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“We’re talking St.Petersburg, Russia, here?Not St.Petersburg, Florida?”
“Yup, and that happened a half hour after I got cyber-kicked in the face.”
“Ottie Marquette has a connection to Russia?”
“Sure looks that way, but it was a US database I was looking at, so…”
“So either the Russians were watching you watch the Americans, or there’s an international angle we don’t yet know about.”
Well, fuck.
Right now, news of Ottie’s assault was mostly whispers around town, and it would stay that way until tomorrow morning when we spoke with Colt and Luca.Then they’d start asking questions.I’d have to give them some kind of heads-up, suggest they keep things low-key.Only Nico and the real Leona knew the true situation, but… Nico was Russian.Was there a link there?
“Can you keep digging?”I asked Mack.
“Very, very carefully.As in, on tiptoe.It might take days to get any meaningful information if everything’s flagged or classified.”
And Ottie Marquette might not have days.“Okay, do what you can, and I’ll go with humint from this end.”
Human intelligence.Mack might have worshipped her computers, but I still preferred to get out and talk to people.Darya would be here soon, and I could ask for her thoughts on Nico.Friend or foe?Maybe she’d be more forthcoming than she had been earlier?In the meantime, I sent a message of my own, one that mirrored Mack’s from earlier but with a different recipient.
Me: Call me ASAP.Secure line.
“What happened?”Ana asked.“There’s an issue with Ottie?”
I told her about the switch Mack had tripped, but Ana was as clueless as me.“She was clearly hiding at the Peninsula, but from who?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
Or, as it turned out, the sixty-four-million-dollar question, but as we ordered antipasti and bruschetta, we were still blissfully unaware of that little fact-ette.Or the war we were about to walk into.
The door opened, and for a moment, I thought a diner had taken a wrong turn.Then I did a double take, and fuck, Ana wassoright about Darya being a chameleon.Actually, if we were going for animal metaphors, a Siberian tiger was more appropriate.
If I hadn’t been expecting Darya to join us, I’d never have recognised her.Gone was the mousy brown hair, replaced with a blunt platinum-blonde bob.Blue eyes had turned green, and rings of black eyeliner and a slash of scarlet lipstick gave her a vampish look.Tonight, she wore skintight black jeans, a snakeskin belt with a flashy silver buckle, and a tight jade-green turtleneck.When she didn’t remove the leather jacket, I assumed she had a weapon or two strapped to her back.Probably in her boots too—she’d gone for chunky heels rather than spikes, and those could hide a multitude of sins.
Bradley didn’t look close enough.“Sorry, my darling, this is a private dinner.But I love your outfit.”
She locked gazes with him, and he shrank back a foot.“I was invited.”
Oh, the Russian accent had come out to play tonight as well.Guess she’d decided to let her hair down.Or tuck it up under a wig, whatever.I was reasonably sure the blonde was fake.If she’d been wearing a wig earlier, it would’ve come off during our punch-up.
When Bradley looked to me for help, I had to laugh.“Bradley, meet Darya.”
“Who?”
For fuck’s sake.“Darla.You just spent half the day buying yarn from her.”
“What?No way.”
Hallie’s mouth had dropped open too, and I didn’t miss Darya’s smirk.Yes, she was having fun.
“Darya’s an old friend of Ana’s.”
Bradley pushed his chair back.“Oh no.No!Now there are three of you?”
Darya took the seat next to Ana and poured herself a glass of water from the carafe in the centre of the table.
“Nyet.There are two of them and one of me.And if you mention a word of this evening to anyone, I’ll hand-deliver your yarn personally and stuff it down your throat.”