling out his gun and shooting Jack between the eyes.
When she glanced over at Jack, she saw the same thing. She knew him well, but he would rather beat Michael to a pulp than shoot him. In his mind, shooting was too easy a death for the people who crossed him. Michael was now on his list, probably at the top.
Rusya tapped his finger on the table and eyes shifted to him. “Jack and I go a long way back, Ms. Sterling. You’ve done a few jobs for me, and for others. You didn’t know you were doing them. You never ask questions, do you? Just follow your husband’s orders. A good wife.”
Jack snorted.
Rusya smiled slightly. “But you are not too easy to control, are you? Jack thought maybe you were becoming a liability.” His dark soulless eyes reached past her defences. She tried to school her features, but she knew he could read her fear. It was almost imperceptible, but his eyes registered satisfaction at her discomfort. “You know what happens to liabilities, don’t you Isabelle?”
Isabelle couldn’t suppress a shudder. “So then why am I still breathing?” she asked boldly.
Jack chuckled. “Why do you think, Isabelle? Lots of interest in you. But you’re off-limits. Under my protection. You’re that good and we knew we’d need your special set of skills one day. So I let you go, just kept an eye on you. I’m surprised you thought you could walk away that easily.”
“Walk away! You fucking bastard! You almost beat me to death,” Isabelle hissed. She heard Michael’s sharp intake of breath and immediately regretted not telling him about Jack’s abuse of her when she had the chance. She clutched at his arm, felt his muscles bunch, then grabbed his hand, dug her nails into the back of it. It seemed to keep him centred, kept him from leaping across the table and breaking Jack’s neck.
“How else could I get rid of you? If I sold you to the highest bidder, then I would lose access to you.”
Michael turned to Rusya, his voice cold and controlled. “Were you the highest bidder?”
Rusya regarded Michael, but instead of answering the question, he said, “You are very intriguing to me, Mr. Black. Who are you? Not just the unlucky sap who fell in love with Jack’s wife. You are so much more, aren’t you?” Then his eyes shifted to Anto, who shrugged carelessly.
“Too bad you can’t ask Lukov that question.”
Isabelle looked for Michael’s rea
ction to Rusya’s questions. To his mention of love, but Michael ignored Rusya, stayed focused. “This list of names you want retrieved. Once you have it, the debt is paid? You will not reach out to Isabelle again?”
“Tell me why I should trust you, Michael Black.” Rusya’s words were soft, but his tone held deadly intent.
Michael grinned, baring his teeth and stared at Rusya with an intensity Isabelle had not seen before. “You shouldn’t trust me, Rusya Savisin. But you are not my business.”
Rusya bowed his head as if satisfied by the answer. “When this job is over, Isabelle will have paid her debt.” He glanced at Jack who nodded his agreement. “After we get what we want, I will guarantee safety for both of you for two days. I suggest you leave Vancouver.”
“And stay out of Vegas,” Jack sneered. “Go to fucking Paris, or Auckland or Timbuktu.”
“Russia is nice in the winter,” Anto suggested with a wink.
“And if she doesn’t do the job?”
“You will not make it out of my city alive. Neither of you.” A deadly promise.
Jack threw a set of papers on the table. “An early present, Isabelle. Divorce papers. Read them carefully before you sign them.”
Isabelle clutched the papers as Michal stood up, pulling Isabelle to her feet. “Are we done here?”
Anto also stood.
“You’re not fucking coming with us,” he snarled at Anto.
“He is going with you,” Rusya said as he and Jack stood. “He will be our liaison.”
Isabelle watched these men, all of them, tall of stature, well built, well dressed, all exuding raw power. She wanted to be away from them all, even Michael. She wanted out of this world.
“We can liaise long distance,” Michael fumed.
“Rusya means watchdog,” Jack inserted.
Anto shrugged. “I have done the reconnaissance, so that will speed things up. You won’t have to do the footwork. We’ll be friends for a few days. How bad can that be?”
“Bad enough that I beat the shit out of you.”
Anto grinned maliciously, “You mean try to beat the shit out of me.”
“Mr. Black, you seem well enough acquainted with the way things work that you know I am not going to let you walk out of here alone. Anto will go with you, to help you, watch you and protect you. Once Isabelle has done her job and has handed Anto off the pictures, you will be free to go.” Rusya slid his hands into his trouser pockets and turned his back to them, walking towards the entrance. His two men immediately stood and followed him out.
Jack turned to Isabelle. “I’m hoping this is the last time we’ll ever see each other.”
“It fucking well better be,” Michael growled. “I assure you that if there is a next time, it won’t be nearly as pleasant for you.”
Jack laughed and made a show of looking behind Michael. “You and what army, Black?”
Michael studied Jack with half-closed eyes. Then took Isabelle’s arm and guided her out of the bar.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael was seething. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Anto’s black SUV, Anto was driving and Isabelle was sitting in the back seat fingering the divorce papers Jack had tossed at her. He wanted to take his fist and smash it through Jack Creed’s head, he wanted to kill them all, even Anto. He wanted to take Isabelle and get the hell out of Vancouver. As much as Rusya promised them death if they didn’t do what he asked, he didn’t know Michael. Michael didn’t take orders or back down from threats. But at the same time, he knew when to walk away, to bide his time, until the right opportunity came along. It couldn’t come along too soon for Jack Creed.
And Anto! Fuck, he lived on the edge, playing his games, wrapping Savisin around his finger. Rusya didn’t suspect a thing. He held Anto in high regard, leaned on him, trusted his judgement. God help the day that Anto was compromised. Michael felt a shiver slide up his back for the crazy Russian beside him, driving carelessly through traffic to the Rosewood.
