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“And how are you settling in at Casa Black?” His serious question has me closing my eyes and quietly inhaling.
“Did you try to kill him?” I scold myself the moment I’ve asked. Never ask questions. Ever.
“Excuse me?” The malice in his tone cuts deeply, and my mind casts back to the photo served on a silver platter right after I was served with a brutal punch in the ribs.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking up into the mirror above the sink. Dead. My blue eyes look hollow and dead.
“What do you know?” he asks, and I frown. Marinas, boatyards, consignments, the Coast Guard. It’s all I can hear in my head, and for the life of me, I don’t know why the words aren’t forming on my tongue for me to speak them. To tell him what I’ve heard. Then, as quickly as I question myself, I remind myself of the consequences if I don’t do what this bastard asks me to do. “I heard him talking about a consignment. I don’t know what it is. There’s an exchange happening. He talked about Coast Guards showing up and a decoy to distract them. I don’t know any more than that.” Every single word that passes my lips feels wrong. So, so wrong. “Adams owes him millions,” I go on. “I think Perry’s getting money from someone else now, but Black won’t release him.”
Nox hums, thoughtful. “And this consignment, where is it coming from?”
I pull up, thinking. Wait a minute. Why ask where it’s coming from? Why not ask what it is? I start doing the math in my head, working backward and putting things together. What I come up with forces me to take hold of the sink for support. “You’re Adams’s new backer,” I breathe, looking at the open bathroom door into the suite. Good God, Perry is in a mess. He has two malicious killers on his back. “The marina, you want it.” And I know why. Of course I know why. There’s only so long Nox can get away with smuggling women into the States in containers and offloading them in the dead of night at the docks. My mind races. The marina Black is buying is a cover for whatever Danny deals in, and obviously the perfect location if anyone wants to smuggle things into Miami. “You want Adams in power too.”
“You’ve always been smart. Carry on being smart. Find out when the consignment is being delivered to Black. He will be selling on, to the Russians, I expect. I want to know when.”
“Selling what?” I cringe the second I’ve asked. Just do as you’re told.
“I’m not sure America suits you. I might take you back to my homeland.”
I breathe in. No. I can’t go back there. I may still be a prisoner, but at least I’m back in my homeland. At least I’m in the same country as my boy. It’s not a comfort, it’s more psychological. I’m of more use to Nox in America, and he knows it. He’s run out of people to blackmail in Romania. There are limitations to the power he can achieve. “Maestru,” I murmur, defeated.
“Better. Get to work.”
“You’re leaving me here?” My brain has seriously short-circuited.
“You’re of better use to me there.”
“What about Adams? Does he know I work for you?” Oh my God. “Me being here, it was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?” He’s set Black up. “Why would you ambush Black in Vegas if you need all this information? I can’t get it if he’s dead.”
“Just rattling a few cages, Rose. And I’ll keep rattling. It would be convenient if Danny opens his mouth to my whore, would save me time and patience, but it’s not life or death to me if he keeps his mouth closed.” He chuckles. “It’s life and death to you, Rose. I’ll get what I want eventually, with or without you. Can you say the same?”
I’m silent.
“Can you?”
I close my eyes, my face looking to the heavens for a god I wished I could believe in. “No.”
“Get me the information. Do whatever it takes. A întelege?”
I turn and lean against the vanity unit, my fingertips pushing into my forehead in dread. “Da,” I say quietly before hanging up. I let my hand drop, limp and heavy, and look at the bathroom door. I’m dead if I don’t get what Nox wants, and I’m dead if I do. One way or another, my time is up.
On a lumpy swallow, I glance around the bathroom, searching for somewhere to hide the cell phone. I switch it off, pull out the drawer in the vanity unit, and tuck it behind.
As I rise, I hear the door to the suite open. My stupid breathing diminishes to nothing, and I swing around toward the mirror and quickly pull my hair tie free, shaking out my mane. I need something to do with my hands, something to focus on, so I start gathering up the waves again and re-tying them. My mind is ticking a hundred miles a minute, my situation becoming more dire with each run-through of the facts I have. All hard facts. Scary facts.
