Page 15 of The Pakhan

Her face flushing, she barely looked down at me. “You can find all kinds of people on the dark web if you know how to look. Everyone has a name, a code, and the way they speak would seem like gibberish to most people, but it’s easy to decipher if you know what you’re doing.”

“And you do.”

She gave me a sly grin. “Of course. I’m the best at what I do.”

“Even though you were caught.” From what I could tell after a few seconds of searching the files, she’d discovered a goldmine with regards to insider information, including about Marino’s diamond business. Even his hierarchy had been discovered. That was the issue with keeping everything on the computer. Anyone with skills like the beautiful Caroline could crack it.

“Are you going to throw that in my face?”

“It’s just a fact, zavetnyy.”

She ignored my comment, maneuvering to another file within the folder. “Here’s the email I found.”

As soon as she pulled it up, my blood began to boil. The intention of ending my life was clear, the email all the smoking gun I needed. However, I wasn’t going to terrify her any more than she had been by illuminating my plans on killing the man.

When her stomach growled loudly, I was caught off guard and able to laugh. “You’re hungry.”

The way she shrugged was so nonchalant, but I could tell by the instant sparkle in her eyes I needed to feed her. “I could eat.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“I dunno. A couple days?”

“What? Come on, let me make you something.” She barely backed away as I stood, which forced me to brush against her. I’d be damned if the look she gave me wasn’t carnal.

Shit.

Ignoring my needs would likely become even more difficult than keeping patient before putting a bullet in Marino’s brain. She trailed behind me into the kitchen, shifting against the island and watching me.

“Let’s see. What can I make you? An omelet? Chicken fingers?”

She was already giggling, which was unnerving on so many levels.

“What is it?”

After rolling her eyes, she moved to the refrigerator, throwing both doors open. “Forgive me, Mr. C, but you’re a terrible cook.”

“I am not.” I was too, horrible. Having a chef wasn’t just a luxury but a necessity if I didn’t want to eat out all the time.

She slowly turned her head and pulled out something from inside. “Um, do you remember the pizza you tried to reheat for us girls?”

“Vaguely.”

“You almost burned down the house. The fire department had to be called. Do you have any peanut butter and bread? I adore this jam and would love a PB&J.”

“A what?”

“Peanut butter and jelly sammie? Duh.”

Chuckling, I moved to one of the pantries where it took me a full minute to find the jar of Peter Pan. I yanked the bread from the counter, grateful my brilliant chef ensured I had a little of everything stocked.

She was obviously delighted, her smile bright. She knew exactly where everything was, easily grabbing a plate. “Do you want one?”

I had to shake my head. “Not this go-around.”

“You’re missing out. There is nothing better than a late night PB&J.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Watching her was like studying the actions of an angel. While some of her actions were a reminder of the times spent with my daughters, everything else was all woman.

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