Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot Collection», sayfa 25
‘I am?’
‘Yes. Either willingly or not.’ She smiled gently. ‘We don’t care.’
‘You know, they never mentioned that in the brochure.’
This time she laughed. ‘Maybe you should have read the fine print.’
If Jared had figured to slip quietly out of the farmhouse unnoticed, he’d been sadly mistaken. A big breakfast cook-up was in progress by the time he emerged from the bedroom, with his brother, Damon, wielding the tongs and his sister Poppy presiding over the flipping of fried eggs. The director was there too, sitting on a stool, sipping coffee and reading something on her computer, looking for all the world as if she had a place in his family—as if she was comfortable there.
He headed for the coffee machine. Looked at it and sighed. It was shiny, spanking new, and he had no idea what half the knobs on it did. ‘Does this do double-shot espresso?’
‘Only if you ask nicely,’ said Damon’s very pregnant wife.
Ruby was her name, and Jared eyed the bright green bow atop her head warily. She opened the lid of the coffee container and the aroma of freshly ground beans assaulted his nose and sent him straight back to a little coffee house in Istanbul.
Ruby obligingly waved the container beneath his nose. ‘We can put this in a pot and make it Turkish-style, if that’s your preference?’
‘I’m beginning to understand why Damon married you.’
‘You mean, it didn’t instantly dawn on you?’
‘Um …’ Why was his world suddenly so full of beautiful smart-mouthed women? ‘Turkish coffee would be great. I can make it.’
Ruby favoured him with a pretty smile. Jared risked a glance in Damon’s direction before taking a careful step back. He liked women with pretty smiles. He did. He’d never before been scared of one, but there was a first time for everything.
‘I … uh … I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for your wedding.’
‘Play your cards right and you can be Damon’s plus-one at the birth.’
Oh, dear God. She was probably joking. Hopefully she was joking. But he figured a change of subject wouldn’t hurt. ‘Anyone seen the newly happily married couple this morning?’
‘They’re still in bed.’
Jared winced. There was another image he really didn’t want in his head.
‘You don’t approve?’ asked Poppy.
‘I do approve. I just don’t want to think about it.’
‘Very healthy,’ his new sister-in-law murmured.
‘If I whimper will you back off?’
‘I didn’t think terrorist-hunters whimpered.’
‘This one does.’
He shuffled around to the kitchen side of the bench, opened a couple of cupboards before finding a saucepan and dumping some water in it. Surprisingly, Ruby carefully shook a damn near perfect amount of ground coffee into it before putting the coffee tin back on the counter.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Poppy.
‘Good.’ As if a rhinoceros had rolled on him. ‘Peachy.’
And then Poppy was beside him, worming her way beneath his arm and hugging him carefully, and he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head as he gathered her in—because it was good to be home, and they had no idea how much he’d missed this, missed them, and for what?
He’d brought down the Antonov operation. So what? Another arms dealer would take Antonov’s place. He’d exposed a few moles in high places, but he’d be a fool to think he’d exposed them all. He knew he hadn’t exposed them all.
He opened his eyes to find Rowan Farringdon staring at him with puzzled eyes. He knew he was showing his weakness for family but he just didn’t care any more. He closed his eyes and hugged Poppy tighter.
‘Do I get one of those?’
The voice came from the doorway. Jared opened his eyes and looked straight at Lena. She looked well, if a little tousled, and her pretty floral sundress suited her. She looked happy.
‘If you want,’ he offered gruffly.
‘I do want.’
Lena started towards him, a slight hitch in her step—no way was he going to call it a limp—and then he had his arms full of Lena and Poppy both.
‘Got to do something to take that look off your face,’ said Lena.
‘What look?’
‘The faraway one. You need to come back to us, Jare.’
‘I am back.’
Lena stared at him intently for what felt like a very long time before silently shaking her head and stepping away and turning towards the director.
‘When does he have to leave?’
‘Five minutes ago.’
Poppy’s big blue eyes were grave. ‘How much trouble are you in?’
‘Don’t care.’
‘Will you stay working for them?’
‘Don’t know.’
Poppy didn’t care that they were having this conversation in front of Rowan Farringdon. Neither did Jared.
‘Do you want to?’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
Damon shoved a dripping bacon and egg sandwich in his hand. Jared extricated himself from Poppy and bit into it with relief. He didn’t need a plate—he was an old hand at eating on the go.
‘Ready when you are, Director.’
