Page 21 of Scarlet Angel

“Seems they suspect I had a hand in the bust from two years ago.”

“Our sources heard the same.”

Yes, Leo warned me. “I underestimated their tech capabilities. Won’t happen again. I recommend the same.”

“We’re not in the business of protecting the mafia. We consider them a threat. It’s not my area of expertise, but…appreciate the insight all the same. Others will find the information quite…useful.” He clocks the space, his gaze darting about before resting on me. “What’re you going to do about it?”

“I’m working on a plan. It should involve quite a bit of useful information for your counterparts.”

He connects the dots. “Ah. I see. Well, we welcome it. You know how to get in touch. Is that it?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“I’ll be on my way, then.” He holds up the room key. “Do I give this to you? Someone else?”

“On your way to the lift, pick a lovely bird. Hand her the key. Send her my way.” I need to blow off steam.

He lifts his shoulders noncommittally. “As you wish. Any preference? Blonde? Asian? Big tits? Small?”

“Surprise me.”

CHAPTER6

SCARLET

I wake to an unsettling quiet. It’s as if I’m alone. Do they sleep late in this house? If Nikolai Ivanov earned his reputation as a business titan, then it’s doubtful.

On the Gagliano estate, where I spent my teen years and have lived since Vincent’s death, the buzz of lawnmowers often passed through open windows, along with the chirps of birds, an undercurrent of waves, and voices. Doors were mostly open, and between the staff and the family, people were almost always milling around. During low tide, I’d wander down the steep, narrow path to the rocky beach beneath the cliff. The arduous climb back up meant it was one of the few solitary stretches on the estate. It’s also the location where MI6 first approached me, and realization dawned. Other organizations want to bring down the Lupi Grigi. I’m not alone. Or so I thought. The trouble with being an asset is if you leave your position, you’re no longer useful. I thought their goal was to curtail the drug industry, but as time passed, I’ve grown uncertain. I suspect they want information above all else. And that doesn’t serve my purpose.

Glimpsing overcast skies through the windows, I retrace my steps to the front of the stately English manor. A black sports utility vehicle approaches in the distance. I move to the side of the front-facing window, shielded by drapes, and watch as Lina comes up from the side path in riding boots, breeches, and a form-fitting jacket. The driver rolls down the window as she approaches. She hands him something, and he passes her an envelope.

They don’t kiss cheeks and speak for less than a minute. He drives away, and she returns from the direction she came.

The interaction strikes me as odd. Perhaps he delivered an item she ordered. Nick said if I needed anything, it could be delivered in town, and he would send someone to pick it up. Perhaps that’s all it is.

The quiet of the house agitates. Perhaps that’s why it took so long to fall asleep last night. The morning’s morose cloud cover feeds the internal discord.

Was it like this when you visited?

If only I could ring Willow and ask.

I could chase after Lina, so I’m not alone, but I’m without shoes, nor do I have a jacket. The hardwood floor chills my feet through my wool socks, and cool air wafts through the glass panes. The forecast is a mild day, but the gray skies seep into my psyche with an ever-present chill.

By a back door, I find Wellies and a Barbour jacket desperately in need of an oiling. I slip the Wellies and jacket on and inhale a faint cedar scent. I bury my nose in the worn collar and pick up hints of cinnamon and clove.

Is this Nick’s coat?

I push the door open and step into the chilly morning in search of Lina. Toward the back of the property is a stable, and I head along the brick path, assuming that’s where she must be.

As I approach the stable, the mechanical whir of rotors pulls my attention to the sky. A horse in a paddock pricks its ears forward and neighs. The tree limbs sway, and a helicopter appears over the peaks of the trees.

The treetops sway with increasing fervor as the helicopter descends, and the horse enclosed in the nearby paddock trots in a circle. The grass blades on the lawn whip in the wind, and a wayward piece of grit flies into my eye. My palm covers the injury. I keep my head bowed, hands shielding my eyes. The wind and sound lessen.

Cautiously, I raise my head, one hand over the sharp pain. My eye waters beneath my palm. The helicopter door opens and Nikolai hops out.

“Are you all right there? Something get in your eye?” He approaches swiftly. “You shouldn’t be out here without glasses, something to shield your eyes.”

He reaches for my chin, and I jerk back.

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