Page 70 of Emerald

She snorts and puts the tin back in her drawer.

* * *

20

Ivan

Sloane texts me from Moscow to let me know that theGazetahas accepted the flash drive. I’m sure it will take them a few days to comb through the files, do their fact-checking and substantiating research, and run everything by their legal department. Maybe a few weeks even. But soon enough, stories are going to start coming out, targeting every single ally Remizov has blackmailed into cooperation.

And then an almighty hellfire is going to rain down on his head.

Every powerful friend he has in St. Petersburg is going to turn into a bitter enemy.

And I’ll just be sitting on the sidelines, laughing with glee.

It’s not the usual way I do things. I’ve never shot somebody with an information bullet before. But I have to admit, it feels pretty satisfying all the same.

After all, Remizov hasn’t been a typical adversary. He’s forced me to get a little more creative.

The only downside is the waiting.

I’d love to call him up and laugh in his face right now.

It’s no good tipping him off, though. I’ll just have to be patient.

I’m not at all patient while waiting for Sloane at the train station. I tried to convince her to stay in Moscow until after the stories come out, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She’s so goddamned stubborn.

“I’m not a delicate little flower, Ivan,” she laughed, over the phone. “Remizov might just as well be afraid of me.”

“I know how capable you are,” I told her, trying not to let my anxiety come through in my voice. “But there’s a difference between staying under the radar and being right in the crosshairs.”

“I know that,” Sloane snapped.

“If you just stayed in Moscow a few weeks until everything blows over . . .”

“If you don’t want me at your place, that’s fine,” Sloane said coldly. “But I’m not hiding out here. I’m coming back to St. Petersburg.”

“I do want you at my place,” I told her quickly. “I absolutely want that. I’ll come get you at the train station.”

“You don’t have to. I can just—“

“I’m coming,” I told her, firmly. “I’ll be waiting to pick you up.”

“Fine,” she said, the note of annoyance still in her voice.

Now I’m waiting here for her, having arrived almost a half hour before her train is due, and I’m practically tearing my hair out, wishing her phone had service on the train so I could check in with her.

It’s true what I said to Sloane—I know that if anybody can take care of themselves, it’s her. But the idea of anything happening to her terrifies me.

I didn’t think I wanted a woman in my life.

But I absolutely wantthiswoman.

I want Sloane, and nobody else.

She came into my life unbidden, unwanted.

She got into my head, under my skin, until I could hardly think about anything else.