“Still, I doubt Viktor will give up. The guy is Bratva; Isaac is like a dangling thread that is annoying and needs to be snipped.” Jag hated saying it, but he doubted that Viktor would decide that Isaac wasn’t worth eliminating, at some stage.
“We’ve got to hope that he’ll move on. But I hear you, and Isaac knows. He’s not dumb.”
“You really think Steff and Cynthia will be safe from Viktor?”
Irish nodded. “I do.”
Jag hoped Irish was right, but he’d already decided that he was going to protect Steff and keep her safe. He would just be more vigilant about it, now.
“Jag, you’ve got all of us to help, don’t forget that.” Irish stood and popped the chair back. “Want to talk to Ox?”
Jag’s phone rang, and he blew out a breath when he saw Steff’s name flashing on the screen. “I will, but I need to take this.”
One of Irish’s rare smiles appeared. “Talk to your woman, I’m sure hearing her voice will make you feel better.”
Irish gave him a chin lift and walked away. Jag answered the call. “Hey Steff, how are you? How was lunch?”
“Lunch was good. Like, really good.” Hearing the happiness in her voice reduced some of the stress from the conversation he’d had with Irish.
“That’s great, hon. Are you meeting up again?” Jag hoped it would become a regular occurrence for them. According to Teresa, they’d been good friends prior to being taken.
“We plan to. Cynthia and I talked a little about our ordeal, which was hard, but necessary. It helped me get some things clear in my mind. I was also able to get an appointment with Donelle, my therapist, afterwards. She’d had a cancellation. It was a good, but intensive session.”
“That’s even better.” Jag loved hearing how she confident she sounded. He wanted to ask her to dinner. Take her out some place nice but casual, and not too overbearing. It might be too much after what sounded like an emotional lunch between the two friends. Not to mention a heavy session with her therapist.
“It is. Um, do you want to come over tonight? I can cook something. It won’t be gourmet, but I enjoyed cooking before, and I want to get back into it. I’m going to make one of Astrid’s recipes.”
Jag had no idea if she’d added that last bit to tempt him into saying yes, but he’d almost blurted out his response the second she’d asked. He’d manage to control the urge so he wouldn’t seem rude. “I’d love that. What time? And can I bring anything?”
“Shall we do six thirty again? I know you don’t have to pick up food, but it should give you some time should you need it. And as for bringing anything, if you want to bring something to drink, that will be fine.”
“I can do that, and six thirty sounds great.” He lowered his voice. “I’m really glad you asked me over.”
“Me too. Bye Dalton.”
“Bye.” He ended the call and sat back in his chair, fully aware that he had a goofy grin on his face, and he didn’t care one little bit. He was having dinner with Steff again, and she’d asked him, which was huge.
Things were moving in the right direction. Now, if he could only shake the feeling that something bad was lurking far on the horizon.
Chapter Eleven
Steff checkedthe oven and saw the cheese was beginning to bubble just like Astrid had said it would in the video she watched. Dalton should be here any minute, and then she would be able to serve it almost immediately.
She could’ve held off putting the Shephard’s Pie into the oven for about another ten minutes, to give them time to talk before eating, but it didn’t matter to her. They could just as easily talk after they’d eaten.
The building’s front door buzzer sounded, and she smiled, knowing it had to be Dalton. She pressed her intercom button. “Hello.”
“Is that Steffanie Price?” A strange man’s voice filled her apartment, and her happy mood dissipated as quickly as a squirt of perfume in the air.
“Who’s this?” Her name wasn’t listed by her apartment number. How had he known who she was? And where she lived?
“I’ve got a delivery for you, if you’re Steffanie Price.”
Steff let go of the button and took a deep breath. She hadn’t ordered anything. And when she did order something, she had them leave it in the lobby and she would collect it later. One of the reasons she’d moved into the building was because of theability to allow people into the building’s lobby only. Or press the other button on her apartment’s intercom console which would unlock the front door and the elevator for three minutes, plenty of time for a person to get inside and into the elevator.
Most times, she was able to not list her apartment number, but if she had to, then she used her neighbor’s. Mrs. Baker had been lovely about it when she’d moved in and asked her if it was possible. She hadn’t questioned Steff as to why, she’d just said yes. If she had, Steff had a story made up to explain away her request. Perhaps there had been something Mrs. Baker had seen which had convinced her that the circumstances for Steff asking weren’t normal.
The buzzer sounded again, and Steff jumped. “Sorry about that,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the worry in her voice.
