Page 16 of Saint

The dry tone in her voice told him she believed what she was saying. Mia kept saying her father didn’t give a shit about her, but Saint didn’t fully believe that. Maybe they didn’t have the best relationship, but if Carlisle thought his little girl’s life was on the line, he’d do whatever Ex Nihilo wanted.

Wouldn’t he?

The first inkling of doubt crept through his head as he studied Mia. What if she was telling the truth and Carlisle was an even bigger prick than he thought? What if he was willing to throw his only daughter to the wolves without a second thought if it meant saving his own skin and preserving his connections to The Agency?

“Well?” she demanded. “What’re you going to do? Hold me here forever?”

Before she could pluck another hair, he reached for his T-shirt and pulled it on. Then, he merely grumbled, “No.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she threw her arms up. “I give up. I can’t deal with you until I have some caffeine.”

“Now you know how I feel,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?” She stuffed a k-cup into the Keurig and hit brew.

“The feeling is mutual, except my drug of choice is nicotine.”

“And you’re out of cigarettes?” she guessed. When he nodded, she grinned. “Good. You smell much better now, you know.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she pressed her lips together. He merely arched a brow.

“You don’t stink, anyway,” she quickly amended.

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered, then reached into his pocket, pulled out his vibrating phone and answered, “Saint.”

“We got a ping on Chadwick Carlisle,” Braxton said without preamble.

“Where?” Saint asked, attention shifting to Mia who was lightly blowing on her coffee and watching him like a hawk.

“Russia.”

Saint swore under his breath. “What the fuck is he doing over there?”

“I don’t know. They seem to be recruiting chemists, specifically those familiar with Novichok.”

“I’ll go.”

“We’ll all go.”

“I have a contact who might be able to help us,” Saint said carefully. “But we can’t bombard her or she’ll get scared off. I need to go alone.”

“Who’s this contact?” Brax asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“Bratva.”

Braxton was quiet for a moment, likely mulling over the possibilities, and Saint continued, “You guys don’t know Russia like I do. I can get in and out of places no one else can. And I have informants, acquaintances and friends who can help me track the bastard down. But, I can’t move an entire team or convince my contacts to trust a group of strangers.”

Saint’s focus zeroed in on Mia. “I also have a bargaining chip,” he murmured, and her eyes widened.

“Using Mia as leverage should help get answers or, at least, a meeting with Carlisle,” Brax surmised.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t like you going alone.”

“It’s the only way,” he insisted.

A reluctant sound filled the line. “You’re going to need clothes and equipment.”

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