Page 42 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Until the fixer Rossi had on her fails to report in,” Dimitri points out. “Tell me you at least took care of that.”

“I called in a cleaning crew on my way out. They’re probably there now,” I add, glancing at my watch. Then, I dig in my pocket and toss the contents onto the desk. “His phone and wallet.”

I’ve never been more glad to have my own fixer than I am now—nothing would have inspired less confidence in my ability to handle this than needing to ask one of them for help retrieving the body.

Wes sighs, reaching for the items I brought. “That’s something at least. It’ll buy us a few days if I can mimic his check ins.”

Dimitri is still grinding his jaw. “Wesley should be focusing on the drop so we are prepared, not protecting some girl. This is unacceptable, James, you have put us all at risk and broken our trust. If we fail—”

“When have we ever failed?”

“If we fail, this will be our last job,” Dimitri finishes. “I will not work with someone who puts a woman that he does not know before his team.”

Wesley’s head is down, looking through the wallet, but his eyebrows shoot up at the declaration. I second his shock, and an uncomfortable sort of helpless frustration curls my hands into fists. I fucking hate an ultimatum, but I suppose I just did the same thing.

I want to say he’s being unreasonable, but the truth is I know where he’s coming from. The work we do is too dangerous not to trust each other. “We won’t fail.”

“And you will be responsible for her. If she is staying here, she must be completely locked down. She may not go in or out, no phone, no internet, no nothing.”

I nod, swallowing the snark just like Dimitri is swallowing his pride. Of course I know how to lock someone down—I don’t need him telling me—but I also don’t want him thinking he needs to keep an eye on her or tell her himself.

“So, erm, speaking of focusing on the drop,” Wes interjects, cutting the tension, “I just got a ping off one of my spiders. The pickup is set—midnight next Sunday.”

“Good.” Dimitri clips out. He sighs, and scrubs a hand over his buzzed hair, scratching the scalp audibly. “We should review James’s surveillance information and decide what our plan will be.”

“Just let me get Eleanor sorted,” I say.

I expect him to bristle at the mention of her and any further delays because of her, and my anger rises in my throat, ready to defend. But he just nods again. “Yes. And I am too angry to be thinking clearly, so I will be using the punch-kick bag.”

“Punching bag,” Wes corrects.

“That is what I said. Meet back here in two hours.” Dimitri crosses the room and exits, leaving the door wide open to signal the meeting is officially over, according to him.

Wes eyes me, and I feel the urge to apologize to him in a way that Dimitri’s rage never prompts. “You know it’s not like that, right? I’m not choosing someone I barely know, I’m… I won’t let you guys down, but I can’t let her get hurt. It’s a really fucking hard place to be.”

“Oh, I get it now.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

He grins, then sits back in his chair and links his arms behind his head. “It means… she’s cute, Mac.”

A pressure is lifted off my chest at his implied forgiveness. “Get fucked,” I say, but then register what I said. “But don’t even think about touching her, pipsqueak.”

His voice follows me to the door. “All I’m saying is, if you do end up getting us all killed, at least she was hot, yeah?”

I flip him the bird on my way out.

16

Eleanor

You lookin’ to get chased, darlin’?

My face starts feeling warm after that first gulp of vodka hits my stomach, so I slow down for the rest of the glass. I’m not much of a drinker, and I don’t want to completely lose my faculties. Mac might be keeping me safe (?) here, but he’s clearly not the only killer under this roof. I shiver at the memory of the scary, scarred man with the thick Russian accent. Wesley seemed nice, at least. Cool tats, too.

I take another sip and notice that my hands are a little steadier now. I’m not sure how much time passes as I stare, seeing nothing, but eventually I realize that the wall of windows next to me is letting some of the cold pass through the glass. I’m shivering; so, I toss back the rest of the vodka and stand to get the blood moving.

God, this kitchen.

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