“Winters,” Flynn clipped and I nodded. “That bastard has been relentless.”
“Great, something else to contend with.” Brad glared at me.
“What’s your problem?” I demanded.
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Liar. You’ve been nothing but cold to me since I walked in here. Out with it, already. I have enough to deal with. I don’t need you adding to it.”
“I don’t trust you,” he said.
“Brad,” Flynn warned.
I touched Flynn’s arm, and leaned to whisper in his ear, “Did he see the video?”
Flynn shook his head.
I breathed a sigh of relief and then focused on Brad. “Why don’t you trust me?”
“You were with Dolinsky for six weeks and then you killed him. Now you want the Russians to be our allies. How do we know that you haven’t switched loyalties?”
“How would I switch loyalties? As you pointed out, I killed Dolinsky—which I did to get back to Flynn.”
“Yeah, you killed Dolinsky. Convenient. How do I know you and Petrovich haven’t concocted a plan to take out Flynn?”
“And why would I want to take out Flynn?” I demanded. “Sorry to tell you this, Brad, but I have no drive to rule any of these illegal enterprises.”
“You’re out of line,” Flynn said to his head of security.
“I know she’s your wife,” Brad stated with quiet reserve, “but ever since she came into your life, you haven’t acted like yourself. You haven’t acted like the man I’ve been friends with for the last ten years.”
“Be very careful how you proceed,” Flynn said, his voice tight with anger. “We have history, but don’t think I won’t bury you. Find a way to make peace with Barrett. I trust her so that should be enough for you.”
“Well, it isn’t,” Brad stated.
“If you two are finished discussing me like I’m not here, maybe we could get back to the Winters situation.” Both men looked at me, Brad’s countenance still unyielding.
I smiled grimly. “I think I have an idea.”
The Dominus Hotel was cold, austere lines, postmodern architecture and design. Gray chrome and white were part of the minimal color scheme, and I was the only splash of color in the room. My dress was Jessica Rabbit red and clung to my figure. My auburn hair was styled in big, loose waves, and I’d gone heavy on the eye makeup. A glass of expensive vodka sat within my reach, but I didn’t touch it.
I perched on a stool next to the head of the Italian Mob at his hotel bar. Giovanni Marino was as unctuous as he was misogynistic.
Marino swiveled on his bar stool, his foot grazing my leg in a non-subtle gesture of desire as he gripped his glass of an Italian apéritif.
“Why am I having a meeting with you? Where’s Campbell?” Marino demanded.
“Flynn’s a wee bit tied up at the moment,” I said. “He sends his regards, though.”
“So he sent in a woman to do a man’s job?”
“No,” I said coldly. “He sent his wife.”
“Wife?” Marino’s eyes widened.
“Wife,” I confirmed.
“It seems congratulations are in order then,” he stated, his gaze sweeping down my form. “It’s no secret that Flynn Campbell isn’t the marrying kind.”
