Page 117 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

27

CARA

Iclose my eyes, but my mind won’t settle. Sleep has no chance after Dmitri.

I lie beside him with the sheet pulled to my waist, my skin still warm, my body tired in places I can feel every time I move. Dmitri sleeps on his stomach with one arm bent under the pillow and the other stretched toward me, his fingers resting near my hip.

He looks different asleep. Younger in the face, heavier in the shoulders, one hand half closed on the sheet. Then I remember his quarters sit near the security annex because of course it does. Dmitri sleeps with a gun beside him, a command room down the hall, and half his life arranged around the next threat.

After that, my mind won’t leave me alone.

Velenko’s hand on my waist comes back first. Then Dmitri’s mouth. Then Mikhail upstairs with Kathryn on the daybed beside him. Then Patrick, because Patrick always finds a way back in.

I turn my head and look at Dmitri. My head feels hot and crowded at two in the morning.

Carefully, I move his hand away from my hip and slide out of bed. Dmitri shifts, then settles. I stand there for a few seconds and listen to him breathe.

My dress is on the floor near the mirror, and I am not fighting that zipper in the dark. Dmitri’s white shirt is on the back of the chair. I pull it on and button it with clumsy fingers. My coat lies across the vanity stool, so I drag it on over the shirt, tie the belt tight, and step into my slippers.

I open the door and slip into the corridor. The guard near the turn doesn’t look at me right away. His eyes stay on the far end of the hall, and his face gives me nothing. A diplomat could learn from this man. When I take another step, his eyes move to me. Professional enough not to look at my bare legs or the coat tied over Dmitri’s shirt.

“Miss O’Connell,” he says quietly.

“I’m going upstairs,” I say, keeping my voice low.

The guard gives a small nod and steps back from the turn. I walk past him and head for the stairs.

The corridor is dim and clean, with cameras tucked into the corners. Then I see light under the security annex door and stop.

A low voice comes through the cracked door. Then another. Screens glow, phones click, and someone curses in Russian.

“Does this house ever sleep?” I mutter, then pull the coat closer over Dmitri’s shirt and push the door open.

Dima looks up. Yuri sits over three screens with dinner footage open on all of them. Abramov stands behind him with his arms folded. Maksim leans against the table with a glass of whiskey in one hand.

Nobody asks why I’m there. Nobody welcomes me either. Good. Middle-of-the-night investigations are normal here, apparently. I can work with that.

Yuri points at the paused video. “Markovic answers cleanly,” he tells Abramov, tapping the screen. “She gives Cara the normal chain because she thinks it is normal.”

Abramov nods once. “So she carried the packet, but she didn’t build the message.”

He points at a second angle. “Velenko reacts twice. Once when the New Harbor tag is noticed. Then harder when Cara says Sable Crown Courier.”

I step closer. “The second reaction matters more.”

Maksim turns his head toward me. “Explain.”

“Lena answered like she had nothing to hide,” I say. “She gave us Nadezhda, Berezka, and Sable Crown because that is the approved chain on paper. Velenko could have let her answer and stayed calm. He didn’t. He moved when I named the delivery path. That means Sable Crown covers more than packets.”

Yuri pulls public filings onto another screen. “Corporate records.”

Another window opens. Event vendor trails.

Kirill reaches over and opens the next file. “Permit applications.”

Yuri clicks again. “Renovation invoices.”

Dima leans in. “Security staffing logs.”