Page 66

“Vasily, we need to talk.”

I can hear her angsty steps in the wet earth behind me.

“Unless you want me to completely fuck up Mikhail’s case.”

That stops me.

I turn slowly. She stands in the drizzle with her arms folded, glaring at me like I’m a particularly difficult client.

“You need me to succeed,” she continues. “Which means you need to actually communicate with me.”

“You seem to have no trouble communicating.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I walk toward her. “Matilda, what you see on the surface of my life is not the whole of it.”

She practically rolls those pretty, cold blue eyes. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.” My voice drops. “I spend my days making decisions that cannot be undone. People around me carry weapons. People who cross me disappear.”

Her expression changes, just slightly. A quick glance at Art and I know what she’s looking at; the black grip of the handgun secured beneath his coat. She looks away quickly, as if not wanting to acknowledge the truth. As if she doesn’t work with criminals on a monthly basis back in the city.

Matty’s throat moves as she swallows. Maybe now she understands.

“This isn’t a game,” I tell her. “And you don’t get to wander wherever you want simply because you’re frustrated with me.”

She looks back at me, and for once, there is no clever response waiting. I gesture toward the SUV.

“Get in.”

She hesitates. I expect an argument or a sarcastic remark, but then she squelches through the damp grass. For once, she doesn’t fight me.

I watch her climb inside, trying to look at anything but the way those jeans fit her curves, then I follow her.

The door shuts behind us, sealing out the drizzle. For the first time all afternoon, I can breathe. That’s a disconcerting thought. How does this woman both stress me out and calm me down at the same time? She’s infuriating and grounding; a contradiction, a frustrating temptation.

The drive is quiet for several minutes before Matilda finally speaks.

“I need experts.”

I glance over.

“For Mikhail’s case. Financial analysts, forensic accountants, maybe someone who understands construction contracts. I need my own people reviewing the prosecution’s evidence.”

“There are two versions of an invoice with the same number,” she adds. “I need someone who can establish when the details changed and compare them with Mikhail’s original approvals. Suspicious paperwork isn’t enough. I need to be able to prove the difference.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“You heard me.”

“I get to choose them?”

“You get whatever you need. I won’t pretend my people are authorities in your area of expertise.”

She studies me suspiciously. “You’re not going to question the cost?”