Page 62 of Possess Me
I sighed. I was doing my best to keep from abandoning the meeting altogether. I didn’t enjoy being a captive on any island where there were two ways in and out. Air or sea.
“Fallon Zimmerman. She’s a pilot who usually flies for American Airlines. From what I know, she lives in Miami, but I have a feeling she’s escaping her past.”
“That’s it?”
“She’s friends with Jeffrey Collins if that helps, my regular pilot.”
Alessandro laughed. “You like testing me. Don’t you?”
“If you’re as good as you say you are…” I allowed the words to hang.
“Liliana said you were a closeted bastard.”
“My sweet cousin would say no such thing.” I grinned because the words sounded exactly like the woman. Liliana reminded me of Fallon in several ways, including their rebellious instincts. It was good to see my cousin happily married. Even to an Italian.
“You should hear what else she has to say. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Do it as soon as you can. Please.”
“Oh, well, if there’s a please I might drop everything else I was working on.”
Snickering, I glanced at one of two weapons I had inside the rental car. Seeing her reaction had been the first giveaway she’d been through some trauma. “I’ll owe you one.”
“Yes, you will.”
After shoving the phone into my jacket pocket, I rolled my finger across my bottom lip, trying to curtail the rage. Given what I’d seen with Hoffman the day before, I could easily take out my fury on the man when it was possible his advances had been benign.
Not that I bought that shit in the least.
But I was here for a purpose. Discover what the fuck they really wanted.
The other side of Saba Island from where I was staying had been hit hard by a hurricane only a couple of years before, ravaging the then-prosperous tourist mecca.
There were no pristine beaches as on St. Martin, the rocky terrain certainly not what most people thought of when vacationing in the Caribbean. While I wasn’t opposed to the idea of expanding our business in other areas of the United States, doing so in a foreign country thousands of miles away wasn’t prudent in my opinion.
A view that neither my brother nor cousins shared.
Maybe sending me here was Mikhail’s way of forcing me to abandon the past altogether. He’d insisted during the last few years I’d allowed my memories to interfere with my job performance. Laughable in my mind. But what the heck. I’d handle the meeting, tell the Europeans to go fuck themselves, and fly back home.
Quick and easy.
I drove the rental car to the location provided by Hoffman’s assistant, sighing as soon as I did. When I glanced into the rearview mirror, I noticed my eyebrows were almost stitched together from fucking frustration. Since the first day my father had brought the offer to the table, I’d had a bad feeling whatever connection he’d had with Hoffman wasn’t something he wanted discussed in the family.
Why had they sought out a man who’d been basically retired for over a decade? The conjecture was an interaction from the past. If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it?
Ivan Dmitriyev was a tough old bird, not handling the concept of reality any better than my uncle, the former Pakhan. While Dad had been right by Uncle Boris’ side after coming to America, he had been the one who’d fought against the company diversifying. In other words, he’d wanted to remain entrenched in illegal activities.
Thankfully, Mikhail’s positive influence and keen business sense had helped soothe the disgruntled nerves while forging a path to legitimacy.
Not that I minded the old, brutal methods of handling business. Mikhail and I had certainly shared our moments of reveling in destroying would-be enemies with our fists and other more powerful weapons.
Still, the meeting and the business recommendation felt like something else altogether. Maybe my father was testing me. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d tormented both sons over the years with cryptic quizzes and puzzles to invoke our most intangible thoughts. At least that’s the way he’d described his circus-like requests when we’d been younger.
Chuckling, I killed the engine, studying the group of men who were standing by what was left of ruins of a former hotel.
Ludolf Hoffman was well known in Europe, his reputation much like mine, assertive and powerful. He had a solid business acumen, able to build his company up from the ashes of a land development company his father had run into the ground. Just like Mikhail had mentioned, he came from what some people would call royalty.
He and his family had ties to some very powerful Germans from decades before. In my eyes, I saw something more abhorrent, but it wasn’t my call to make.
