Page 101 of Fierce Pursuit

I barely heard Marina’s response.

My mind was elsewhere, back in that room.

Veronika, gasping in my arms. Blood soaking her clothes. Her ice-cold eyes, always so unreadable, suddenly burning with emotion, more than I ever knew she was capable of.

Her last words whispered in my ear, her breath fanning against my skin.

She pleaded with me. Over and over. “It was a mistake,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It was a mistake. Please, you have to protect my sister.”

Veronika had hundreds of thousands in her account. She had access to more money than some small countries. I made sure of it. Just because she was my wife in name only didn’t mean I didn’t provide for her. She never wanted for anything, not when I was the one ensuring she was taken care of. And it wasn’t as if she had any moral disdain for where the money came from. She had no problem spending it. No problem informing me when her next transfer was due.

No, this wasn’t about the money.

Something was wrong. So fucking wrong.

The hair at the back of my neck prickled. My instincts screamed at me, a warning just out of reach, like a shadow I couldn’t quite grasp.

The answer was staring me in the face. I just couldn’t see it.

“No. That’s the same duffel bag,” Marina said. “I didn’t put anything into it.”

“None of this makes fucking sense!” I roared, the frustration boiling over.

I had been so sure that the second I got my hands on this bag, everything would fall into place.

That it would give me answers.

But all I had were more questions.

There was barely ten thousand USD in this bag. A laughable amount.

Solovyov wouldn’t get out of bed for this kind of money.

Hell, this wouldn’t even cover one of Veronika’s shopping sprees.

So why?

Why was this so fucking important?

My jaw clenched, fury curling through my veins. I hated this. Hated having so many questions and no fucking answers. Hated how Marina was still in the crosshairs.

“I didn’t take anything out,” Marina insisted, panic lacing her voice. “It’s exactly as she gave it to me. I don’t understand why?—”

Then I saw it.

I cut her off, sitting back hard on the sofa, my pulse pounding as I stared at one of the bills buried in the middle of the stack. “This is why.”

A single note.

Marked.

A series of numbers, written in pencil.

Barely there. Almost invisible. But I saw it.

Finally. A fucking answer.

I didn’t hearit at first.

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