Page 69 of Lethal Torture
“Her?” I raise my eyebrows. “Who said it was a woman?”
In the brief silence that follows, I’m intrigued to see the color mounting on her cheeks.
Zinaida is clearly off-kilter.
She’s not shooting me sultry looks, nor even giving me the blank stare.
There’s something furtive about the way her eyes touch mine and then dance away again that makes me uneasy.
I’m not sure how I’ve become so attuned to every nuance of her expression in only a matter of days.
“If you’re not in a rush,” I say, “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I strip off my top layers as I go, well aware of her eyes following me into the bedroom.
Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, Miss Melikov?
On a perverse impulse, I don’t shut the door. I take my time showering, mentally admonishing myself for being an asshole.
I dry off and pull on the sweatpants hanging on the back of my bathroom door, then go into the bedroom to get a T-shirt. I catch a glimpse of her through the open door, perched on a stool at my kitchen table, one exposed thigh gleaming in the downlight like a fucking temptation.
I throw the T-shirt back on the bed.
You’re not the only one who knows how to play the naked torture game, sweetheart.
“So,” I say, coming back into the kitchen, “what can I do for you, Zinaida?”
She spins around as I enter the room. Her eyes flare briefly as she takes in my half-dressed state.
Her fingers fan closed around her drink.
Curious.
Zin usually wears a much better mask than this.
I lean against the table, facing her, pick up my Scotch, and take a leisurely mouthful, waiting.
She clears her throat. “I had a meeting with Niamh O’Connell today. From the NCA.”
Her voice isn’t entirely steady, and she’s still avoiding my eyes.
Something is definitely off.
And instinct tells me it has nothing to do with Niamh O’Connell or the NCA.
“Niamh’s had a tip-off about two shipping containers due to arrive at Avonmouth Docks this Saturday night. One of the containers will be opened on Saturday, and the girls inside it transported somewhere by the people who trafficked them here. Niamh’s team will track the transport as part of their investigation. My people are going to rescue the girls in the second container.”
A spark of adrenaline uncurls in my belly, low and dangerous.
“I appreciate you telling me.” I keep my tone carefully neutral.
“I don’t want you involved in the rescue,” she says bluntly. “But since I’ll be discussing the details with my team at Sophie’s House tomorrow, I thought you should be aware.”
There’s no fucking chance you’re going anywhere near those docks without me.
But I keep my silence and let her talk.
“The girls in those containers are going to be terrified,” she goes on. “The last thing they need to see when that door opens is a man. Especially one so...” Her eyes flicker to my chest. “Intimidating.”
