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“No. But, how come you don’t want Dagda to atone too?”
“Are you pouting?” I snorted at the mention of the fucker who was simultaneously the man who’d killed my father and Aidan’s new deputy in the ECD. “It’s not like he’s in Aruba, Star. He’s based in a country where it is always raining. A perpetual storm cloud over his head can be my retribution.”
“Some people enjoy the rain.”
“It isn’t a tropical island. It’s Ireland.”
“Blasphemy.”
My lips twitched. “I suppose. If you’re Irish. Which neither of us is.”
That stunned a chuckle out of her and had her pulling away from my hold. “Your da just turned in his grave.”
“That he did.” I settled my chin on her shoulder. “I miss Da but I know that he was sick, and he’d have been a terrible patient. I find comfort in that. Plus, Dagda is at our beck and call. It’s not a small thing to have a man of his skills on our payroll. It gives Eoghan some slack too.”
“Not tonight.”
“Nope. Not tonight.”
I pressed a hand to her belly and encouraged her to lean her weight on me once again. “I love you.”
She sighed. “I don’t deserve you.”
“At least you know that.”
Her snicker made me grin. “Charming.”
“I keep it real, Star. That’s my job in your life.”
“Oh, that’s your job.”
“Uh huh. It’s why you want me to stick around until we’re worm food.”
She clicked her fingers. “You caught me—”
“Star! Conor!”
Anton’s voice acted like a bath in liquid nitrogen as it came from about forty feet across the room. The tension infected her limbs until she was frozen solid. At least, it felt that way. From the outside looking in, she didn’t react.
At all.
Then—
“Oh, God,” she choked out.
“What is it?”
“That…” Her spine straightened. “When I first saw the picture of him that Bear had put in his motel room for me to find, I thought I recognized him.”
“What?” I muttered, whispering the words in her ear. “You recognized Anton? From where?”
“I didn’t know. And when I saw him at his place in Moscow, he didn’t register so I reckoned I was mistaken.” She swallowed. “But I saw him. At a party I attended with Hans.”
I stiffened. “Are you shitting me?”
“I’m not. I wish I were.” She gulped. “He was wearing that same red velvet smoking jacket. Fuck, he’s—”
“Anton,” I greeted as he neared, knowing I had to give her time to compose herself. “How are you? How is everything?”
