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She was so still that for a few seconds, she was sure her heart even stopped beating. Until it came rushing back seconds later, beating louder and faster than before.
She moistened the dryness of her lips before speaking. “You do?”
“Yes.”
She felt the bed shift as Casper lifted his head to lean on his elbow. She kept her eyes closed even though she could feel his gaze on her. “Who am I?”
“Persephone Jones.”
“I already told you that,” she scorned.
“Daughter of Arnold Jones.”
“That much was in my military records.”
“Because you allowed it to be, yes. Persephone, I broke through the firewall protecting your other personal information,” he added gruffly.
Her hands clenched at her sides. “When?”
“Last night, when we worked together online trying to track down where Martyna had disappeared to.”
Her lids flew open, and she stared up at him. His dark hair was tousled, both from sleep and having her fingers entangled in it during their heated lovemaking. He didn’t look tired this morning, despite the intensity of that lovemaking. There were no shadows beneath his eyes, only a gentle understanding in their depths that caused Persy to feel the heated prick of tears in her own eyes.
She breathed in deeply before speaking, knowing by Casper’s implacable expression that there was no point in attempting to avoid the subject.
She gave in to the inevitable rather than attempt to fight it. “She told me about you, you know.”
His brows rose. “She did?”
“Hm.” Her lips curved into a wistful smile. “I was away at the time, on a mission in a location I’m not allowed to talk about. But the two of us talked on Zoom whenever I had down time. During one of those conversations, she told me that a man in a nightclub had offered to help her after he saw her bastard of a boyfriend handling her roughly.”
“Your stepsister was Violet Brady,” Casper stated simply.
“Our parents were never married, but yes, we always considered ourselves as being sisters,” she acknowledged.
His nostrils flared. “Violet refused my help, and a week later, she was dead. Beaten to death by the same bastard I saw hurting her that night.” he bit out grimly. “Her mother died of a heart attack just weeks later. Her doctor believed it was brought on by the stress of Violet’s murder.”
Persy felt the heat of tears as they escaped her lashes and dripped down into the hair at her temples. “It was a very dark time for our family. I resigned from the army, tried to help all I could, but May was just heartbroken, and you know what happened next. My father has never recovered from losing May or Violet. It was all so…needless. I’d offered to help Violet leave Terry Bart numerous times. She always refused.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Violet said that while he was still alive, she would never be free of him, that he’d threatened to kill her if she tried to leave. I offered to kill him for her,” she stated simply.
“I’m guessing she gave a polite refusal to your offer to put the rabid animal out of his misery,” Casper muttered disgustedly.
She smiled without humor. “She didn’t want me to have to live with the guilt of what amounted to cold-blooded murder.”
Casper snorted. “Then it’s just as well we know a cold-blooded Russian who was happy to arrange the killing for us.”
She eyed him quizzically. “Terry Bart was killed in prison by another prisoner.”
“He was, yes, but… Have you ever heard of Nikolai Volkov?”
“No.”
“He’s the second to the bratva Russian pakhan in London.”
Her eyes widened. “And you know him?”
He grinned. “As much as anyone can ever know Nikolai.” He sobered. “Terry Bart’s death in prison wasn’t carried out by just any random fellow prisoner. Nikolai organized it so a man who had no chance of ever being released was able to use a shiv to terminate Bart’s life before his lawyer managed to arrange for his sentence to be dismissed on a technicality. As a reward, Nikolai has arranged things so that the prisoner’s remaining years will be spent more comfortably than might otherwise have been the case.”
“That’s— I hope you thanked Mr. Volkov.”
