Page 54

Abby

“ S o the way it was left,” Dimitry says, leaning against the veranda railing the following morning, “Rodrigo believes you will make contact at some point soon. Deliver his money and the identity of the man who killed his father. And in return, he will kill the man and give up chasing you. Am I right so far?”

“Not exactly.” I shift uneasily. “Rodrigo never promised to stop chasing me. It was more of a... reprieve.”

“Got it.” He frowns into his coffee. I watch him, my eyes drinking in the tiny details I’ve clung to over the months apart.

The way he rests one elbow on the railing, leaning into it as casually as if it were the counter in the Malaga café.

One leg loosely crossed over the other, long fingers holding the coffee cup over the mouth like a workman on a construction site.

His shoulders are loose and back, yet despite every aspect of his body seeming relaxed, the vigilance that never leaves is there too, in the way his eyes travel constantly over our surroundings, noting every minor disturbance in sound or sight .

“Skip,” he says, throwing me the ghost of a wink as if to prove my point, “you keep looking at me like that, and we’ll never leave this room, let alone this fucking country.”

I feel a treacherous rush between my legs and cross them primly. Dimitry’s eyes darken with interest.

“Stop it.” I tilt my coffee toward him, and he grins.

“To be honest,” I say quietly, “I was just thinking how... cathartic it is, I guess. To be able to finally talk about all of this. Especially to you.” I give him a wry smile.

“And I have to say, you’re taking it all remarkably well, for someone who has most of Thailand’s most dangerous criminal elements currently chasing him. ”

“Taking it well ?” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “We might be in Thailand, instead of Europe or the US. But being chased by dangerous criminals?” He shakes his head, looking mildly amused. “That’s hardly unusual—that’s just another fucking Tuesday.”

I laugh softly. “I guess.”

“But I’m definitely glad you’re finally talking about it.” Dimitry’s eyes become more serious. “That’s the first step. Now it’s just a process.”

“A process?” My smile falters. “What do you mean? As in the process of getting out of Thailand?”

“No.” His face hardens. “I mean the process by which I destroy the fuckers who are chasing us.”

My mouth goes dry, my heart galloping like a runaway horse.

“You said it yourself, Skip.” Dimitry meets my eyes squarely, his voice calm but certain. “Neither Rodrigo or Mr. Kingpin are going to stop coming for you. If anything, they’ll be coming harder than they ever have. Which means they need to die.”

I stare at him in horror. “You can’t.” I can barely speak. “I told you. Not even Roman can match these people— ”

“Roman won’t be involved.” He cuts me off, his smile disappearing. “There’s no chance of that, Abby.” He turns away, staring back out over the water and lighting a cigarette.

I stare at his hunched shoulders and stiff stance. The change from his open half smile of barely moments ago couldn’t be more profound. This Dimitry is braced against the world and as shuttered closed as a fucking hurricane cellar.

“Dimitry.” I know better than to try to approach him. “You said that Roman is no longer a factor in your decisions. But you haven’t told me what happened between the two of you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His answer is flat and hard. “The only thing relevant to this discussion is that Roman isn’t part of it. Nor is he going to be part of it. Mak, either, before you ask.”

I stare at his back, feeling a dull helplessness rise through me. “Then what do you plan to do, exactly? Storm the SK compound with Luke and that mad Irish bloke? Just the three of you against the most dangerous criminal organizations in South East Asia?”

“Luke’s back in Australia with your parents.

And Paddy will be lying low for a bit, after what went down in Bangkok.

He mentioned he’d probably be getting out of town for a while.

” Dimitry half turns, meeting my eyes with a twisted, hard smile.

“I’m afraid it’s an army of one, Skip. That’s all it’s likely to be from now on, too. ”

I watch him, suddenly aware that he’s talking about more than what we’re currently facing. I can see the unspoken darkness lurking behind his eyes, the white scar down his face gleaming as his jaw tenses.

“I thought we agreed last night that we’re in this together.” I stand up and walk across to the railing, facing him. “Or was that just hot talk to get me into bed, muscle boy?” Despite the words, there’s nothing casual in my tone, and Dimitry doesn’t smile.