‘I haven’t finished my coffee yet.’ You haven’t even had yours, her look said. I’m cutting you a break, here. Take it and shut the hell up.
He shut the hell up.
He bit into his sandwich more slowly this time. Coffee appeared and he reached for it gratefully. One minute passed. Two minutes. They left him alone. They asked no more questions.
And then two suited men darkened the doorway and Rowan Farringdon shut her little silver computer and stood up.
‘Agent West,’ one of them said, and there was a measure of respect in the man’s voice that Jared had never heard before. ‘It’s time to go.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ROWAN’S OFFICE WAS the same as the offices that housed the other five section directors. Large, as befitting her position, it also had a small apartment tucked in behind it, for when she worked around the clock and needed to freshen up with a shower and a change of clothes—or, indeed, catch a couple of hours’ sleep after coming off a thirty-six-hour shift.
Jared wasn’t strictly her responsibility any more. In all good conscience Rowan could have left him to Corbin to break or to fix. But she, like everyone else in the building, was uncommonly interested in whatever further information he might have to divulge.
Not that Jared West seemed inclined to divulge anything at all—at least not to Corbin.
Rowan gave yesterday’s recording of Jared’s debrief one last scathing glance before leaning back in her desk chair and tilting her head from one side to the other in an effort to ease the tension in her neck. It was only Tuesday morning, but she felt as if she’d been here for ever.
She reached for her headset and put it on. ‘Sam, have Agent West see me as soon as he’s out of debrief.’
Some people in this building wanted to hear a real debrief, not the fairytale version that Jared was out there spinning—and as of this morning Rowan had been given the task of earning his trust and breaking him open.
If she could.
Jared didn’t get out of debrief until midday Wednesday, and if he never again saw the inside of that little white room with its one-way mirror it would still be too soon.
Rowan Farringdon’s request caught up with him two minutes later. Five minutes after that he was standing in her outer office, staring at a lionfish in a wall-sized fish tank while her plump and pretty assistant buzzed him in.
He liked it that she didn’t keep him waiting. He liked it that she stayed seated behind her desk, because it reinforced their respective positions within the service. They weren’t equals here. He didn’t expect them to be.
He stood before her desk, feet slightly apart, hands behind his back, and waited while she looked him over in silence. The bruises on his face combined purple with a sickly shade of yellow. He wondered if she thought him any prettier.
She got more arresting every time he saw her. Today she wore dark grey tailored trousers and a fitted shirt that had two layers—the inside layer a soft-looking dove-grey cotton, the outside layer a fine white silk. She looked comfortable in her clothes, her skin and her surroundings. Power suited her.
And Jared … Jared had always been attracted to power.
She gave him approximately three seconds to settle before looking up from her paperwork and getting to the point. ‘Mr West, your debrief is a joke. Everyone knows it; not everyone’s happy about it. Who do you intend to confide in?’
No one.
‘I want to talk to my handler,’ he said instead. ‘I told Corbin that. I’ve told you this before as well. How many times do I have to say it?’
‘I’m sorry.’ She looked momentarily torn. ‘Serrin’s dead. He’s been dead for two months.’
Jared kept his shoulders square and his face stony. This blow wouldn’t break him. He was just … tired. Tired of all the games. Tired of dealing on his own and making mistakes that cost other people too much.
‘Was it me? Did I leave him exposed?’
‘Yours wasn’t the only dark operation on Serrin’s books. He came unstuck elsewhere.’
One less stain for Jared’s soul. Assuming she was telling the truth.
She tilted her head to one side, her eyes searching and her smile oddly compassionate. ‘Jared, things would go a lot easier if you could bring yourself to trust me.’
‘I really don’t do trust.’
‘I know. I’ve read your file. Very few people are even allowed into your life, never mind privy to your thoughts. Your mother died giving birth to your brother. You’re fiercely protective of your sisters, not so much your father or your brother, who you blame—just a little—for your mother’s death. The only other emotional attachment you’ve ever made in your thirty years of living is to Trig Sinclair. You accepted him into your family unit when you were five.’
She still wasn’t wearing any rings on those expertly manicured fingers.
‘Here’s the problem,’ she continued. ‘A lot of people around here think that you haven’t quite finished exposing Antonov’s reach. A lot of people want to help you finish what you started. So here are my questions, given that you’re disinclined to share details. What are you waiting for? What do you need?’
