10. Maks
10
MAKS
I t’s nearly 9 p.m. by the time I open the fake email account we created for Lindsey. We made it under a false name so she could apply to the college internship at Emiliano Costanzo’s legitimate real estate company he uses as a front for his main income. It’s been days with no response, even though we went to considerable lengths to make her look like a legitimate and optimal candidate for the position. I’m starting to worry that the plan didn’t work. But when I open the email, she has one unread message from Costanzo Realty Investments Inc.
Hope swells in my chest, and I click on it, then huff a breath of relief. She got an interview. It’s set for this coming week, which will give us a bit more time to form a strategy for how she should infiltrate his office. Hopefully, we’ll get more details about the interview process before then.
To distract myself from the buzzing anticipation humming through my veins, I wrap up a few more things on my computer. It’s where I handle a considerable amount of my business in this day and age, unlike when I first took over as pakhan and managed business through keeping a concrete set of double books. This is much more efficient. I don’t typically prefer to work from home, but I’ve been doing it a lot this week to keep a close eye on Lindsey, and having everything I need on a laptop makes that a lot easier.
When I shut it down for the night, I lock the computer away for safe measure. It’s late, but I’m still jazzed about Lindsey’s interview. Plans are finally moving forward again, and the thought of getting one step closer to killing Emiliano makes me feel more alive. But it’s past the time Lindsey usually turns in, and I should tell her we’re finally moving forward.
She’s not in the bedroom when I unlock the door, but the bathroom light is on, and I can hear her rustling through the drawers as I step inside. The movement pauses, as if she’s listening for something. “Maks?”
It’s the same tentative call she does whenever I enter a room where she can’t see me—probably a residual effect from being a woman and living on her own, and it reminds me of how long she’s been fending for herself. She has good instincts.
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging out of my suit jacket and draping it over the back of my leather reading chair.
“I swear, that shower is a gift from the gods,” she says, stepping through the arched doorway a moment later as she towels her long blond hair dry. “I might have to start using it twice a day.”
“It’s there to be enjoyed. Use it as often as you like.” My gaze trails down her body.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts again. It looks oversized on her as it brushes her upper thighs, and I know that she’s wearing only panties underneath. It’s all she’s slept in since I brought her here, and I can’t decide if she’s doing it to be comfortable or if she’s trying to drive me insane. If that’s her goal, her plan is working. She’s dangerously tempting with her nipples pressing through the soft cotton and her toned legs on full display—she’s casually sensual without even trying—and seeing her in my clothes unleashes a possessive desire I’ve never felt for a woman before. Having her in my bed every night is not helping, knowing she’s just inches away and would feel so fucking incredible wrapped around me. Turning away from her, I press the heel of my palm against my swelling cock to curb my arousal. Only after I have myself back under control do I start to unbutton my shirt.
“Everything alright?” she asks.
“Yes, just planning,” I state, redirecting my thoughts so I won’t keep picturing her naked and wet in my shower, pressed against the wall as I claim her. “You got your interview.”
“Oh.”
The heavy silence behind me tells me she’s stopped moving, a wordless indication that she’s still conflicted over the idea of helping me. It’s the only insight I’ll get into how she’s feeling because, since Lindsey came running back to me for protection, she has been a closed book. I glance back at her as I shrug out of my dress shirt and catch her gaze sliding across my shoulders, following the line of my spine down my back. Color infuses her cheeks before her eyes snap back up to meet mine, then quickly shift away.
Nothing has happened between us since that night at the Dungeon, though the undercurrent of tension has only grown more electric since then. But Lindsey has put up her walls, and as much as I want her, I know it’s better if I don’t let myself go down that road. I’ve proven far too susceptible to her charms, and making her mine would only get her killed. Better to keep an eye on her until the murder is done. Then, hopefully, I can let her go back to her normal life—one that will be safer once I’m no longer a part of it. I just hope that, in the end, it will be possible to release Lindsey. There’s no doubt in my mind she would hate me if I kept her a prisoner here indefinitely—even if I did it to keep her safe.
“That’s supposed to be a good thing,” I remind her when she still doesn’t say anything. “The sooner you get the information I need, the sooner you can go home.”
“Right,” she says, turning on her heel and vanishing back into the bathroom.
