Page 159 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

A FEW DAYS LATER

“Two visits back-to-back,” I remark. “Should I be worried?”

Jennifer winks. “Always. Where’s Demyan?”

“I sent him off to see to some business interests elsewhere.” I pour myself another helping of my strongest whiskey. It was a sleepless night and I need something to take the edge off. “I didn’t want to deal with the two of you again.”

She laughs. “Are you jealous that I’m not flirting with you instead?”

“No, I just have a vested interest in not puking up my breakfast every time Demy tries to be smooth.” I take a sip and sigh as the whiskey burns down my throat.

“I think he’s cute. But agree to disagree. What have you done with the information I gave you the last time I was here?”

“Nothing.”

Her eyes go wide. “Nothing?”

“That’s right.”

“But… why?”

“Because there’s more at play here, and I need to know what before I decide how to respond.”

Jennifer frowns, looking skeptical. But she’s smart enough not to push. She leans back on the sofa and curls her bare feet underneath her.

She’s wearing cashmere sweats and a matching crop top that reveals her flat, toned belly. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders. And even though it’s midday and she’s not planning on going anywhere, she’s wearing a little bit of make-up. It’s subtle, but I notice.

Probably more so because Olivia doesn’t wear anything at all.

“You don’t mind me spending a few days here?” she asks.

“This is your home as much as mine.”

“Do you say the same to all your other assets?”

“Just you.”

“Well, then consider me flattered.”

She fidgets with the hem of her sweats. I can tell she wants to bring up the topic, but she’s nervous about where it’ll lead. She’s been careful to avoid it whenever we speak. So far, I’ve respected her boundaries.

I’ve never been a spy. I’ve got too high a profile to be effective at it. Spies have to come from nowhere. They have to disappear once they’ve gotten what they set out to achieve, bide their time, and resurface as another person entirely. You kill yourself again and again and are then reborn.

It’s a brutal line of work.

Jennifer has been in the game for years now. She’s successful because she commits. She changes her personality as easily as she changes her hair color.

But she’s never forgotten who she is or where she came from.

“How is she?” she asks, losing the battle.

“She’s been sick the last few days.”

Jennifer raises her eyebrows. “Is she okay?”

“She refused to get out of her wet clothes and caught a cold. Just like I told her she would. She’s confined to her room now.”

“So you haven’t actually seen her?”

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