Page 67 of Volatile Waters

“Not as quick on my feet as I used to be.” She peered down at her injury.

I thought of what it felt like for the tire to spin over her. “Now that I know how charming you are, I certainly would like to go back in time and rectify my error.” I would have found some other way to make my point to Mr. Summers.

A slight grin appeared. It was nervous, but she faked her bravery, admirably so. “Well, thank you, Russ. Do you mind? I have a thing for nicknames.”

I dipped my chin, absolutely stunned by her resilience. She had figured my accent to be Russian. “And your charm continues. I now feel we are bonding, for me to have acquired a nickname from my American friend.”

“Maybe someday we can laugh over all this with a cup of tea—wait, I bet vodka is more your speed, huh, Russ?”

“Vodka is from the gods. Tea is from shit.”

Her fear almost took over as she attempted a chuckle, but lost to what sounded more like an anxious dry throat. “So, can you at least tell me what the thing you’re looking for looks like? Do you know if it is here?”

“Again, I do not wish to kill you.”

“Again, we agree R.U.S.S. Tell me, what’s rambling around in that magnificent brain of yours? You must have a plan. Don’t all mob leaders lead because they have great plans?”

I snickered, “I am not head of our organization. This work is beneath him. But the answer to your question is, yes, there is a plan, though you may not like it.”

“Well, you’re clearly leading this mission, and I’m not liking my boyfriend,” I could tell she was fighting tears as she played the game well, “looking a bit mistreated there behind you, so try me. I’m open to suggestions.”

I paused. “I wish to send one of my men inside your home,” I said to keep her calm, but had every intention on sending more in because the house was massive and I needed it searched swiftly.

“Oh.” She swallowed. “Now, I see why you assumed I wouldn’t be too excited. Can you at least promise your man doesn’t have a young-girl fetish?”

Umm, not really. “When I like someone, I tend to become violent if this person is mistreated. The men I’m in charge of do not like putting me in this state of mind. It causes bodily damage to them and their loved ones.”

I stared at Kirill then the back of the SUV, so he understood my threat; if he touched Whitney, Valerie was as good as dead. Kirill dipped his chin and raised his hands, not contesting or willing to put Valerie in danger.

Whitney showed more charm by saying, “Now don’t I just feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Hey, Russ, if I say yes, can I come outside and see him?”

I froze. Smart little girl. “I slipped up, eh?”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m just a good listener, and there were signs everywhere.”

Signs… I thought of Crash’s finger. It hadn’t been twitching at all. He was telling her where he was. I wanted to go and kick him, but truly, especially now conversing with Miss Summers, couldn’t blame him for still trying to watch over her. I soon was going to be doing the same for her in Russia. “I do believe you are a little treasure.” Then I explained, “My insurance shall stay separate from you.” Dangling a chance to see Crash in front of Whitney was how I was going to control her.

Her eyes welled, but she ignored the tears and smiled weakly. “Can’t blame me for trying, right?” She then said, “I’m turning off my alarm and will meet your man at my back sliding door.”

I silently cursed her father as Whitney hobbled over without her crutches to hit buttons to an alarm that was not connected to any online or phone security company. Whitney was a sitting duck, and her hunter had arrived.

For the hours it took my men to search all through the house, I watched Whitney. She watched Crash. I don’t think she could see him blanketed in the night on the boat dock, but she stared as if sensing him, all the while believing he had a chance. The only time her eyes strayed was when I had the SUV brought closer to the house. After killing Crash and kidnapping Whitney, we needed to leave immediately, due to the Joneses still watching. Mr. Jones may have let me leave with Whitney, but I was still concerned whether or not he could convince Reether of the same.

At one point, while Whitney paced—hobbled—back and forth in front of the back sliding glass door, her injured foot accidently kicked a wooden chair leg. She grimaced before screaming and flinging the chair across the room in an unexpected rage. Whitney had dangerous criminals all around her at that moment, yet she still had the capacity to be filled with anger without the fear to express it.

From the shadows of her backyard, I stared at the crutches she seemed to be refusing to use and smiled. After her dance in that same living room weeks earlier, she had screamed her anger.

Yes, the fire in her was incredibly deep, and I desired those flames, but I had taken a chance of snuffing out those flames when we ran her over. Fortunately, I’d failed. But would her flames still burn after the loss of Crash? Whitney adored Crash. That was clearer than the sun that was starting to rise in the sky. Killing him was going to alter her. I wanted her as she was…

At that very moment, I decided to give her adequate time to heal before retrieving her.

Taking a break from searching, Adrian joined my side, quietly saying, “We can always come back for her if you think it best for now.”

Was he reading me again? Was I staring too long and hard at the little redheaded pistol? Either way, he was giving me the out I needed. I wanted fire… or nothing.

Nonchalantly, I shrugged, “Kirill has indeed complicated our travels already.”

He bowed his head. “Just let me know.” Then he headed back inside.