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ANNA

A rty is leaning against a railing, head down, a beanie rammed over his ears and his finger hammering on his phone as I head along the waterfront. We agreed on East River Park as a meeting place so I would feel safe with people around but I wasn’t likely to be recognized. A runner jogs past me along the path, hardly sparing me a glance. I’m not sure why I’m here, but Arty was very persistent—more than you’d expect from a disgruntled ex-boyfriend. I know it’s incautious, but something about the way things work in Russia and what might be happening behind the scenes always exerts a pressure I can’t quite escape.

As soon as Pepper spots him, she goes berserk, the traitorous dog. Does she not pick up on the fact he’s a jerk? Perhaps the dog view of the world where everyone is a potential friend is the better approach. I huff out a breath: I’ve been badly treated too often for that. Arty straightens and then bends over to give Pepper’s ears a fondle as she strains on her leash. My neck prickles. Will I have to bathe her afterward?

“Glad you finally agreed to meet me,” he says in Russian, glancing up.

I sigh. “Why am I here? You’re not supposed to be within a hundred yards of me. ”

“You think a piece of paper will keep you safe?”

“I wasn’t aware I was in danger. Should I be worried?”

He shoves his hands in the pocket of his down jacket and looks away, scowling. The steelwork of the Williamsburg Bridge stretches across the water beyond his shoulder like intricate gray crochet.

“What’s all this about, Arty? Why all the fighting and the court case and …” I wave my hand around.

He shrugs. “Got to keep the attention hounds happy, Anna—you know that.”

“It seems like a lot of trouble for a limited return.”

He laughs. “Oh, there’s an excellent return.”

I tilt my head at him. What does he mean by that? He stares out across the water, so I gesture along the path to encourage him to walk. At least I can give Pepper some exercise if he’s hell-bent on wasting my time.

“Why did you come to the apartment and mention Pietr?”

“I thought you might need the reminder.”

“Reminder about what? That I dated him once?”

He shrugs, and I take a sip of my coffee. I’m not sure how much he knows, who he’s working for, if anyone. Someone in Russia? His father?

“If you pay me a million dollars, I’ll leave you alone,” he says suddenly, and I laugh.

“So, this is about money?”

“It’s always about money, Anna. Why do you play tennis? For money.”

He takes his sunglasses off and his dark brown eyes for a moment appear almost earnest. “They own us, Anna.”

“Who?”

He rolls his eyes. “The people who got us out of Russia.”

I shake my head. Was he tasked to keep an eye on me by people back home? Home. Damn, Anna, don’t call it that.

My relationship with Arty shimmers in front of my face. Was he with me for some reason other than the obvious let’s date ? Why did he reach out in the first place? His father? … No one in Russia is just a straightforward businessperson. Pe rhaps his father has connections I’m not aware of. How would I even find out?

He jerks his chin. “Who’s this Adam Miller guy, anyway?” he says, and oh God, that question! Coming right after a conversation about people in Russia. Ugh.

“A friend of a friend. He agreed to step in when you conveniently told me you weren’t accompanying me to my ‘fancy-ass event.’”

“He’s been on social media with you a lot.”

“And?” I gesture down at Pepper. “She’s on social media with me a lot.”

His brown eyes continue to flicker over my face. “It’s not a smart idea to get attached, Anna.”

“Attached to my dog?”

“Don’t play games. You know exactly what I mean.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You should be careful around him, Anna. I don’t think he can be trusted.”

“Are you saying Adam Miller can’t be trusted?”

He scowls at me again. “Do you know what his connections are? Anyone can be bought.”

“Why are you so interested?” Why would Arty say that? The gray green of the river behind him is as murky as this conversation. Is Adam on their radar? Have they offered him money? I bat these far-fetched thoughts aside. It’s obvious Arty is fishing. But for whom? I don’t think Arty himself would care. He wasn’t with me because he cared; he was with me for some other reason I can’t quite put my finger on.

He gives me an oily smile. “Just looking out for you, Anna.”

Like hell. I can’t quite shake the idea that I’ve brought Adam Miller to the attention of some people in Russia. And I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.