Page 12 of The Russian Retribution

“No, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Faina looks uncertain, but she resumes speaking. I should listen. After all, she’s been making sure all the victims from last week’s slavery ring are getting the treatment they need, organizing housing and therapy as well as trying to get in contact with any relatives. She’s been doing it all, and it’s important.

I should listen.

But I can feel the heat of Erik’s eyes on me, and it’s distracting. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him lean one shoulder against the wall and cross his arms over his chest, never once looking away from me.

It was a moment of weakness when I asked him to personally take over as my security. I was chasing that momentary safety I felt in his arms while being high on painkillers and adrenaline. I don’t regret it, but I must manage whatever this is.

“Actually...” I cut Faina off, and she hesitates. “Canwe pick this up later?”

“Absolutely.” Faina closes the files in her lap and reaches for my knee once more. “You know where I’ll be. Just call, okay? And get some rest.”

“Thank you.”

Faina leaves after flashing a smile at Erik, and a heavy silence fills my office. I want to check on the birds I saw earlier, but doing that would mean I have to look at Erik. Asking him to leave isn’t an option. He’s been glued to my side since I made my security request, and a selfish part of me enjoys his presence.

Even if it is residual relief from being rescued, is there any real harm in enjoying it?

“The kidnappers,” I say, breaking the silence and finally turning my attention to Erik. “Did we identify them?”

Erik straightens up and moves from his spot by the window. He stops just behind the couch I’m resting on and shakes his head. “No. There was nothing salvageable from that wreck. The fire burned up everything, including the barber shop, I’m afraid. The bodies were too charred and the car wasn’t registered to anyone.”

“Huh.” Faceless, untraceable assassins. Figures.

“I have a theory, though,” Erik says, placing both hands on the back of the couch. When he leans over, my air suddenly fills with the subtle woody scent of his aftershave, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I have to ignore how his arms bulge faintly when he puts weight on them to support himself and how his throat bobs slightly when he swallows after speaking.

“A theory?”

“What if they’re the same people, or connected to the same people, who killed your father?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think about it. Someone assassinated your father and then you step into his shoes. The other attempts on your life weren’t this bold, so this reeks of desperation. They really wanted you, and given the lengths they went to, there has to be some sort of connection.”

“If there is one, I don’t see it.” Shifting against the cushions, I give Erik my full attention. “Whoever had an issue with myfather can’t have an issue with me. We’re doing things so differently.”

“You know how this world works,” Erik remarks. “All it takes is one wrong look for someone to want you dead. And we have no clues about whoever killed your father.” Erik pauses. “Unless you remember something else about that night?”

Talking about my father is the last thing I want to do. I turn away and shake my head. “No.”

“Alright. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find a connection so I don’t have to pull you out of a car wreck again.”

“I understand. You’re just doing your job.” I appreciate that, especially since Igor was more of the strong, silent type who would pass the time gambling on his phone. The conversation is nice. “I’m just… I feel worn thin. I’ve been out for a week, and Faina is already swamped. There’s no time to breathe, y’know? I’m sick of being like this.” One hand skims down over the tight bandages hidden under my clothes. “I want to be helpful.”

Erik straightens up suddenly. “Then let’s go out.”

“What?” I stare up at him, and despite my best efforts, all I can do is admire how good he looks standing above me like that. “Where?”

“We’ll go get some food. Being cooped up isn’t good for recovery.”

“Don’t you have to make a dozen calls and set up a motorcade for me to go somewhere this suddenly? You were literally just concerned about assassins.”

“I’ll keep you safe.” Erik’s warm brown eyes lock onto mine, and when he smiles, the outer corners crinkle, making them sparkle. “Trust me.”

“Okay.”

“So,” I say between mouthfuls of thick, juicy, greasy cheeseburger. “You were in the military?”

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