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“But I thought Sergei and Orlov were sympatico,” she says, voice tinged with skepticism. “It doesn’t make sense that he would go after Sergei like that.”
“They were playing nice under the arrangement carved out by my betrothal contract. But once Orlov got wind that I was backing out, the deal was off, and it was going to be all out war. I believe Gregor made a strategic move to mitigate the bloodbath. He figured Sergei was the strong man and if he fell, the rest of us would fall in line behind him without putting up too much of a fight.”
Madison sits back letting the realization fall across her face. “Gregor Orlov ordered a hit on your uncle…damn,” she says contemplatively.
“It’s the best explanation for the timing of his disappearance and the evidence found in Orlov’s warehouse.”
“Unless of course…,” suddenly, she won’t meet my eyes, “someone’s framing Orlov a-and maybe planted his body there.”
I place my glass down on the table. Madison’s going off script, this wasn’t part of what we rehearsed. “I suppose that wouldn’t be unheard of, especially if they wanted to throw the heat off themselves,” I say, playing along.
“I guess it’ll come down to which one of you had a greater motive to kill Sergei. Orlov, with his desire to seize control or you seeking revenge over my abduction.”
“True,” I say, wondering where she’s going with this. “But we left there together, and you know that I spent the whole night with you.”
She glances at me before looking away. “You could’ve done it there, before we left Last Call.”
The tension in my shoulders returns. “But sweetheart, you were present the whole time I was with Sergei,” I chuckle, belying my heightened concern. “I think you would’ve remembered me killing someone.”
She locks eyes with me, and I’m totally exposed here, feeling like I’m out on a limb that’s about to be cut off.
“Yeah, I know. Which is why I’m trying to understand why they’re trying so hard to pin it on you. Sergei was never seen leaving Last Call after you came for me. But then again, they never saw me leave the hospital that night. I was removed right from beneath their noses, Gregor could’ve had his men remove Sergei the same way.”
Check and mate.
I shrug, downplaying my admiration for what she’s done. “Some of Orlov’s boys were there that night, so, I suppose it’s possible…but highly unlikely, unless they had inside help.”
Her brows rise in surprise as we’re completely winging it. “Did he have many enemies inside his camp?”
I snort. “I could name a few. Since Sergei’s disappearance, a couple of his captains have jumped ship in favor of Orlov’s leadership.” I shake my head. “Seriously, the DEA are complete idiots for wasting their time on me. But I just hate what this is doing to you, harassing you at your job like they’re the fucking gestapo. The next time they show up, you need to call your attorney and file charges against them.”
“Maybe you could tip them off to the warehouse location where you found his hand.”
I jerk back as if she’d slapped me. “I’m not a rat, Mads. Let the feds do their fucking job and figure it out themselves.”
“So, Gregor gets off Scott-free for killing your uncle?” she asks incredulously.
“Orlov will get his, trust me. We have our own forms of justice.”
“Bash,” she wines. “Please, stay out of it. No more of that life, right?”
I sigh. “I’m sorry, babe, it’s our anniversary, I don’t want to spend any more time talking shop.” I look up to see our waiter making his way over with our appetizers. “Ah, you’re going to love these.”
She smiles politely at the waiter who nods at her, his gaze inadvertently slips down to where the wire is hidden…either that or he’s seriously checking out her cleavage. When he bends toward her to refill her wine glass, I see the slight bulge at the back of his waistband indicating he’s carrying a weapon. An agent loaded for bear.
I take a bite of stuffed peppers. “Mmm, delicious, my compliments to the chef,” I tell him with a generous smile.
“Yes, very good, sir,” he replies as he swings the bottle of wine toward me to top off my glass. But in the process, he knocks my glass over spilling wine all over my crisp white shirt.
“Damn it!” I say, shooting up from the table.
“Oh, my goodness, so sorry, sir,” he exclaims and snaps his finger for another server to come over to help him. “It’s only my second night here, please forgive me,” he says while aggressively blotting my shirt with a napkin. “The meal will be comped.”
“I should think so,” I snap, shoving his hands away. “This is absolutely unacceptable!” As he fusses over me, I keep my eye on what’s happening with Madison. The other waiter, a woman is leaning toward her saying something. “I’ll be sending you the dry-cleaning bill as well,” I say in my surliest tone.
“Of course, sir, everything is on the house tonight,” he sputters. “If you’d like, we can provide you with another shirt.”
I lock eyes with him. “Go…away…now.” There was a second of defiance in his eyes before he remembered he was playing the part of a dutiful server at a posh restaurant.
