Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
One breath. Two.
On the third, she forced the fantasy away. Her hands shook as she pushed her hair back and walked to the mirror to check her appearance. This time, her reflection didn’t look nearly as sure of herself. Fake it til you make it. It was the only option she had left.
Keira threw back her shoulders and marched through the door. She had the rest of the goddamn party to get lined up, and she wasn’t going to let shit get to her until she had some private time alone to deal with it—or maybe she wouldn’t deal with it at all.
After all, she wasn’t an O’Malley anymore. She was Keira motherfucking Romanov.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Keira didn’t answer Dmitri’s call. He tried once more before he stepped out of the town car currently idling at the curb. Her throwing out Aiden’s man was intriguing, and he’d have to answer for it, but an explanation would have to wait until he was through with this particular meeting. Dmitri flipped his phone onto silent and strode into the hotel.
It was an old building that had missed the renovations of the surrounding area. The tired-looking man behind the counter barely glanced at him as he walked through the dim lobby and over a tile floor yellowed with age.
He took the stairs up to the second floor and let himself into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him and locking the dead bolt. The curtains were closed and the lights were off, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. He sighed. “This is rather theatrical, don’t you think?”
“What I think is that I’d rather be anywhere but here, dealing with a dirty Russian mobster.” John Finch flicked on the lamp next to the desk. It was a play Dmitri had made many times in the past—sometimes theatrical was exactly what a situation called for—but he resented the fed trying to use it on him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You called me. I hope it wasn’t to throw around insults you could have managed over the phone.” He hadn’t expected a call this morning, let alone a demand that he switch his schedule to accommodate the agent. “You have information for me?”
John Finch leaned back, his face in shadow. “You know we have your place under surveillance.”
It wasn’t a question, so Dmitri didn’t bother answering. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that the surveillance has been experiencing issues for several nights now. It never lasts longer than five or ten minutes, but it’s consistent.”
A window of opportunity. It didn’t take a genius to realize who the opportunity was for. There were plenty of gadgets that could jam signals. Apparently the Eldridges were planning something. He’d suspected it, but the confirmation made it easier to see which direction they’d be attacking from. My home. They’re going to come to my fucking home.
Or the mole will do something that requires leaving in a hurry. But no, that didn’t make sense. He still hadn’t pinned down the identity of the traitor. The cameras had been wiped for ten minutes before and after the package was delivered to his office—probably done while the fucker was in his office. If the man wanted to walk out, it wouldn’t raise red flags because no one knew he wasn’t going on some errand for Dmitri.
Unless he’s going to try to take a hostage when he goes.
“Ah.” Dmitri leaned a shoulder against the wall, letting none of his thoughts reflect in his expression. “That’s unfortunate that your equipment is so faulty.”
“Unfortunate for them. Fortunate for someone who needed that chunk of time.”
John Finch had been on the scene for decades, and he was one of the best cops Dmitri had ever come across. He was also a pain in the ass, but an inconvenience Dmitri had learned to work around.
For him to offer up this information spoke volumes.
It had to be a trap. “Your warning is duly noted.” He flicked a nonexistent piece of lint off his suit. “I saw your daughter earlier this week. She appears to be well on her way to making a full recovery.” There would likely be scars from the time she spent as Mae’s captive, but that didn’t seem to bother Charlie much.
Finch’s hands tensed on the arms of his chair. “That’s not what this is about.”
Liar. John Finch had made a shitty call when he put Mae Eldridge’s arrest above his own daughter’s health. Charlie had survived and would flourish in her life as Aiden O’Malley’s wife, but neither of them would forget Finch’s actions that night—or, rather, his lack of action. “Getting into bed with the mob is a strange way to get back into your daughter’s good graces. But it’s your best chance at a future relationship with her. Good luck.” And on that note, he turned and walked out of the room.