“We did.” He crushes out his cigarette. “But we also talked about choices. Which means that you should probably know the consequences of the choices I’ve made lately, since they might affect the ones you make next.”

I put a tentative hand on his arm. “Dimitry, nothing is going to affect how I feel—”

“You don’t know that.” He removes my hand and steps out of touching range.

“Look, Abby. I’ve been part of the Stevanovsky organization my entire life.

Now I’m not. Regardless of what happens between me and Roman in the future, that’s unlikely to change.

Which means that my circumstances are going to be.

.. different than when you knew me before. ”

“Different?” I watch him, unsure of what he’s trying to say.

“Christ.” He grimaces, his hand unconsciously rubbing the scar on his cheek.

“I’ve got money, Skip. But not Stevanovsky money.

Not the kind that can buy armies and penthouses.

” He shrugs. “I never really thought about it before. Never needed to. But before this goes any further, I need to be honest about where I’m at.

” He holds my eyes. “I’ve got a decent amount saved and invested.

Enough to look after us both comfortably.

But when we make it out of this, I have no fucking idea what’s next.

” He shrugs. “I live in an apartment Roman owns. Drive a car leased to his company. I’ve never given much of a fuck about money beyond having enough of it to do whatever I please.

I guess I never really had to think about it.

” He pauses, looking out over the water.

“Until now,” I say slowly. “Until me. And all of... this.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He steps toward me, then stops abruptly.

“None of this is your fault, Abby. It’s mine.

The break with Roman would have happened sooner or later.

Maybe I already knew that, long before you ever put it into words.

I just didn’t want see it. And none of it changes how I feel about you or how I’m going to approach this situation.

I just need you to know the truth, is all. ”

“I see.” I take a step toward him. “But now you’re worried that I might not like Dimitry two-point-oh, the version without the black credit card and a soulless apartment I hated anyway?”

Dimitry gives a low laugh. “You really did hate that place, didn’t you? I don’t think you ever spent a night in it.”

“Millennial gray decoration, windows that don’t open, and a fridge with nothing but vodka, beer, and old pizza?” I roll my eyes. “What’s to like?”

His apartment was in one of Roman’s Hale Property developments in downtown Malaga. Despite being on the top floor, with a view over the entire city, I’d taken one look and insisted we decamp to my tiny one-bedroom walk-up, even though it was in a much rougher part of town.

“And don’t try to tell me you loved that place either,” I say, moving closer, shivering with delight as his arms come around me. “You spent every night at mine.”

Dimitry laughs low in his throat. “Not that your fridge was any better stocked, Skip. I seem to recall that your rarely had anything more than a round of cheese and several half-finished bottles of wine.”

I laugh too, but not without a tinge of sadness. “I loved that place, you know.” I touch his face. “I think my time there with you is the happiest I’ve ever been, if I’m honest.”

“Well, I’m glad.” He reaches under his shirt and comes up holding a chain threaded through a key. I’d vaguely noticed the chain on the boat ride down the river, but he must have taken it off when we got here, because it’s the first time I’ve clearly seen the old-style key hanging from it.

I’d recognize that key anywhere. It was the first time I’d ever had a key to an apartment of my own.

I swallow hard on the sudden flood of emotion.

Long, sun-filled afternoons, painting Dimitry as he slept .

Darya and me, dancing around half drunk to some dumb eighties song.

The scent of paint and turpentine. Daring to believe I might really be able to paint, despite my crippling self-doubt.

Dimitry making love to me during siesta, bringing me to the edge over and over again...

“You kept it,” I say, my voice not entirely steady.

He nods. “I kept it.” His mouth quirks, but his eyes are still dark and somber on mine. “The lease is paid until the end of the year. Which is lucky, Skip, because if we make it out of this, that apartment is the only place we can still call ours.”

My hand closes around the key, feeling the familiar old bow and barrel, the hard ridges of the long teeth.

Dimitry had always wanted to change the lock, to make it more secure.

But I’d loved the feeling of that old key in my hand, the way I had to jiggle it around in the wooden door to make the lock catch.

“I can’t believe you still have it.” Tears blur my eyes as I look up at him. “Even after I didn’t come back.”

