Page 8 of Kissing Danger

One of her hands drifted toward the gun at her hip, though she didn’t actually touch the weapon.

“Tell Zaur Dalkhan that he’s made a mistake. That model you killed is the niece of the new FBI director. They aren’t going to let this go so easily.”

The FBI director?

Is that what this was about?

I’d heard recently that the director of the FBI had been killed in the line of duty—something about a pedophile ring, if I recalled correctly—and a new director had been instated.

For once, I could honestly say it had nothing to do with me. I didn’t even need to lie as I stared Agent Belden directly in the eye. “I didn’t kill anyone, and I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Well, the first part wasn’t a lie, anyway. The second part of my statement was a lie, but even the cruelest torture wouldn’t get me to admit that truth.

Zaur Dalkhan was, according to most international law enforcement, the leader of the Chechen Mafia. What they didn’t know was that he was merely a figurehead leader. A red herring for them to chase blindly after.

He was also my half-brother. While he sat publicly on the throne as the head of the organization, I stood just behind him in the shadows, truly calling the shots. I’d changed my name, and westernized myself as much as possible so I could travel around without notice. Most people didn’t even know I was originally from Chechnya. The few people who did know the truth about me, knew me only as The Wolf.

In this way, I could move freely, and lead our organization from the safety of the shadows.

Sitting in the harsh spotlights of the interrogation room, I stared up at Agent Belden without fear. She had nothing on me, and we both knew it. Based on our previous run-ins, she suspected that I had some tie to the Chechen Mafia. I’d kept an eye on her case against me when I realized she wouldn’t give up her investigation. So far, she only suspected that I was an informant for the Chechen Mafia, or maybe an enforcer of some kind, and even that theory was based mostly off of guesswork. She had no proof I had any ties to the Chechen Mafia whatsoever, let alone my true place within the organization.

And she would never know. Even now, I could already see the look of defeat creeping into her eyes. She had nothing. There was nothing she could do to keep me from walking out the door.

Standing from my chair to stare down at her in turn, my smile grew a little wider. “I think we’re done here. Thank you for a... pleasant evening, Agent Belden.”

CHAPTER 5

Nathan

The police interrogationlasted several hours, going round and round as I continued to not give them the answers they were looking for. Eventually, they were forced to let me go since they had no evidence and I hadn’t done anything wrong. Considering I hadn’t been the one to kill the model, that outcome wasn’t surprising. I was only annoyed that it took so long.

Agent Belden was especially livid as she watched me walk out the doors. I half expected her to pull her gun on me.

If she continued causing problems for me, I really was going to have to take care of her, along with whoever had killed the model at the fashion show. Whether it was a sudden act of passion, or premeditated murder, the killer’s actions were getting in my way, and had already brought law enforcement down on me.

As soon as I was free from the police station, I ordered my people to start their own investigation into the model’s murder. The police were never going to catch the killer while Interpol keptthem distracted looking at me. If I wanted it done right, I’d have to do it myself.

That brought me to Monday, and my anticipated interview with Deacon. It was a formality, really. I’d already decided to hire him. However, I could already tell he was a man who valued his work, and he wouldn’t appreciate having a job just handed to him. He would want to feel like he earned it. Conducting an actual interview, a challenge he would have to surpass, would help with that.

Plus, I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to play with him some more.

Since Las Vegas was one of my common stomping grounds, I had a permanent office in the city, but this wasn’t mafia business. At least, it wasn’t directly mafia business. Deacon’s role asFantaisiste’sfashion designer would require nothing illegal. So, instead of my own personal office, I met him inFantaisiste’scorporate office I’d set up in the city.

It was still fairly new, but it was staffed by my own people, all of which I knew and had vetted personally, from the security guards down to the secretary outside my office door. So, it didn’t surprise me that, although Deacon showed up on time for a meeting, it took nearly half an hour for him to actually make it through my staff and be allowed entry into my office.

I spent the time staring out the window, contemplating my new angle on a familiar city. The building was far enough away from the Vegas strip that I wasn’t overshadowed by the massive casinos and resorts, but close enough that their neon lights still reached me. I always preferred to be just off to the side, hidden in the shadows where people wouldn’t easily notice me.

So why did people keep trying to drag me into the light?

As I stared into the distance, I wondered what to do about the Interpol agent breathing down my neck.

For her to have shown up so quickly at the merest hint of a crime happening in my vicinity, she must have already been close by. It felt like I was being hunted and I didn’t like it. The coincidence of a model, who was actually the FBI director’s niece, dying at a fashion show I just so happened to attend, rubbed all my instincts in all the wrong ways.

Finally, there was a knock on my door and Deacon was allowed inside my office. Just beyond the doorway, I noticed a blonde woman peering inside like she wanted to follow him, but then she was cut off by the heavy door closing. Deacon didn’t seem to notice, but I knew that the door had locked behind him. It was just the two of us, alone in a soundproofed office, until I decided to open the lock.

“You know,” Deacon said with a smile as he approached my desk. “My assistant thought that you were fake and just lying to me. Her face when we got here, and it turned out to be a real office, was priceless. So, either this is the most elaborate hoax ever arranged, or she was wrong for once. I’m not sure which is more unlikely.”

Leaning back in my chair behind my desk, I stared up at him over my laced fingers. “Not a hoax. Please, sit.”

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