A break, he wanted to say. Absolution. But he doubted she could give him either. ‘I need to go to Belarus,’ he said instead. Would she do it? Belarus was within her jurisdiction—her part of the world to monitor. ‘Just for a few days. Corbin won’t send me and I don’t know why.’
She laughed, and it was still one of the nicest sounds he’d ever heard. ‘Jared, have you seen your latest psych report?’
He hadn’t seen it. Chances were he wasn’t going to see it. ‘What does it say?’
‘That you have attachment issues, delusions of autonomy and a well-developed death wish. Corbin’s not going to send you to Belarus. He’s going to have a hard time sending you to the bathroom alone. All those sharp edges.’
‘I am not suicidal.’
‘Tell me what you want done in Belarus and I’ll put someone on it. Discreetly. You can run them from here.’
‘I don’t work that way.’
‘No? Maybe you should.’
She stood and headed for the door, but he wasn’t ready for this interview to be over, and he hadn’t yet let go of the rough edges he’d acquired after two years playing thug for Antonov.
He shot out his hand to keep the door closed and got up in her face.
Up close, he saw her eyes had little flecks of chocolate-brown in amongst the amber. He could smell the fresh lemon scent of her hair, feel the puff of her breath against his lips, and he knew that he was too close, that his lips were far too close to hers. Another inch and he’d be tasting her—and he wanted to. God. He wanted to fall into this woman and take his own sweet time climbing back out, and it didn’t matter that she was a section head or that his behaviour was way out of line. Maybe he’d forgotten what normal behaviour was. Meet a woman, like a woman, ask her on a date. Maybe he should start there.
‘Have dinner with me.’
‘That’s your next play?’
Nice to know he could surprise her. ‘Why not?’ He could feel the warmth in her, sense the steel in her, and he wanted both. ‘You can toy with me. Mentor me. Discipline me. I’m young. Impulsive. Smitten.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Could be why I like you.’ He eased back, just a fraction, and watched for signs of arousal in her—the faint flush of her skin or the hitch of her breath—but he didn’t find any. Just a soul-deep caution that matched his own.
‘You need to back off, Agent West.’
‘How about I take you to lunch? I promise to behave.’
‘No.’ She pushed her knuckles into his injured ribs—not hard, but a warning nonetheless. ‘You’re out of line.’
‘Would you hurt me?’ He leaned into her hand. ‘I don’t think you would.’
‘I’d rather not have to. Doesn’t mean I won’t, Mr West—
‘Call me Jared. Call me by my name.’ He hadn’t answered to his real name for such a long time—two years or thereabouts. He’d been Jimmy. Jimmy Bead. ‘Just—use my name. The way you did before. I want to hear people say it.’
‘Is your last name not enough?’
‘First name’s better.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s more me in it.’
‘Jared—’
‘Yeah. That’s the one.’
He stepped back all the way this time, and gave her the room she deserved. Her hand fell away and he felt the loss of warmth as if someone had dipped him in the Atlantic. He had a feeling that his psych report hadn’t covered half of what was wrong with him at the moment.
Or maybe it had.
‘If I say that my next question is for your benefit as well as mine, will you believe me?’ she asked quietly.
He ran a hand through his hair. He’d been doing that of late too, and it wasn’t something he’d ever done before—either as Jared or as JB … Jimmy Bead. ‘What’s the question?’
‘Do you know who you’re hunting? Antonov’s last insider. Do you know who it is?’
‘I— No. I think it’s a director, but I don’t know who it is. If I could have nailed a bullseye to his forehead I’d have done it.’
‘That much I do believe.’
‘Get me to Belarus,’ he begged.
‘No. Not yet. You need to rest. Take some leave. No one’s going to send you back out into the field in the condition you’re in. Get some sleep and let your body heal and then we’ll talk again. And, Jared …?’
‘That’s me,’ he muttered, and there was a joke in there somewhere, though it was probably on him.
‘Welcome back.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WEST FAMILY beach house sat on the edge of a long stretch of unpatrolled beach in northern New South Wales. Jared’s brother had bought the sprawling house several years ago, with the intention of making it his home, but that hadn’t happened yet and all four West siblings tended to treat it as their own personal place of sanctuary and of rest. Although preferably not all at once.
Lena and Trig’s big old farmhouse was a twenty-minute drive away, although given how much time they’d spent at the beach house with Jared this week he could be forgiven for thinking them homeless. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, for heaven’s sake. A honeymoon that Lena had said they’d cut short because there was no place like home.
