Page 4 of Maximus

“Alas, I believe my collector does have the money to play in this arena, but I understand. A girl can dream, can’t she?” Elena tried to play off the disappointment. If she could score even an appointment for Abrasha to discuss the purchase of the painting, she would be rewarded handsomely, and then she’d leave and find a position at a reputable gallery. Being thecurator at a museum had always been her plan. Her contract with Abrasha was for five years, and she wouldn’t renew it. Her employer was a very powerful and very controversial Russian billionaire. She heard the rumors, the whispers at the showings, the subtle moves away from him, and she saw the fear in people’s eyes when he was present. Her father had warned her not to take the position and had told her horrible stories related to the man, but she’d needed the job and experience.

Abrasha stated his expectations, and as long as she met them, there were no problems. She’d witnessed his ugly side at a showing when someone had said something he didn’t like. After that explosion, the chill in the air would have frozen the Siberian tundra ten times over. She didn’t host a showing for over a year after that event. She didn’t know what was said, but she did know the offender, and he was found dead shortly afterward. A heart attack was the official cause; it wasn’t what was said in her circles, though. Many had warned her to walk carefully around her boss.

Taking a sip of his tea, Max leaned back in his chair. “Dreaming gains little traction in our work, I’m afraid. All our interested parties have been vetted. Would your employer be able to pass through those gates? We don’t let people who can’t afford the price of entry into the discussion. A necessary business decision, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Elena blinked, leaned forward, and whispered, “Truly, are you suggesting there’s a chance my employer could be included in that discussion?”

Max looked around the small café. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I suggest we both do our due diligence before assuming any proposed invitation.”

Elena nodded. “I believe you’re correct.” She reached into her pocket and extracted a thick, gold-painted, bevel-edged businesscard. “My contact information. I can provide my employer’s details.”

Max reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved his card. It was black, made of metal, and had only a number etched in the medium. “You can follow the instructions at this number to leave documentation proving your client is in the league he needs to be. I’ll get back to you when I’m able.”

His dinner was placed in front of him. She smiled and placed the card in her pocket. “I’ll let you eat in peace. It was fortuitous to meet you here tonight.”

Max smiled politely and admitted, “Strange, I thought it was a bittoofortuitous.”

Elena’s smile slipped from her face.Wait. What?“You don’t think I was following you, do you?” She pointed to her table, where her dinner was getting cold. “I was sitting there when you came in, and you can ask anyone here; I come in most nights and have for the last four years.”

Max seemed to consider her words before nodding. “My apologies if I have offended you, but you must admit, the likelihood of both of us in one place at one time is … illogical.”

“I would prefer to think of it as fate.” Elena stood. “I hope to hear from you if I pass your background checks.”

“And I hope you also do your due diligence, Ms. Ivanova.” He put his papers in the slimline briefcase he had with him before tucking it under the table and beginning his meal. She blinked at the action and turned back to her table.As if she would try to steal the document?Floored by the actions, she dropped back into her seat, activated her computer screen, and stared at her email.What an insult. She was well-known in the area. She had contacts and could give the man referrals, but if he wanted to do his checks, so be it. Her integrity was beyond reproach in the art world.

She choked down a meal she couldn’t taste and left before Mr. Stryker. She wasn’t sure if she was more excited about the chance or offended by the sexy man’s actions. She took several long, calming breaths. He didn’t know her and only had her word that her client could enter the exalted world where he worked. Would she have reacted the same way? Perhaps. No, definitely, she would have been suspicious. As she walked home, excitement about the possibility of an opportunity grew, but she needed to tamp it down. She wouldn’t breathe a word of her meeting. She didn’t want to jinx it, but the possibility of being considered into the conversation of purchasing theSalvator Mundiwas a lifetime accomplishment.

The walk to her oceanside apartment took only a few minutes. She opened the door and turned on the lights before hanging up her coat and dropping onto her couch. She connected to the true internet, not the Russian State internet, which Abrasha had provided for her at her residence and work. She needed to research Mr. Max Stryker.

For the next two hours, she consumed every article that mentioned the man. Most articles mentioned prestigious acquisitions in the art world, including Max’s work. There were old pictures where he was usually in the background. She smiled as she noticed that any reference to him was always with the highest regard. Closing the computer, she stared out her window.If she could only get her foot in the door.Her employer’s art portfolio was extensive, and he was a billionaire. By all accounts, Abrasha Molchalin could sit at any table with the richest of men. She would provide the documents and hope for the best.

Rising to get ready for bed, she turned off the light, then walked to the window overlooking the Black Sea. The reflection of the moon danced off the water. She glanced at the canvas to her left. She’d captured the scene in oil and watercolors severaltimes. She was talented but not nearly enough to be considered a rising artist. Her paintings would never be hung in galleries, but she found peace and beauty in creating a scene that pulled at a person’s imagination.

She ran her finger over the canvas-wrapped frame and smiled. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. People with money also dictated what was beautiful and what wasn’t. In her opinion, theSalvator Mundiwas not up to da Vinci’s standard of art. She didn’t agree with those who said he painted it. The features were not sharp or defined in true da Vinci fashion, nor was the torso twisted, which was his norm. There was also a problem with the glass orb. Distortion wasn’t present, and da Vinci would have used the glass to reflect such a thing. As a master, da Vinci wouldn’t have missed that nuance. No, she believed that perhaps the master's student had painted the most expensive painting in the world, but her opinion didn’t matter. Abrasha’s opinion and desires did, and she’d explained her concerns about that specific painting to him ad nauseum. She’d do it again if they were presented the chance to bid on the painting.

