Page 5

The auctioneer raised his voice over the room. “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen. Take a look. We’ll start the bidding in thirty seconds.”

Attention shifted toward our table immediately. Men who had spent their lives pretending not to fear me suddenly found reasons to study their drinks, their companions, or the stage. A few were stupid enough to search my face for a reaction, and I left them disappointed.

Inside, the situation rearranged itself with considerably more violence. Who had found her? Where had she been? Why had whoever captured her brought her here instead of contacting us privately? How much did they know about the original theft? Had she spent five years operating under another name, or had three separate organizations somehow failed to find one woman?

The woman raised her cuffed hands. “I didn’t steal anything from anyone.” Her voice settled the last microscopic possibility that we were wrong.

Roman leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “It’s her.”

I kept my eyes on the stage while Kirill shifted beside us, every trace of his earlier amusement gone.

“Where the fuck has she been?” Kirill frowned, realized what he was doing, and resumed his nonchalant expressions.

“That is one of several questions she’s going to answer.” I would make sure of it.

Onstage, the auctioneer caught her arm when she tried to back away.

She twisted hard enough to jerk him half a step off balance. “Take your hand off me.” Another twist, and when he didn’t let go, she spat in his face and fell to the floor, dragging him down with her when he still refused to release her.

Laughter rolled through the room, but she didn’t join it. That, more than the bruises or restraints, held my attention. The woman I remembered had hidden nerves behind a sharp tongue and flushed when we told her what we planned to do with her. She’d been reckless, but there had been uncertainty beneath it. This woman looked prepared to tear out the auctioneer’s throat with her teeth if he gave her the opportunity.

That’s my good girl. The thought punched the air from my lungs.

Five years changed people. Thirty million dollars could change them considerably faster.

The auctioneer released her only after the guard behind her shortened the chain between her cuffs. “Opening bid, five hundred thousand.”

A paddle rose almost immediately, followed by another when the amount jumped to seven-fifty. Someone farther back called one million before the auctioneer had time to repeat the number, and laughter rose as men glanced toward us. This was no longer simply about acquiring a woman. Half the room wanted to know whether I would react to someone purchasing the thief who had taken thirty million dollars from me and vanished.

The woman’s head snapped toward the latest bidder. Horror crossed her face so openly that it would have convinced a less experienced man she’d only now understood what kind of auction she’d been dragged into.

Roman noticed it too. He studied her for another few seconds before speaking quietly enough that only Kirill and I could hear. “She looks surprised.”

Kirill’s fingers tapped once against the table. “We’re taking her.”

“No one else leaves this building with her.” Another paddle rose as I spoke, then another.

The price moved to two million, then three. When someone behind us called five, a few men whistled. The woman stared at the bidder, and I found myself evaluating her reaction despite knowing better than to trust any of it. Price didn’t matter, but I refused to jump in. Let them think they were winning. I so loved a good abduction of reason.

Five million for a human being was absurd, but not because she lacked value. If she had truly penetrated one of our most secure financial structures, moved thirty million dollars, and stayed invisible for five years, she was worth considerably more alive than most of the men sitting in this room. The fools bidding on her body didn’t understand what was standing on that stage.

The fact that I remembered the taste of her mouth had no relevance to any of it.

“Seven million,” someone near the stage called.

Roman followed the bidder with his eyes before glancing toward me. “This is becoming expensive for an interrogation.”

“You object?” I picked up my glass and took a sip of whiskey. Every eye in the room followed the motion…except for hers. Her gaze continued to ping-pong around the room with every bid.

Roman shook his head, what passed as a smile flashing. “Not remotely. I’m curious how high you intend to let them go before you end their fun.”

Kirill’s mouth curved, but there was nothing friendly in it. “Roman’s worried about the budget.”

“I’m worried about paying eight figures for something that already belongs to us.” But Roman didn’t dare be the first of us to raise a hand. He left that for me, as he should.

The auctioneer accepted an eight-million-dollar bid from a Balkan lieutenant whose organization had no known connection to our missing money. A distributor from Queens immediately pushed it to nine. If I allowed the price to climb, the men with genuine reasons to want her would eventually separate themselves from the fools hoping to provoke me.

“Ten million.”