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He doesn’t say anything, his poor thirteen-year-old brain probably doesn’t knowwhatto say. But he does hug me. And it’s the best thing he could do.
I so need it.
27
JAMES
It was fifty-fifty. Part of me hoped it would be Volodya sitting here so I wouldn’t currently be aching with the effort it’s taking me to remain in my chair, but the practical side of me knew Sandy was our best option.
So it’s a good thing I drew the shortest straw.
“John Theodore Little,” Sandy says, looking between Danny and me. “That’s the name of the man who bought Winstable?”
“That’s what I said,” Danny replies quietly, as I watch the men standing behind Sandy, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch in the office at Hiatus, much to my displeasure. “You told us you had information.”
Sandy nods slowly. Dragging it out. Milking this situation for everything it’s worth. The Brit and The Enigma wanting something from him. Or, more significantly, needing it. “Let me ask you this,” Sandy says, his accent not as thick as Volodya’s, as he crosses one leg over the other, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You English, what is the name Theodore... how do you say it? Reduced to?”
“Shortened?” Danny tilts his head.
“Yes, shortened. Theodore shortened.”
Danny and I toss frowns at each other, and Brad sighs from his chair. “Ted—” He pauses, darting wide eyes Danny’s way as ice glides through my veins. “Jesus.”
“Teddy,” Danny whispers, looking shook.
“And Little John,” Sandy goes on as it all falls into painful place in my mind.
“Was a bear,” Brad says, hitting his desk with a balled fist.
I exhale on a disbelieving, unamused burst of laughter. I don’t believe this. How the fuck did we need this Russian prick to help us figurethatout?
Sandy nods, and Danny starts pacing the office, the stress and anger radiating from him on a whole new level. “Fuck!” he roars, punching a filing cabinet.
“It’s a penname,” Sandy goes on, unperturbed by The Brit’s temper.
“An alias,” I correct him quietly.
“Potatoes, tomato.”
Danny stares at Sandy like he’s a fire-breathing dragon, and Otto goes straight to his laptop, tapping away frantically.
“He had men on the inside,” Sandy continues.
Had. “He doesn’t anymore?” Danny asks, his chest rising and falling slowly, a result of him trying so fucking hard to contain his rage.
“I say no.” Sandy’s rugged face takes on an edge of disgust. “I was being watched by entry police.”
“Immigration.”
“That stopped as soon as I accepted The Bear’s offer to join him. Just yesterday, my bank accounts were frozen. I expect they’ll catch up with me again soon. These are legitimate accounts for a legitimate business. That speaks to me that he has lost whoever he had on the inside. I also had a call from a Detective Collins. She said if I give her details on some things, she will ensure my accounts were thawed.”
“Unfrozen.”
“My English—”
“Will do.” I look at Danny, shaking my head. Details on us. Collins wants details on us. Higham told us this. But is he covering his arse? In too deep? Naturally, we don’t mention Higham.
“I’m not interested in being a mouse.” Sandy gives each of us a moment of his eyes. “I want to remain here and run my business. I want Volodya gone.”
