Page 11 of Blood Oath Christmas
Leaning back in my chair, I grab my cell phone and call Denis, telling him to get to my office now, then I hang up. I know in my gut that he’s not the one trying to steal from me. Denis has been with me for years, and I’ve never had a single problem. And even were that not the case, the different writing style and color of ink are proof.
Denis must have been close by because he shows up just ten minutes later. He comes into my office, his face slightly pale and his brown eyes wide behind his black wire-framed glasses.
“Is…” Denis clears his throat as he steps further into my office. His gaze drops to the open books in front of me, and he pales even more. “Is something wrong, Mr. Mikhailov?”
No matter how many times I’ve told him to call me Konstantin, the man refuses, saying it’s not professional.
“Have you noticed anything strange in the books lately?”
Denis frowns and shakes his head. “No, but it’s only the sixteenth of the month. I do my strong audit at the end of the month.”
I nod, thinking as much. “Come take a look.” I turn the book around so that it’s right side up for Denis and upside down for me.
Denis blanches a little, then takes a seat in the leather chair across from me. After shoving his glasses further up on his nose with shaking fingers, he leans over and studies the page I have open.
I’m not surprised when he finds the strange entries in just a few minutes. His bushy eyebrows scrunch down into a V-shape as he pulls the book closer to him.
“This can’t be right,” Denis says, still studying the page. “I would never make an entry without a description.”
I don’t say anything and let him continue looking. His full concentration is on the pages now, and his earlier nervousness seems to have subsided a little, replaced with confusion.
After a few minutes, he looks up at me and pushes his glasses up on his nose, something he seems to do a lot.
“I don’t know what this is, Mr. Mikhailov, but I can assure you, I didn’t post these entries.”
I nod. “I know, Denis. But someone did, and we need to find out who and why. I won’t tolerate anyone stealing from me.”
Denis nods and swallows with difficulty, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the force.
“For now, please do what you can to fix the books correctly,” I order as I stand.
“Of course, Mr. Mikhailov. I’ll get right on that. I will figure this out, I promise.”
I don’t say anything as I leave the office. I know Denis will pore over the books until he finds the problem—and a way to fix it. He’s very anal about his work and won’t relax until every single penny is accounted for.
Baratino is pretty slow for a Sunday. There’s only about five tables with customers, but it’s in between lunch and dinner. The next wave will be in a couple of hours.
I go outside the restaurant, pulling the sides of my jacket together as a cold breeze hits me. My driver is waiting, as I instructed, out front. He looks up and sees me, then quickly gets out and rushes over to the back door to open it for me.
“Where to?” he asks, holding the door open as I get settled in the SUV.
“Home.”
He nods and closes the door, then hurries to the driver’s side and gets in. We don’t talk as he drives, and my thoughts return to Ivy. How is she handling everything? She’s got to be terrified, alone and uncertain what to do.
As the privacy window slowly closes, sealing me in quiet in the backseat, I make a phone call to my brigadier.
“Maksim, meet me at the house,” I say, then disconnect the call without waiting for an answer.
I gaze out the window, watching the landscape pass by as we drive. It is colder today than it’s been lately, but I don’t think it’s ready to snow just yet. We might get a white Christmas, though, or at least that’s the hopeful forecast from the news channels.
I’m not fond of the idea. Snow will mean locking Ivy away somewhere instead of risking the roads to keep her on the move, which is hopefully what the FBI is doing. Staying in one place for too long is dangerous. Being snowed in will give Vadim a better opportunity to get to her.
We pull off the road onto the long paved driveway leading up to my house. Trees border each side of the road, their tops leaning in as if creating a private tunnel to drive through. A high brick wall surrounds the property with a black metal security gate, the only way in through the front.
We stop long enough for the driver to punch in our code, then the gate swings open. A small guard shack sits just inside the gate and the security guy on duty nods as we enter.
I’m dropped off in front of the house and I go inside, straight to the back where my office is. Maksim arrives a few minutes later.
