Page 146 of Stealing Blinds

“Right. Sometimes, there are various sides to things. Where are you dropping it?”

I croak a dry laugh and swill my coffee. “I’m not convinced telling you that is the best move. What power do you have?”

“I’ll triple whatever you’ve been paid, and my offer for more still stands. All this only proves what I knew. You and I would be unstoppable. Nigel was keeping you under his thumb, but I won’t. My reach is farther. And you’re as brilliant as I heard your father was.”

“And look where that got him.”

“This is different,” he insists. “You have no reason to be afraid. He refused to get involved. You already are.”

And there it is—the threat, the reminder that as kind and attentive as Peter pretends to be, he’d end me in a second if I didn’t comply or if I shook up his plans.

“And if I don’t want to be?”

“Let’s not consider that.” His tenor is more commanding than it was before. He believes he has the upper hand. “Now that you’ve tangled the Noires up in this—”

“Fine,” I relent. “Leave them out of it though.”

“As you wish. I’ve always enjoyed my time at their establishment. No need to rock that boat.”

Another swig of coffee and another bolstering nod from Jax spur me on. “I have two questions or requests before we move forward.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He chuckles in that patronizing way when someone thinks a woman is cute for playing hardball. “Go ahead.”

Adrenaline wreaks havoc on my body, my pulse jackhammering its way from my temples to my toes. “E—or Nigel—was supposed to help me move a media card I came across. It provides access to some conglomerate, which can produce fake news stories or something. If I double-cross him, that won’t happen. Can you—”

“Yes,” he interrupts. “I believe I have a buyer.”

“Oh.” I halt there, as if I’m stunned by that. “I didn’t expect … great.”

“See?” he coos with the slightest hint of enthusiasm he can’t conceal. “We make a good team.”

“We do.” I lift my tone with that, enough hope woven through it that it’s evident I’m on board. “Lastly, about the leader of Kratos? Will they be placing demands on me, or can you keep my involvement out of this? E suggested that if I didn’t pull this off, I’d be hunted down by them, but somewhere along the line, everything got muddled. I couldn’t tell whether E was sanctioned by the group to do this, and I … I’m trying not to end up like my father.”

“I’ll handle that. Have you studied the information you obtained?” he asks since I led him to believe I didn’t know whether or not it was a coup.

“No,” I huff. “That’s the number one thing my father taught me. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. I suppose that was wise, considering what brought him down.”

“Yes. Wisdom.” He sighs, though it’s subtle because he likely doesn’t want me to notice how relieved he is. “No worries about the leader. You’ll be my responsibility alone. And very few know who the leader is, so E was likely bluffing.”

“Asshole,” I mutter, feigning ire before I blow out a breath and latch my eyes to the hopeful hazels across from me. “I’m meeting him in Brussels, Belgium, at the station. Can you meet me there?”

“Will do,” Peter says. “I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone and calm my pounding heart, checking multiple times to ensure the connection is broken. “It’s him. He’s the leader.”

Jax raises a brow as a distant whirr snags my attention. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” I press my palm to my sternum, trying to catch my breath. “He’s the only one not mentioned in that file. He didn’t say he wasn’t part of Kratos. He was interested in the media card. I think he was a keyholder to throw anyone suspicious off his scent. It’s him.”

“Fuck,” Jax wheezes, an effortless grin tugging at his lips. “We’re really going to end this.”

But as his proclamation resounds, the roar of a helicopter closes in on the train. Someone has found us.

SYLVIE

The choppy thwack of helicopter blades grows deafening, and my stomach knots with a cocktail of trepidation, hope, and weariness. Jax has his pistol aimed and ready as he peers out the window, but when his lips twitch ever so slightly, I brace myself for a welcome battle. The kind waged when both anger and consolation prevail with the vehemence of a tsunami.

So, when the door between the cars opens and the swindler who stole my heart one flirty, unhinged encounter at a time swaggers in, like he’s simply late for a party, I become the tsunami, slamming into him with the weight of my entire being behind it.