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Odd. “I typically handle real estate sales, not Lionel,” I said, curious as to why she wanted me working on something else.
Her dark brown eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t read and she smoothed her hands flat on the desk before raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with how I’m assigning work, Piper?”
“No, of course not,” I murmured, confused.
I left her office to find Lionel waiting at my door. I handed him the box of physical files, and promised to email him my notes as soon as I had a spare moment. He assured me the files for the hotel takeover would be delivered to my office.
As I walked home that night, I could’ve sworn a shadow followed me from the office to the metro, but I shrugged it off as an overactive imagination. I’d been prone to flights of fancy since I returned from California. Surely this was one of them.
TWO DAYS LATER, I SAT outside on the sidewalk in Georgetown, a block from the waterfront, staring across the table from a man whose battered and scarred face belied his sharp business sense. I shivered in the chilly air, pulling my red hood over my head, the brief memory of the men who’d given it to me blowing through my heart, and then continuing onward, like a leaf in the wind.
Time heals all wounds. Although I still dreamed of them at night, the ache in my heart slowly healed as I found my footing in this new world.
Igor Lebedev refused to talk to me over the phone about the sale of the property. He refused to meet inside. He refused to allow me to bring anyone with me. So I met him outside, at a posh cafe in one of DC’s wealthiest neighborhoods, while freezing my ass off. I didn’t know why it meant so much to me to track down the oddities related to the sale of this building, but I was determined to unravel the mystery.
“I like you, Piper,” he said, in a thick Russian accent, his gold-capped teeth flashing in the light as he lit a cigarette. “Olivia did the right thing, sending you my way before you approach the prosecutor.”
“I’d rather you liked telling me what’s going on with the Marathon Building,” I answered, my voice more acerbic than I’d intended.
Igor smiled and puffed on his cigarette. “I love this place. Their steak-frites are to die for, a bit of France in the culinary wasteland that is DC.”
DC hadn’t been a culinary wasteland for a decade, but I couldn’t afford to contradict Igor. I ordered, shivering as a cold wind blew across my face, despite my fur-lined hood.
Even worse, the hood blocked my vision, making it impossible for me to watch for the shadow I swore was following me since I asked Prisha about the file.
Igor and I made small talk. He was a pleasant companion, if I ignored the swath of bodies his real estate transactions left in their wake.
“Pretty Piper,” he began. I buried the ache in my heart at his inadvertent use of one of Ibrahim’s nicknames for me. “Do you think the rich oligarchs in Russia like the sanctions that impede them from doing business in America? And do you think silly things like laws and regulations stop organized criminals like the Bratva or the Cuban transnationals?”
I cocked my head. “They’re laundering money.”
“A lot of it.” Igor tapped his finger on the table, grinning. He cut into his steak, ignoring the frigid cold that cooled the meal.
He set his silverware down with a clatter. “Benedict,” Igor called out across the cafe. “How are you, old friend?”
My heart caught in my throat. No, it couldn’t be. Familiar whisky-colored eyes met mine with shock as Benedict coolly greeted my companion.
“Igor,” he said, nodding his head in greeting. “How are you?” The ice between the two men chilled me. A sense of palpable violence brewed in the air.
Igor grinned, fiercely, taking my hand as if to claim ownership. “I’m well. This is Piper Stafford.”
I pulled my hand out of the Russian’s meaty paw to shake Benedict’s familiar hand. Did I imagine his reluctance to let it go?
“We’ve met,” I said, smiling softly, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“It’s nice to see you, Piper,” he answered, nodding at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off his close-cropped beard, the flash of his teeth when he smiled, or the fire burning in his golden eyes.
“DC is such a small town,” Igor chortled, taking his seat once again. “Benedict, please, join us!”
Benedict raised an eyebrow, running his eyes up and down Igor. He hesitated, and my heart cracked into a million pieces when he shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was lovely to see you again, Piper.”
For a moment, I dropped my professional facade as I watched him walk away, struggling to hold in the hot tears welling in my eyes. Igor reached across the table to take my hand in his once again. “He’s cold, that one.”
Embarrassed at my obvious upset, I smiled tremulously and turned my attention to the man in front of me, pulling my hand away. Igor’s eyes warmed. “That’s my girl,” he said, heartily, and ordered two shots of top-shelf Russian vodka.
I toasted him and took the shot, closing my eyes against the pain once again taking up residence in my chest, wishing I had more answers than questions.
Chapter Eighteen
