Page 10 of The Payback

There’s a momentary pause. “Was I interrupting something?”

Silence from Dimitri is all that greets the question for a few seconds. “Say what you need to say and get the fuck out.”

Nik’s low chuckle reaches my ears—the same one he often gave when we were assigned something menial or below our pay grade, but we did it anyway because that’s what good agents do.

“Where’s your wife?” he asks. The wordwifecomes out like an insult.

“Upstairs.”

“On the balcony, then,” Nik says, and his footsteps grow fainter as he moves towards the outdoor space.Was he always this bossy, and I just missed it?

There’s the soft click of a door opening, and I yank off my heels, throw open the door to the master suite, and race across the space. I fly past the matching fireplace above the one downstairs and toss my shoes onto an armchair. I reach the doors, and carefully, so fucking carefully, I open one.

I pause, waiting a few seconds before making my way outside. Fear grips me because while I might be a badass, heights and I have never been best friends.

The terrace above is just a little narrower than the one below, and it weirdly helps with the height thing, knowing if I go over, I’ll land one floor down.Still not ideal, but the brain is a weird thing.

As I peer over the edge, I see Nik gripping the railing in a chokehold grip as he looks at the street below. Apparently, some people have no fear of heights.

Dimitri follows him out, and I retreat just in time as Nik’s eyes flit to the second floor. I crouch behind the low wall and listen while my palms sweat at the height and my skin breaks out in goosebumps with the wind chill.

“I’m back on duty. Sergei’s orders,” Nik says as I stare at a slight imperfection on the floor before me. Dimitri curses, but Nik continues. “Tell me about... Elsa, is it?”

Why isn’t he telling Dimitri he knows me from Interpol?

I swear, I feel Dimitri shrug from here. “Elsa, yes. She’s a tool to use. I don’t need to know anything about her other than that. It’s opening us up to more opportunities with the Sabres.”

“And an heir,” Nik says quietly, almost as if the wind snatched the words from his mouth and carried them away.

Dimitri’s dry laugh reaches me. “What, are you in league with Sergei? But who knows? We’ll see what happens tonight.”

Memories of Dimitri’s kiss assault my senses, and I clench my fists at the mental image of him over me, his dominating touch on me, and his restrained composure cracking.

Then, unbidden, that night with Nik plays right beside it. Clothes ripped off, a lamp crashing to the ground, the reckless abandon of it all comes hurtling back in a millisecond, and it’s enough to make spots dance in my vision.

This is a job, but fuck me. I haven’t had sex since I got pregnant with Bella, and the idea sounds better and better with every whispered promise in my mind. But the last time I mixed business and pleasure, I got much more than I’d bargained for.

“Just be careful,” Nik says, returning my attention to the present. “Wouldn’t want you to think it was a mistake in the morning.”

Is that what he thought the morning after?Fuck. I shake myself out of the spiral threatening to drown me and carefully return inside as they move on to a deal Nik brokered with the Italians.

Now that he’s done with the Italians, I can’t use the tip to build the case. The information needs to be fresh; the evidence gathered first-hand, and unless Dimitri stuck a camera on Nik without him knowing—doubtful—it’s useless.

I close the door behind me and turn around, leaning against the glass and surveying the suite.

One would almost expect a leader with more money than he can spend in a lifetime to be in a penthouse triple this size, but this place feels like it’s been built for one person—or a couple—to be master of their domain.

I head towards the sleeping area to the right, finding the area dim, with only warm-yellow bulbs in the lamps giving off a somewhat comforting light. The walls are dark grey, and the duvet on the bed is a deep navy with crisp white sheets below.

Two nightstands bracket the bed, neither decorated with personal items. A walk-in closet makes up one wall of the sleeping area, providing privacy from the entry door. I wander in, finding a second door at the opposite end of the room. I walk towards it and peek my head in. There are rows upon rows of women’s dresses, tags still attached to all of them.

I flip the tag closest to me, noting the gorgeous green dress is my size costs almost as much as my monthly salary. Shocked at the figure, I let the tag fall from my fingers and withdraw my hand. I cross the room and examine the clothing from a safe distance. All of it is my size. And none of it, I’m sure, was paid for by Interpol.

Retreating to the primary space and trying to avoid doing the mental maths of how much money went into this ruse, I veer towards the other side of the suite. A massive bathroom and tastefully appointed space greet me. All white marble with gold hardware, and the view. My Lord, the view. I can look out over the New York skyline from the bathtub and watch from the heavens.

I exit the suite and turn towards the second door to head into the guest room. I try the handle but meet resistance as I turn it. Locked.

No.

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