Page 88 of Lethal Torture
If this was Cinderella, I wouldn’t be the innocent girl waiting for the prince to fit a shoe to my foot. I’d be the fairy godmother who granted her wish to go to the ball and was then never seen again.
Women like me don’t have relationships that are about anything other than power. The giving of it or the taking away.
So am I using Luke, or is he using me?
And how the hell are we supposed to carry on like all this is just business as usual?
I’m saved from that mental merry-go-round by the arrival of the home secretary, who looks even more grim than normal.
“I understand I have you to thank for the safety of Niamh and her team.” Agatha eyes me over her coffee. “Or rather, that extremely big man I saw in the foyer earlier, when I arrived. Niamh tells me he single-handedly saved the day—or should that be the night?”
“Sophie’s House was asked to be on hand to rescue any victims the NCA might find.” I smile blandly, trying to ignore the ridiculous giddiness I feel at even the slightest thought ofLuke. “Niamh and her team did an extraordinary job under very difficult circumstances.”
“Hmm,” Agatha says dryly. A tense silence is broken by her saying, “Well, miraculously, the entire incident appears to have escaped the notice of the tabloid press. The Avonmouth Port Authority has hushed it up, not surprising given their mistakes on the night.”
Normally I would allow Agatha’s deliberate skirting of the truth. But not after I nearly lost Sal and Ana. Not after Niamh took a bullet that could have killed her.
Not after I could have lost Luke.
“Referring to the Port Authority’smistakesis a grave understatement, Madam Home Secretary.” I meet her eyes without flinching, and with none of my normal diplomacy. “The Authority not only cooperated with the traffickers, but actively fought on their behalf against your people. If it hadn’t been for my team, and that man you saw downstairs, you’d have been attending funerals today instead of the hospital.”
Her mouth tightens. “Unfortunately, Miss Melikov, the actions of your team, while admirable, are also the reason I can’t ask questions in Parliament about the Port Authority’s failings.”
For a moment we face off over the table, Agatha meeting my eyes with steel of her own. But after a moment she drops the politician’s veneer and shakes her head, grimacing. “It’s a god-awful mess, Zinaida.”
At least Agatha never hides from the truth, which is one of the reasons I rather like her.
I unscrew the whiskey and put a decent shot in both our cups.
God knows I need it.
After Agatha leaves, I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed to discover that Luke has postponed our meeting because of something work related.
Or at least, that’s the excuse he’s given. For all I know, he’s busy trying to extricate himself from our contract at this very moment.
Get it together, Zinaida.
I try and fail to focus on the plans on my desk, some of which revolve around a club I’m contemplating opening in Madrid.
I want to discuss it with Luke.Does everything come back to him?
Right now, it does. Because every time I try to focus, all I can think about is Luke’s huge hands holding me in place, his twisted smile as he called me out when I said I was sorry.
“No, you’re not,”he said, and I don’t know what turned me on more—the fact that he knew it was the truth or that he didn’t seem remotely bothered by that fact.
I walk restlessly across my office and stare out at the wintry London day.
That’s the fucking problem.
Luke is the only man I’ve ever met who seems impervious to my mind games. I can’t predict his actions, nor manipulate outcomes where he’s concerned.
And without the games and manipulation, I have no idea how to play this thing at all.
How do other women do it?
An image of Darya Borovsky’s face slips through my mind. Not for the first time lately.
On impulse, I pick up my phone and dial her number.
