Page 76 of Single Mom's Daddies
“Provenance records. He wants paperwork on every Svet we’ve sold in the last three years.”
My jaw clenches. “We keep the paperwork clean.”
“Iknowthat,” Renner hisses. “But he’s acting like this is his moment to crack something open. If he connects any of those paintings to someone you’ve done favors for?—”
“He won’t,” I cut in. “Not with what he’s holding.”
“I’ve seen the warrant. It’s tight. Signed this morning. He’s not bluffing.”
“I’m on my way.”
When I come out, Saffron’s sitting up in bed, sleep still tugging at her features. “Everything okay?”
“Work.”
Victor blinks awake. “Trouble?”
“Ruger.”
Nikolai curses under his breath and grabs a shirt from the floor.
Saffron looks at me. She doesn’t ask what’s going on. She doesn’t press. Just nods like she already knows this part of us is dangerous and demanding, and she’s accepted that.
“I’ll be back soon.” I hope that’s the truth. On the drive, I pray the rest of the day is boring. The sky is pale and overcast. The kind of day that feels like it’s holding its breath. I don’t want to know why.
When I pull up to the side entrance, I see Ruger’s government-issue black sedan parked out front like a middle finger. Renner meets me at the back door, pale and sweating. “He’s in the records room.”
“I’ll handle it.” I walk down the hallway slowly, deliberately, making sure my heartbeat doesn’t race, that my expression doesn’t twitch. The last thing I need right now is a fucking tell.
When I open the records room door, Ruger turns from the cabinet with a smirk. “Roman Orlov. The man of the hour.”
“Agent Ruger,” I reply. I make no effort to sound friendly.
He holds up a manila folder. “Just doing a little light reading.”
“I hear you have a warrant.”
He pats his coat. “Signed and sealed.”
I hold out my hand. He hesitates, then hands it over. I read it top to bottom, every clause, every comma. It’s solid. But not perfect.
“You want provenance. We’ve got it.”
He leans against the cabinet. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Always tidy. Always just on the right side of legal.”
I smile, all teeth. He doesn’t smile back. He’s holding the public ledger. The safe one. He flips through it, and I watch him carefully. After a few long minutes, he closes it. “Interesting pieces.”
“Svet’s work is very emotive.”
“Mm,” Ruger says. “And expensive.”
I shrug. “Good things usually are.”
He steps closer. “I’ll be back when you find your real books for me to look at.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Agent.”
He smiles again. It’s thinner this time. Then he walks out.