Jared hoped, for the umpteenth time, that they hadn’t cut it short because they’d wanted to keep an eye on him. They kept making excuses to drop by. Lena in particular wouldn’t stop hovering—which was rich, given how much she hated it whenever someone did that to her.
She had already been by this morning. She’d skipped out to the shops, because apparently Jared needed more food in the fridge, but she’d left Trig behind with Jared. Trig was currently out on the deck, examining his parachute, because apparently they were doing a jump just as soon as Jared’s ribs had healed.
Without physical challenge in his life, Jared got cranky, Trig had informed him blithely. And they needed to fix that.
Apparently a lot of things about Jared needed fixing.
Jared glared afresh at the psych report in his hand. His psych report, fresh off the back of his debrief. A normal person probably wouldn’t have asked his brother to swipe a psych report from the secure ASIS databanks, but to Jared’s way of thinking that was what genius younger brothers were for.
It had been three days since Rowan Farringdon had called him in to her office and asked him what he needed in order to finish the job. Three days and now he was on leave for two weeks—thinking about his future, trying to settle into the ‘now’ and going quietly out of his mind.
‘Who writes these delusional masterpieces anyway?’ he asked Trig.
‘Psychiatrists.’ Trig looked up from the parachute spread out before him, eyes narrowed as he took in Jared’s scowl. ‘Stop obsessing.’
‘I’m not obsessing. I’m disagreeing with the evaluation.’
‘You shouldn’t have the evaluation. No disagreeing with that.’
‘Apparently I have an Oedipal complex.’
‘Your mother’s dead, dude. How can you be in love with her?’
‘Could be I’m in love with a ghost. A perfect memory.’
‘Was she perfect?’
Jared thought back to what little he could remember. His mother’s wild curly black hair and the deep blue eyes that both he and his sister Lena had inherited. Her patience with her wayward children and her fierce defence of them when anyone else tried to discipline them.
‘Yes.’
‘You know that if you do have an Oedipal complex you’re going to have to bond with your father in order to get over it?’
‘Bite me.’
‘Okay—not ready.’
‘She said that the last emotional attachment I made was you.’
‘Who said?’
‘Rowan Farringdon.’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean, “ah”?’
‘Are you ready for that beer? I’m really ready for a beer.’
‘What do you think of her?’
‘Who?’
Jared just looked at him.
Trig abandoned his parachute inspection and headed across the huge open entertaining area towards the kitchen.
He pulled out two beers, twisted the tops off and padded back out to the deck area that Jared had made his own.
‘She’s the first female section head in thirty years,’ Trig said as he passed Jared a beer. ‘I think she has connections, ambition, and a mind made for taking people apart and reshaping them to her purpose. That’s not a criticism, by the way, it’s respect. She’s older than you, Jare.’
‘So?’
‘Oedipus?’
‘I am not looking for a mother figure. Don’t make me shoot you. Lena would not be pleased.’
‘Neither would I.’
‘I asked her to have dinner with me.’
‘Bet that went down a treat.’
‘I almost kissed her.’ He was rubbing his hand over his lips just thinking about it. ‘Wanted to.’
‘You want my thoughts on that?’ Trig offered warily.
‘Only if you’re not going to call me psychologically maladjusted, three kinds of stupid, and pathologically unable to take direction.’
‘Or you could just be in need of sex.’
‘You think I should have sex with her?’
‘No, I think you should have sex with someone else.’
‘Who?’
‘Has that ever been a problem for you before? What about Bridie?’
‘Too nice. I want her to be married by now, with a kid on the ground and one on the way.’ He caught Trig staring at him strangely and shrugged. ‘It’s what she wanted.’
‘Simone?’
‘Too soft. What if I break her?’
‘Simone’s brother?’
Jared felt his lips twitch. ‘The psych report says I’m heterosexual.’
‘Yeah, ‘cause we’re believing that now.’ Trig took a long swig of his beer. ‘You said you wanted someone who wouldn’t break. Just putting it out there …’
‘I want a woman who won’t break, and I’ve found one. Gorgeous, whip-smart and powerful. And—if I’m reading her right—interested.’
‘Yeah … nothing at all to do with you having information she wants.’
‘There is that. Still … Makes for interesting conversation.’
And then his phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the message.
‘Trouble?’
‘Hopefully. Director Farringdon’s coming here bright and early Monday morning. For what reason, she doesn’t say.’