Her mind wandered back to the man who’d awakened her very dormant libido, even if it was momentarily. He was possibly the most interesting person she’d met in years. The sensations when he looked at her were so immediate and overwhelming. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced back out at the sea. It was vast, beautiful, enticing, and exciting, like Max. Yet she wouldn’t swim in the sea because there were unseen dangers to those who weren’t strong swimmers. She wasn’t. Perhaps it would be wise to remember that fact. Her talents didn’t involve swimming or relationships. She’d stick to what she knew.

CHAPTER 3

Maximus took off his jacket and made his way into his hotel room. He opened his suitcase, unfastened the false bottom, and extracted his equipment. Sweeping the room was his priority. Although the chances of someone installing monitoring equipment in the room while he was gone were slim, he wasn’t taking any risks. He’d disabled the listening devices by turning on a high-frequency jamming cube resembling an electrical adapter. He’d developed the technology last year, which was now standard issue for all Guardian Shadows working in Russia and throughout the world.

Loosening his tie, he ensured the room was clean before returning to his phone and calling up an app he’d developed. He tapped on it and watched as Elena Ivanova worked on her computer. The woman was quite a revelation. Her English rather than Russian accent wasn’t anticipated, although he knew her mother was British, and she’d attended school in England before returning to Russia. Another revelation proved to be his immediate and unwavering interest in the woman. Unwavering being the keyword. Why and how did that happen? Only a handful of people held his attention beyond the first interaction. People were slow, boring, and uninteresting. Yet she wasn’t,which was something he needed to decode. Not knowing why he had an interest made him itchy. He didn’t like that sensation.

His cameras, which he’d installed that morning, operated perfectly. The woman’s security was next to nonexistent. Wearing a pair of gray overalls, he’d carried a toolbox and walked into her building. No one had questioned him, and the lock on her door had taken seconds to defeat. The apartment was small but neatly appointed. He’d used his time to install three cameras and get to know his mark. She was tidy. Dishes had been done and put away. Her bathroom had been clean, and there were minimal beauty products that she didn’t need. She was a beautiful woman.

He'd gone through her closets, dresser, and every cupboard in her apartment. Volumes of art books had lined the shelving units in her living room. The desk area had been neat. There’d been papers on leasing a hall, and he’d noted the date. If she were planning a showing, it would fit his plan nicely. Assuming he could get an invitation, which he believed he could, his access to Molchalin would be almost guaranteed. With the asshole being violet coded, all the people at the show were expendable. Using the resources he had available, he could trap his prey while the others handled Molchalin’s army of security. Escape from that public execution could be problematic, however, without a specific plan for everyone, especially because he would take his time and leave the message Guardian wanted. No one was untouchable. No one, including the Shadows. That was why he still worked so damn hard for Guardian. He made sure Shadows were not traceable. Well, unless they gave out their address. He’d had words with Malice about that slip. He’d also used the information Honor had given Jewell to reinforce the programs that would swoop in if Jewell’s defenses failed. He’d taken on the overall system because Gabriel had asked him to doso after the Siege. He’d also bring on someone to train under him so the safety net never faltered.

He'd continued his work in Elena’s apartment. There had been nothing unanticipated until he’d tested her internet. Most people accessed the State’s internet via wireless hookup, so the port at her desk was a novelty. He’d opened his toolbox and pulled out the equipment he needed. Plugging in a stand-alone computer, he’d sent out a signal. What he’d received in return was interesting. Her access to free-world internet aside, what had caught his attention was that her access was more than likely being monitored. It was a private network, so decrypting traffic at a proxy was a no-brainer. No doubt, that was a common occurrence when one worked for Abrasha Molchalin. That being said, as soon as he made contact, Abrasha could know about it, particularly if she did any research on him, which he hoped she would. He’d quickly installed his monitoring system so he could see what she did on the computer, closed the wall plate, and made sure everything was returned to normal. Then he’d pulled his phone out, accessed his app, and looked at himself in the woman’s apartment. Walking into the kitchen and finally into the bedroom, he’d ensured he had adequate coverage before exiting the apartment.

Now, sitting in his hotel room, he studied the woman. He anticipated at least three or four near misses or brush-bys before they would make contact, so her approach was intriguing. She was more attentive than he’d anticipated, which made the contact more entertaining. He changed the app and accessed his secure texts.

> Contact made.

He sentthe message and closed the app. He didn’t care if anyone acknowledged it, nor was he obliged to check in with a handler. He controlled all Guardian’s systems; checking in with anyone coming to assist was almost useless. He could access any information he needed, and he knew his help was en route and would be in Sochi by the night's end tomorrow. With the first contact made, he would study more and meet with the Shadows who arrived. Separately or a rendezvous of all hands, he didn’t care.

But his pops got antsy if he didn’t check in through the system now and again. Both his dad and Guardian knew what they released when they released him. His analytical brain didn’t register the empathy that most people showed when dealing with humans. Unless he had a connection with a person, there was little … there was no concern about their pain or predicaments, which allowed him to send statements without a moral dilemma that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the population would be forced to endure.

When his phone rang, he closed his eyes before lifting it to his ear and answering. “Yes?”

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