His thumb smooths the tears away from beneath my eyes. “Everything is still just as you left it. Messy as hell, in other words.”

I laugh shakily.

“I went there,” he says quietly. “The day the three months were up. The day Darya had her baby. I lay on that sagging old sofa, staring at the ceiling and praying to a God I don’t believe in for a message that never came.”

I wince. “I’m so sorry, Dimitry.”

“No.” He shakes his head fiercely. “I didn’t mean—that isn’t what I’m trying to say.

Look at me.” He tilts my chin up. “What I meant is that even then, when no message came—and during the months afterward, when I knew everyone thought I should just forget you, even if they didn’t say it—I couldn’t let you go.

I’m not sure I ever would have, Abby. No matter how many years passed, I think I would have always kept that apartment.

Gone back there every now and then, just to feel you around me, even if I couldn’t see you or touch you. ”

I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him.

“Then you know how I feel,” I say as his arms tighten around me.

“You know I’d choose you, Dimitry, even if you were still a broke kid running through those Miami streets.

You told me that you’re not Roman.” I shrug.

“And like I told you a long time ago, I’m not Darya.

I’m not the heiress to some fortune or Russian title.

I come from a farm in country Australia where people work hard and eat or not depending on how good a year they’ve had.

I don’t give a fuck about money—I never did.

I care about you and me. And about getting out of this nightmare we’re in.

” I frown. “But I do hope you and Roman can sort out your differences. Not because I want you to work for him again. But because there’s no fucking chance I’m not calling Darya the minute this is over and going to pick up that beautiful baby I still haven’t even seen. ”

He nods. “I know that. And no matter how shitty things might be between Roman and me right now, I’ve never been able to stay mad at the prick for long.

” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m not calling him now, Skip.

Not for this. Not even if half of fucking Thailand comes for us. I—it wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t want you to.” It’s the truth. “I told you I don’t want Darya anywhere near this, and I meant it. But I’m going to be honest, Dimitry. I also have no fucking idea what we do when we wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I do.” He pulls me hard against him and kisses me, thoroughly enough that I’m breathless at the end of it. “But it won’t be tomorrow morning. We’re leaving tonight. The boat is still there, and I paid the landlady’s kid to go and buy these.” He holds up three plastic containers of fuel.

“Go?” I stare at him in confusion. “Go where? ”

Dimitry’s smile has a hard edge. “You said Rodrigo came to SK for an art auction, right?”

I nod. “But it was a van Gogh. As in, the kind of thing that would make headlines anywhere else.”

“That’s exactly how this bastard kingpin of yours operates, right?” His eyes gleam. “He manipulates people. Offers them what nobody else can, whether it’s revenge or a piece of art thought lost forever.”

I look at him quizzically, unsure where he’s going with this.

“I imagine,” Dimitry says shrewdly, “that the van Gogh auction isn’t the first time he’s held something like that?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know for sure, but I do know that part of our scam job was to find out if the clients had any old heirlooms that might be valuable.

If so, we’d convince them to photograph the piece, saying we knew someone who could value it.

We’d give the photographs to our supervisors.

If what they had was deemed valuable, the client would become a high priority and be taken out of our hands.

Lucky—the friend I told you about—she handled a lot of the online payment system.

She told me that SK always bought the most valuable pieces, usually for next to nothing, since they’d tell the client the piece was worthless. ”

“Pieces like the van Gogh,” he says. “Priceless art that can’t be found anywhere else.”

“Sure, I guess.”

Oh, shit. I think I know where he’s going with this.

My eyes narrow. “Wait—”

“Yep. “He nods. “If they went nuts for a van Gogh, can you imagine what they might do for an imperial Fabergé egg?”

“Dimitry, you can’t.” I frown. “Even if you were talking to Roman, the treasures in Darya’s family vault belong to other people. You can’t just take one—”

“I don’t need to,” he says impatiently .

I snort. “Oh, so you’ve just got a Fabergé egg hanging around doing nothing, huh?” My smile fades when he just stares back at me. “What?” I ask blankly. “Are you trying to tell me you actually do have a Fabergé egg?”

“I don’t.” Dimitry’s smile widens to a shit-eating grin. “But I know somebody who does.”