Page 74 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Sergei makes the mistake of looking amused.

I move back into my study and stop before the desk. My hand closes around the edge of a file.

He isn’t flirting. Sergei is careful, dry, and respectful. He gives her enough space to breathe, and I dislike how quickly she relaxes into it.

Cara reaches the library door and sees me in the study. Her expression changes, and for one second she forgets to be angry. Then her mouth flattens, and she looks away.

Sergei follows her attention. “Antonov.”

I step into the corridor. “You’re early.”

Sergei straightens. “Abramov asked me to escort Miss O’Connell to the secure annex.”

Cara folds her arms. “Good morning to you as well, North Wing Management.”

Sergei turns his face away, but his shoulders give him up.

I stare him down until the humor leaves. “The annex is ready,” I say in Russian.

“Understood,” Sergei says.

Cara looks between us. “Did I miss a memo, or do Russian men communicate through professional staring and encrypted muttering?”

“Careful,” I say.

Her mouth curves without warmth. “I was. That was the edited version.”

Sergei’s attention flicks toward the arch, and I know he wants out of this corridor.

“I’ll take her,” I say.

Sergei doesn’t argue.

Cara’s mouth curves. “Do I get a say in this escort reshuffle?”

“No.”

“Great. Democracy is thriving,” Cara says as she falls into step beside me.

I take her toward the private stairwell. Sergei follows us in and takes the door, far enough back to look like part of the wall.

“You’re going to work, not Parliament,” I say.

“I’d be excellent in Parliament.”

“You’d be removed before lunch,” I say, pressing my palm to the access panel.

The lock clicks open, and Cara walks through first. “Only if they were cowards.”

I take Cara’s file from the temporary desk and hand it to her. “You’ll work in this annex. It sits beside the comms room. Limited terminal. Printed materials. Yuri monitors the system, Abramov monitors the room, and I review what you find.”

Cara accepts the file. “Sounds intimate.”

“It’s supervised,” I say, opening the annex door.

“That’s not better. That’s just a firewall with furniture.”

I look back at her once.