‘Hnh …’ offered Trig after a very long pause.
‘Probably something to do with Antonov’s last mole that I haven’t uncovered yet. Probably nothing to do with sex at all. Still …’
Jared was nothing if not adaptable, and he’d take his opportunities as they came.
‘Don’t do it, my friend,’ Trig told him.
‘You keep saying that.’
‘Think of the complications.’
‘She gets what she wants. I get what I want. There are none.’
‘What about in the long run? How would it affect your career if you had a relationship with her? How would it affect hers?’
‘Not sure I have a career left, to be honest. Not sure I want one.’
‘And hers?’
‘Guess we’d find out.’
Trig’s troubled gaze rested on him. ‘Jare, do you ever think about what your short-term decisions might cost people in the long run?’
‘All the time. I know I’ve screwed up. Lena getting wounded under my command and now never being able to have kids of her own. That’s on me.’
‘No. I don’t think that. Lena doesn’t think that way either. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens. And we’re all still alive.’
‘Then you’re talking about the lengths I went to to get Antonov? And the fact that he and two others are now dead? That wasn’t my intention.’
Trig grew uncharacteristically silent. ‘What happened?’ he asked finally.
‘I had enough information to bring his entire operation down and I needed one more name for my own satisfaction. In reality I probably had enough dirt on him to bring him down six months ago, but I wanted that one last name so much. And then your wedding invitation landed and I decided that enough was enough. I was leaving—first chance I got. Two days later an old business associate of Antonov’s turned up with a new grudge and enough C-4 to blow up a battleship—and I let him do just that while I went and got the kid and the nurse and took off.’
‘And your problem with that is …?’
‘I wanted revenge and I got it. Not sure I wanted it that way. Antonov wasn’t all bad. He was different things to different people. He had a son he loved. A sister he’d sacrificed all contact with to protect. Those other dead men—they had families back in Belarus. They sent money back all the time.’
‘They’re not dead by your hand, Jare.’
‘Then why do my hands feel so bloody?’
‘I don’t know. God complex? You are not responsible for all the bad things that happen in this world.’
‘But I am responsible for my actions, and I should be able to foresee some of the consequences. Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me when it comes to my interest in
Rowan Farringdon?’
‘All I’m saying is talk to the woman first—before embarking on the seduction campaign. Women are easy for you—God knows why.’
‘Money, looks, renegade status and genius.’
‘Like I said, God knows why. And you do not need the downfall of the first female section director in thirty years on your already overburdened conscience.’
‘She’s smarter than that.’
‘How do you know? Will you be reading her psych report next?’
‘Do you think she has one?’
Jared felt the edges of his lips lift. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. It was good to finally talk to someone freely. Someone who knew him inside out and didn’t hold back.
‘Doesn’t matter. Even if she does, I’m going to ban Damon from getting it for you.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Oh, but I would.’
‘Would what?’ asked Lena, stepping from the house onto the deck. ‘‘Cause it sounds vaguely threatening.’
‘Your brother wants to read Rowan Farringdon’s psych report. Among other things.’
‘Seems only fair,’ Jared murmured. ‘She’s read mine.’
‘Are you still smarting about that idiotic psych report?’ she asked, and Jared grinned outright this time.
Injury and near death hadn’t softened Lena—they’d simply made her blunter … and surprisingly more affectionate, he decided as she engulfed him from his shoulders up in a fierce hug.
‘Where is it?’ she murmured. ‘Hand it over. I’m going to barbecue it. By the way, I stopped by the fishing co-op and bought barramundi and king prawns. And because I love you both I’m going to cook them up for dinner. You two can unpack the car, make the salads, pour me some wine and make encouraging remarks about my cooking.’
It was good to be home, Jared thought.
Maybe it would be enough.
Monday morning couldn’t come around quickly enough for Jared. He’d swum in Damon’s pool and in the surf, and nobly restrained himself from getting the windsurfer out. He’d gone with Lena and Trig to one of their favourite local watering holes on the Saturday night and reacquainted himself with old friends as they’d watched whatever game had been on the big sports screen. Flanked by the two people he trusted most, he’d even managed to relax.
But that had been Saturday. By Sunday afternoon Trig and Lena had retired to their farmhouse, and Jared had been rattling around by himself and trying to stay relaxed. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He missed the rise and fall of the ocean beneath him. Maybe he needed to investigate yacht ownership.