“I thought –” Isabelle started, but Anto interrupted her.
“Don’t think, woman. Especially out loud. I am sick and tired of your voice. Let us men do the thinking. Why don’t you file your pointy little fingernails instead? That should keep you busy.”
Isabelle sucked in a breath and Michael turned his head to look at her. Her arms were crossed, her eyes were narrowed and if she had a knife, it would be sticking out of Anto’s neck. Michael wished he’d sat in the back seat, so he could hold onto her. He needed her right now, needed to smell her, touch her. Feel her lips on his.
But Anto was right. “Isabelle, lots of time to discuss later. Let’s opt for a little quiet.”
Isabelle clamped her lips shut, hugged herself tighter and stared darkly out the side window.
Michael glanced at Anto, who was observing him solemnly. Then they both stared ahead, watching the traffic as Anto crawled through it back to the Rosewood.
When they arrived, Michael tried to help Isabelle out of the SUV, but she shrugged out of his grasp. “That caveman is not staying with us,” she seethed, loud enough for the caveman in question, the valet, and the other guests standing outside to overhear.
“Isabelle.” Michael’s voice held a warning, which Isabelle ignored.
“Tell him to get his own fucking room.” She stalked past them and entered the lobby, making her way to the elevators. Michael did a quick inspection of the lobby and as Anto stepped up beside him, he said, “We can’t stay here.”
Anto nodded. “It will be complicated. They’re having you watched. They’ll know if you are not here.”
“Get Rusya to call them off.”
Anto shook his head. “No. Better that we just disappear. We need a place to talk where we won’t be observed.”
“If we disappear, it may compromise you.”
Anto grinned, “Of course it will not, Michael. After this, Rusya will think I’m more loyal than ever. After this, it will solidify my place in the Bratva.”
“I need a drink,” Michael said, not even trying to follow Anto’s logic. He headed towards the lobby bar and Anto followed him.
“Exactly my thinking.”
As they settled across from each other in overstuffed vintage loveseats, Isabelle returned, dropping herself down next to Michael.
“Did you go to the room?” Michael asked her.
“Am I allowed to talk now?” She was still furious.
“Did you go to the fucking room?” Michael was losing his patience with everyone. He didn’t want Isabelle berating him in front of Anto. She needed to show him respect. He needed Anto to trust him, trust his judgement. Anto was so fucking difficult to handle. It’s why Jackman chose Michael to handle him. Because no one pushed Michael around. At least not before this week.
“I had to pee, Michael.” Isabelle’s words were clipped. “I went to the bathroom. I don’t have a fucking key to the room.”
Michael squeezed his temples trying to abate his temper. Mercifully the waiter arrived, asking for their drink orders. Isabelle asked for scotch on the rocks, Michael ordered bourbon and Anto had vodka.
Anto leaned towards Isabelle, not Michael. His hands were clasped in front of him, elbows resting on his thighs, his face all business. “It might not have been safe to talk in my SUV.”
Isabelle pursed her lips. Her face was pale, small dark circles under her eyes, her eyelids drooping. She looked like she’d run a marathon and was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. “How do you know it’s safe to talk here? How do you know they haven’t bugged you?” A hint of sarcasm laced her words.
Anto shrugged, but not with his usual dismissive air. “It has been at least 25 years since I have gone to sleep without a worry. Paranoia keeps me safe. I am not bugged.”
Michael watched Anto, a little in awe. He had not seen this side of the hulking Russian. It was like he had a split personality. He was talking to Isabelle as an equal, lulling her, and she was responding. He could see the empathy etc
hed in her face.
“That sounds sad to me, Anto. You would have been just a child 25 years ago.”
Michael didn’t know Anto’s story. No one knew his entire story. Dean Copeland, Anto’s friend, was privy to some of the details. They’d met under terrifying conditions and it bonded them to each other. It didn’t stop Anto from beating Dean half to death though. In Anto’s weird view of the world, he was saving Dean’s life. Things not to tell Isabelle. But then watching Anto as he gazed at Isabelle, Michael decided that Anto was full of shit. Anto didn’t share his vulnerabilities with anyone, least of all a woman.
The drinks arrived, and Isabelle picked up her scotch and tossed it back before the waiter had time to place Anto’s and Michael’s drinks on the table. She passed the glass to the waiter, smiling. “Another, please.” Then as he was retreating, she called after him, “Make it two.”
Michael furrowed his eyes at her, “Are you deliberately trying to get drunk.”
“What gave it away?” Isabelle eyed Michael’s drink.
“Why?”
“I have four days to do the job. Anto here has already done the recon. That leaves one day to be hungover, one day to plan it out and get the tools. Day three I hit Scott’s house. If the goods aren’t there, then day four, I hit his office.”
“No,” Anto and Michael said in unison.
“This is my job to do.” Isabelle’s chin jutted out.
The waiter arrived with the drinks, placing them in front of Isabelle. Michael reached across her and pulled one of the glasses towards him.
“Hey, get your own fucking drink, Michael!” Isabelle snarled as she slapped at his hand.
Michael felt a rush of heat and he leaned into Isabelle, his face stopping within an inch of hers. “Cut it out, Isabelle. All of it. The tough talk, the drinking, the heroics. A couple of hours ago you were terrified of your ex-husband. You should still be terrified.”
But Isabelle didn’t retreat. “Jack’s a lot of things, but he’s also a man of his word. If he says we’re good to go once I do the job, then we’re good to go.”
Michael slammed his bourbon and dropped the glass on the table with a thud. He stood up, hauling Isabelle to her feet. As she struggled to get out of his grasp, he said to Anto, “Give us an hour.” Anto nodded, swallowed the last of his drink, and casually pulled the untouched drinks to his side of the table.