I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does, and I follow her to the open doorway, crossing my arms as I lean my shoulder against the wall. She’s dragging a brush through her hair with unnecessary force, her eyes trained on the mirror as she watches the task with more intense focus than it requires.
“You agreed to help,” I point out.
Lindsey slams the brush down on the counter and braces against the edge as she meets my eyes in the mirror. “That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about becoming an accessory to murder, does it?” She challenges.
Heat flares between us, raising the temperature of the already-steamy room as I hold her gaze. It smells like her in here, floral and fruity and entirely too enticing. I need space.
Sighing, I release my arms and stand. “You’re right.”
As I turn to head back into the bedroom, I think I catch a flicker of regret in Lindsey’s eyes, but I don’t stop to explore the emotion. Giving her privacy, I finished changing into a pair of boxers and a plain black tee. I would usually sleep in just boxers—if that—but I’m trying not to make this any harder than it has to be.
Lindsey finishes her nightly routine in the bathroom shortly after, and I follow suit, washing my face and brushing my teeth before I head back into the bedroom. She’s already curled up beneath the covers, her back to my side of the bed, with only the lamp on my side table to light my way. I can tell she’s still awake by the rigid line of her shoulders, but I let her pretend to be asleep as I slip onto my side of the bed without a word. The space is clearly designated by the decorative pillow she’s turned lengthwise and stuffed beneath the covers to mark the border between our territories.
Switching off my light, I lean back, tucking an arm behind my head as I stare up at the ceiling. But as soon as we’re thrown into darkness, that charged energy between us starts to build into an electrical storm. Tingling sensation ripples across my skin, heightening my awareness until I feel every shift of the bed, every brush of the sheets when Lindsey makes the slightest move. I want nothing more than to pull her closer, to taste the sweet flavor of her lips and feel the warmth of her body beneath me as I make her moan with pleasure.
Fuck. I should not have thought about it, because now my cock is rock hard again, and I’m not about to get up and walk to one of the guest bathrooms to resolve the issue. It’s what I’ve been forced to do all week since we’re sharing a room. Clenching my teeth, I adjust myself, pressing the heel of my palm against the crown of my cock until the throbbing eases.
Bringing Lindsey here was a bad decision, but she didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options. It’s going to be another long night.
“Breathe,” I command Lindsey as Liam fiddles with her shirt collar, trying to mask the wire he’s hiding there. She looks far too attractive in a gray pencil skirt and white collared shirt with black pumps that show off her impressive calves. I bought her the outfit thinking it would make her look professional for an interview, but it would seem she makes everything look flirtatious without even trying.
Lindsey nods, pursing her lips to release a slow, quavering breath. She’s nervous, and it’s written in every tense line of her body, but the breath makes her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. She glances down at Liam’s hands, her discomfort apparent as she adjusts her shoulders and neck.
“Give it to me,” I order, stepping forward and extending my palm for the device.
It’s small and unobtrusive in my palm, the alligator clip to hold it in place narrow enough he must have been struggling to latch it, but as soon as he steps back, Lindsey’s anxiety seems to settle.
“I’ll be listening the whole time,” I assure her, releasing a button on her shirt and folding back the collar so I can fix the clip to her bra strap.
Her pulse along her throat quickens, and I glance up to meet her eyes as her cheeks color.
“In case you need me, I won’t be far.”
She nods again, followed by another calming breath, and the scent of cool mint fills the space between us. Her lips are close enough to kiss, and my eyes flick down to them instinctively. Before she can notice, I turn my attention back to the job at hand, threading the wire through her buttonhole before closing the shirt so the button hides the top of it.
“I think I can handle an interview when I don’t even care if I get the job,” she says cheekily. “So you can admit it. This is to make sure I don’t say anything to blow your cover.” Her smile is tight, though whether that’s from stress or out of bitterness, I’m not sure.
She’s not wrong, but I wasn’t lying either. I don’t trust Emiliano, and this will ensure I know exactly what’s going on if Lindsey needs me.
“Just be careful.” Plucking the bluetooth earphone from my palm, I tuck her golden locks away from her face with my fingers and insert the small device into the shell of her ear.
Lindsey’s breath catches, her lips parting as my fingertips brush along her jaw, and my stomach jolts. I’m playing with fire, standing this close to her, but I don’t like watching other men touch her—even if Liam was trying to be respectful about it.
“You know what you’re looking for?”