By Monday morning he’d made enquiries on three oceangoing vessels, and the need to do something thrummed through him at a low-level burn.
He hauled himself out of the pool and reached for a towel. His body was still various shades of black and blue, with a few cuts and scrapes besides, but other than that he was in good shape. Antonov had kept his crew fighting fit, and there’d been ocean all around them. Regular diving to examine the hull … Swimming …
Maybe Jared should take up marathon swimming now that he was home.
The doorbell rang and he ditched the towel and headed towards it. He opened it and stepped aside to let Rowan Farringdon in.
‘Pretty shirt,’ he told her, and it was.
The burnt-orange band of colour across the bottom of it suited her. The rest of it was white, and the inch-wide shoulder straps showed off more body tone than he’d expected from someone who sat in a director’s chair. The crisp white trousers she had on rested easy over her rear—not too tight, but not baggy either. Comfortable. He hadn’t expected this woman to look quite so comfortable in casual clothes.
And still maintain her air of authority.
Her gaze swept the open-plan living area and the pool beyond before returning to him.
Jared offered up a lazy grin by way of reward for her attention. ‘Would you like pancakes? I’m having pancakes.’
‘Is this a variation on dinner?’
Her voice came at him dry as dust and laced with amusement.
‘Could be. But it’s also breakfast time, and as a good host I’m offering you some. You’ve come all this way. It’s the least I can do.’
‘I’ve been in Brisbane,’ she said. ‘You’re a detour—not the main destination.’
‘I’m crushed.’ He led her through to the open-plan kitchen that backed on to the living area and the pool. ‘You take your coffee black, right?’
Her coffee at the farmhouse had been black.
She nodded. ‘With one.’
He diligently added sugar to her cup. ‘I hope you like Turkish? Lena found it for me in town on Saturday. It’s good. I had to promise not to mainline it.’
He lit a flame beneath the skillet and waited for it to get hot. He poured her some coffee and set it in front of her. Added butter to the pan and enjoyed the faint sizzle as he pushed it around with a knife. He added the batter next, before turning back to face her.
‘What did you want to see me about?’
‘Do you always do two things at once?’
‘Keeps me from climbing the walls.’
She smiled at that. ‘Say you came across some information that connected a now-deceased illegal arms dealer to a respected worldwide charity organisation …’
‘In what capacity?’
‘They fed Antonov money and within six months he quadrupled it for them.’
‘Did they know who they were dealing with?’
‘Does it matter?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you think it matters?’
‘Yes. Intent matters. Maybe they didn’t know who he was or what he did. Maybe they were naive.’
‘The charity’s intention was to make money. They succeeded well beyond what any regulated money market could ever do for them. Hard to believe that they thought their investment strategy legitimate, but let’s ignore that for a moment. What might Antonov’s intention have been?’
‘What was the charity?’
‘They fund medical research.’
Jared frowned and glanced back to see if the pancake batter in the pan had bubbled up yet. Nope.
‘When it came to arms dealing Antonov was a coldhearted businessman who dealt with the highest bidder and cared nothing for cause,’ he offered. ‘At first glance no one would mistake him for a philanthropist.’
But Rowan Farringdon would already know that from the reports other people had done on the man. She wanted more. She wanted to know if Jared had ever seen into Antonov’s head.
‘He was also father to a very sick son. I could see him helping out some research foundation in the hope that their research might some day benefit his kid.’
‘They say you played chess with the man?’
Jared nodded.
‘Did you win?’
‘I grew up with a brother and sisters with genius IQs. They used to play each other and sometimes I’d play the winner. Occasionally I even managed to hold my own. Antonov was bright, but he wasn’t that bright. His main asset was his ruthlessness. I gave him a good game and I usually made sure he won. Are you going to shut down the charity?’
‘That’s not my call. Did you drink with him too? Play catch with his kid?’
‘Yes,’ Jared muttered roughly. ‘I did.’
‘Yet you still brought him down?’
It was time to turn the pancakes. ‘I let him be brought down by someone else, yes.’
‘And the fallout was extreme. Antonov and two others dead. The boy—Celik—fatherless now, and returned to his high-class whore of a mother. New players fighting over Antonov’s turf. Tell me, Jared—do you sleep?’
‘Do you?’ He tried to keep his voice low and his temper in check. ‘What do you want from me? A confession that I have regrets? Yeah, I do. Would I have gone about things differently if I’d known some of the things that I know now? Yes. But what’s done is done and I sleep better for it.’
