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“Boss.”
“What’s wrong?” I snarled.
“She’s gone.” He winced as if expecting a violent reaction.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“The fucking press was all over her the moment she walked out that door. There were a hundred of the fuckers. I shoved them aside, but by that point she’d disappeared.”
I shoved him against the SUV, my fist firmly placed in his chest. “You lost her?”
“I’m sorry, boss. I swear to God I tried to get her.”
“Did she say anything while you were with her?” I couldn’t ignore the possibility that she’d slipped away on purpose.
“Not really. She went to her old office. I think she had a meeting with her boss. She refused to allow me to stay inside.”
“Her office?”
“No, the Hampton dude. I saw his name on the door.”
Seething, the rage was already dulling my cognitive abilities. “Did she take anything from the office?”
His eyes lit up. “A file. A thick file is in the back of the SUV. She found some jump drives, but I have no clue what she did with them.” He pointed to the back door, moaning the moment I tossed him aside.
I threw open the door, grabbing the file. Sergei Politoff. What was she trying to find? As I flipped through it, I noticed the few pictures taken of the man were on the top. What was she looking for?
“When I left with the police. Did she say anything?”
“Not really.” He scratched his head then lifted his gaze, his eyes open wide. “She asked about the tattoos.”
“What tattoos?”
“The dragons. I don’t know why, but she had Kirill show her his dragon.”
What the fuck?
“Oh, and then she asked about the color differences.”
I moved as close to the man as possible, peering down as myriad thoughts blasted through my mind. “You will find her. Period. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. We will. I swear to God. Should I take you back to the house?”
“No. Take me to my father’s estate.”
I was finished with lies.
As Cassian headed to my father’s house, I searched through the file on Sergei. The moment I noticed a single photograph, it was as if all time stood still. I took a deep breath, pulling it closer. The photograph was grainy, taken many years prior to Sergei being arrested in the United States. However, there was no doubt the man in the photograph was the Ghost.
There was also something else.
As my blood chilled, I took a deep breath, bristling when my phone rang. “Kirill.”
“You’re not going to believe what I found out,” he said in his usual gruff voice.
“Her father once investigated Sergei Politoff.”
“Yeah. Only Sergei’s name had yet to be identified. There were whispers of the Ghost, several unexplained hits, including a senator who was hell bent on taking down the cartel that had control of the east side for almost a full decade. After that, the cartel was never able to regain their muscle. From what I was able to find, her father almost caught him.”