“I have a general idea of what an event schedule might look like, Maks.” There’s a bite to her tone, but I’m certain it’s at least partially due to her nerves.
“You’ll be fine, zaya ,” I promise.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
Lindsey heads toward the door of the ground-floor bathroom in the building housing Costanzo Realty Investments Inc., and Liam opens it for her, allowing her to slip into the lobby before he locks the deadbolt once more. Our makeshift setup is small enough to be portable, but if anyone were to walk in on us, it would be pretty obvious we don’t belong here.
“Testing,” I say into the comms link connected to Lindsey’s ear.
“What are you, 007?” she grumbles, making me chuckle.
“Just thought I’d check before you get into the interview.”
“Speaking of which, please don’t pipe in unless I ask you something. I’ll do better handling this on my own. If I have you whispering in my ear the whole time, I’ll look like a crazy person.”
“Noted,” I say with a smirk.
Silence falls across the line, only the sound of her heels cutting through the mild static.
“Hi, uh, Lin—Bethany Stewart, here for my interview for the internship position?”
Lindsey’s voice rises at the end like a question, and I can hear the nerves in her tone, but the receptionist must consider that reasonable for a college student coming for an interview because she sounds clipped, almost bored in return.
“Of course. I’ll show you to Mr. Costanzo’s office. He stepped out for a moment, but he’ll be back shortly.”
Liam glances in my direction, surprise flashing across his face.
We can’t actually be that lucky, can we? “If Emiliano is out of the room, take the opportunity to do a bit of digging if you can.”
“I know.” The reply sounds muted, like Lindsey’s talking around clenched teeth, and I press my lips together as I catch her unspoken irritation. I’m already breaking her rule to stay quiet.
“If you want to sit and wait here, I’ll let Mr. Costanzo know that you’ve arrived,” the receptionist says, and I catch the faint sound of her heels against the hard floor as she departs.
A door clicks, and something rustles—maybe Lindsey’s wire against her shirt. Then the distinct sound of her sharp walk as she moves.
“What did I tell you about staying quiet?” she hisses as a drawer rolls open across the line.
“Apologies,” I say, working to keep the humor from my tone.
Lindsey releases a soft growl, but I can tell her focus is on digging as she shuffles papers and opens and closes drawers.
“I’m not seeing it,” she states just above a whisper. “Maybe his secretary is the only one who has his calendar.”
“I assure you, he keeps one for himself.” It’s been some time since Emiliano and I were close enough to be in the same room together, but I know him. I’ve seen the schedule she’s looking for. “It would probably be a black leather daytimer.”
“And you’re sure he would keep it here?” More rustling, more drawers sliding on soft rollers as they open and close.
“Yes.”
Heels click across the floor, and I listen intently for where she might have moved to, but I can’t tell just from the sounds carrying across the line.
“This is so stupid. I’m going to get caught.”
“Don’t get caught,” I command.
Silence settles in the room, and I drum my fingers on the counter, my tension escalating now that I can’t tell what’s going on.
“Give me an update, Lindsey,” I say when I can’t wait any longer.
“I’m just looking through—wait, I think I found it. Holy shit.” Another long pause stretches between us. “This is definitely it.”
Relief rushes through me, and I release the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Good. Get the pictures and get?—”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Ice floods my veins at the familiar sound of Emiliano Costanzo’s smooth voice, his accent that makes him sound more distinguished and professional—a perfect cover for the monster that hides beneath his carefully manicured mask. He doesn’t sound happy as the door closes behind him with unnecessary force, and something thunks.
Fuck. Did Lindsey get caught? Is she in trouble? I need to get her out of there. I’m halfway across the bathroom as panic forms an iron grip around my chest. What was I thinking? I put Lindsey in a very dangerous situation, and now that it’s too late to abort the mission, I’m realizing my instincts to protect her are far more intense than I had anticipated. They’re overriding my desire to get this information—even if it could be the key to destroying Emiliano. If I go in there, it will blow our cover, but I need to get Lindsey out of there. She’s not safe with him. I never should have risked it.
“Sorry, I was just admiring your library.”
Lindsey’s voice pulls me up short, and I pause with my hand on the bathroom door as I wait to hear what happens next. If she can recover from her tight spot, then my barging in on them will only put her in more danger. But if Emiliano suspects anything, I need to intervene.