Page 92 of Critical Mass
All Zephyr containers originated from ports with Russian connections. Dubai has strong Russian business presence. Singapore handles Russian shipping. Istanbul is a known hub for Russian arms dealers.
The pieces were starting to form a pattern. The Russians had been on Hudson’s radar since Alexei Volkov’s name had been mentioned. A Russian shipping magnate with a reputation for ruthlessness and a long-standing rivalry with Ravenscroft.
But was Volkov Zephyr? Or was Zephyr someone else entirely?
Natalie lay in her childhood bedroom, staring at shadows on the ceiling cast by the security lights outside. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant murmur of guards changing shifts.
She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the way Hudson smelled. The way his skin felt. The way every part of her felt electrified at his nearness.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating in the darkness.
She reached for it, expecting another update from her assistant about tomorrow’s schedule or maybe her father making sure she was settled in.
Instead, the name on the screen made her frown: Jonathan Rutter.
Natalie sat up, pulling the covers around herself as she opened the message.
I need to talk to you. In person. Tomorrow if possible.
She stared at the text, confusion knotting her stomach. She hadn’t heard from Jonathan in almost six months—not since she’d politely declined his invitation to a charity gala and he’d taken the hint that she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything romantic.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing:
About what?
The three dots appeared immediately, showing he was typing. Then stopped. Started again.
Can’t explain over text. But it’s important. It concerns your father.
Natalie’s breath caught. Her father?
What about my father?
Another long pause. The dots appeared and disappeared twice before his response finally came through.
Please, Natalie. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Can you meet me tomorrow? Somewhere public. The coffee shop on Granby Street, maybe? 2 pm?
Her mind raced through possibilities. Jonathan’s family owned Rutter Maritime—her father’s competitor. They’d beenbattling over contracts and shipping routes for years. Her father had tried to smooth things over by setting her and Jonathan up, hoping a romantic connection might ease business tensions.
It hadn’t worked. Jonathan was nice enough, but there’d been no spark. And Natalie had made it clear she wasn’t interested in being used as a diplomatic tool.
So why was he reaching out now? And why did it concern her father?
She typed:
Why can’t you tell me over the phone?
A moment later, he replied:
Because I don’t know who might be listening.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
The words senta chill down Natalie’s spine. Was Jonathan paranoid? Or did he know something—something about surveillance, about the danger she was in, about whatever was really happening?
Natalie glanced at her bedroom door. Hudson was down the hall. Her father was in his study. Dimitri and the security team were positioned throughout the house.
