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"Are we going to Hunter's—I mean, Mr. Saint's apartment first?" I asked, watching the streets fly by.
"I'll take you," he said and that was it. Nothing more.
We finally arrived at a building in downtown Boston,
not the apartment where Hunter lived. I thought maybe Hunter wasn’t yet at the apartment. I checked my watch, but it said it was already ten.
"Why are we here?" I asked. "Aren't we going to the apartment?"
"We're going here," he said and opened my door. "I'll take you."
I followed him, wondering at the sudden change in venue.
"Hunter's here?"
Chris said nothing, just opened the door for me. I went through and he led the way from the front entrance past a row of doors which I assumed led to offices. Finally, we arrived at a room at the back. He opened the door and waved me inside.
I entered to find an elegant office with dark wood paneling and a huge desk in front of the large picture window. Behind it sat a man with short dark hair combed back, a well-trimmed goatee, and an impeccable suit. He had a laptop open in front of him and glanced up when I walked inside. Behind him, the lights of the harbor sparkled against a black sky.
"Ms. Parker, please to come in," the man said, his accent thick, Slavic-sounding. Russian?
Oh, God…
I immediately thought of Stepan and entered the room with hesitation. Chris came in behind me and closed the door. He stood there, his hands folded, and glanced up at the ceiling.
"Have a seat," the man said and pointed to the chair across from him.
I sat across from him and glanced around. "Where's Hunter?"
The man shrugged. "I expect he'll be here in a few moments. Excuse me. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Ivan. A business associate of Stepan, whom I understand you already know."
That sent a shock through me. The man who called himself Chris was not a tail approved by Hunter. He was a tail for the Russians.
I swallowed hard, my heart rate increasing. Ivan leaned across the desk and held out his hand. I took it with reluctance and we shook.
"I don't know him," I said, my voice wavering with fear, "but my brother had some business with him, I understand. I'm Celia."
"Yes, I know," Ivan said and sat back. "We had financial dealings with your brother—Graham is his name."
"Yes, that's right." I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "You work with Stepan? You invest with my brother's company?"
"He invested with us," Ivan said. "We just completed a business contract with Mr. Saint's help."
I nodded. I knew what he was referring to. "Why am I here?"
"My driver saw that your car was in an accident and wanted to help. He saw you and called me, and I suggested that he pick you up, bring you here. I've contacted Mr. Saint. He'll be by to collect you."
"Thank you," I said and smiled, but smiling was the very last thing I felt like doing. There wasn't enough time between the accident and his offer of help for Chris to have called Ivan and for Ivan to have called Hunter. That could only mean he'd been following us. Or perhaps, they had caused the crash, hoping to pick me up in the process. Knowing what I did about the Russian mafia, I wouldn't put it past them. "You could have taken me directly to Mr. Saint's apartment," I said, wanting to argue with him despite my predicament.
"I could have, but this way, I get to meet the reason why Mr. Saint—Hunter—would pay off your brother's debt."
"He paid it off because he and Graham were friends all their lives. Not because of me. I'm nothing to him."
Ivan smiled like he found what I said amusing. "When I see you, I think otherwise. But come," he said and stood, walking around the desk to where I sat. "You need a drink after that accident. Luckily, my club is next door."
He went to the door. Chris opened it and I followed him down another hallway, out the back of the building, into the dark alley with only a single light shining over the loading dock, and into yet another door. I felt nervous, but what could I do? Run for it? If Hunter was really on his way to pick me up, I wanted to be there when he came for me.
We entered a long hallway and then a large kitchen area, with sinks and counters where several young men stood chopping vegetables. There was a dishwasher and a young man in white pushing dishes through, the room filled with steam. We went through the kitchen area where the cooks were busy frying and sautéing and steaming food of various kinds. It smelled wonderful and my stomach growled a bit in response.
