Chapter 1 #2
“I checked. It wasn’t there.” No point lying. If the title had shown up, I’d have already grabbed the book and left without anyone ever knowing I was even here. Roman wants this quiet so the detective who’s digging into what happened on Chaos Island has no new leads.
“Then we don’t have it. Or it’s not public.” She still doesn’t bother to look up.
I keep pushing, my voice growing a little sharper. “So, you’re saying you don’t know if you have it?”
Her mouth tightens, exposing a flicker of the nerve I touched. “I know everything about the library and everything in it.”
Oh, she’s prideful. I file that fact away.
I bend closer and shift my approach again. “Look, I understand. I know how underfunded these places are, how understaffed. But is there any way to speed things up? I’m on a tight deadline.” I lower my voice like I’m confiding a secret. “Maybe a generous donation would help move things along?”
Bait in the open, I wait for the correction, the lecture. If this sexy librarian wants to put me in my place, I’m more than ready for the reprimand.
She finally glances up.
At first, she only meets my eyes. Hers are ocean blue but uninviting. Cold. Unforgiving. Water that drowns rather than refreshes. Baltic, not Mediterranean.
Then she takes in the rest of me—my suit, watch, posture, and expression—clearly unimpressed. “We’re a private institution, Professor…”
A woman who doesn’t judge based on appearance. I can handle that. I just need to dial up the charm. “Ivan. I’m Ivan Orlov.”
“Professor Orlov. And—”
“Vanya, please. That’s what my friends call me.” I offer the smile that works in any situation.
“—and I do not accept bribes, Professor Orlov. And we’re barely acquaintances.” Her eyebrow tilts up, indicating that she sees right through me.
“My apologies. No offense intended.” Irritation sparks in my chest. Not only did she refuse to walk through the door I opened, she didn’t even use my first name.
No one resists me.
Who is this woman?
“However,” I let my accent thicken, “what I offer is not a bribe. This is America, not Russia, after all. I was thinking of a proper donation, one that benefits the library and helps me meet my deadline. Mutually beneficial, yes?”
She holds her rigid posture. That mouth curls just a fraction.
“Is that so?” She pulls the pen from behind her ear and taps it on the desk. “Allow me to explain, Professor Orlov. I am the senior archivist and acquisitions curator. My job is to safeguard the collections. Money doesn’t matter. Only the books. To protect them, we have processes.”
She has full lips when they’re not pressed in a thin, irritated frown. I allow myself a single second to imagine crushing that smart mouth to mine. I wonder if she tastes as good as she looks.
At least she’s engaging with me now, and for the first time, I sense an opportunity. If I can prove I’m not a risk to the books, I’ll get what I need.
I start to say more but stop because the way she continues to hammer the pen against the desk reminds me of a gavel.
“As a professor and a researcher,” she emphasizes the last word as if I broke some unwritten rule, “I’m sure you agree nothing matters more than the books.”
“Of course. And you’re the guardian of the library. Every archive needs a warden.” I remain loose and unthreatening as I rest my elbow on the counter. “But I came to inquire and investigate, not to commit theft, Miss…?”
While she doesn’t take the bait, her eyes cloud with hesitation.
My gaze drops to the nameplate at the edge of the desk. Paige Kisner, Senior Archivist.
I drum my finger against the metal. With flushed cheeks, she reaches out and flips the nameplate around so I can no longer read her title.
Cute.
As we lock eyes, the hint of a smile stretches my mouth. Crimson crawls down her neck, vanishing under the crisp line of her blouse.
Beautiful.
I wonder what else that rush of blood is doing to her right now. Just how wild does this woman get when she undoes that bun and sloughs off her cardigan?
“Too late.” I lower my voice to a teasing warning. “I know who you are now, Ms. Kisner, fierce guardian of the library who keeps watch at the door for reasons I can’t quite guess, given how few people are scrambling to get in.”
Her brows knit. “I assure you that St. Augustine is a venerable, prestigious library that—”
“Hasn’t picked up a notable collection in eight years and lost half its endowment two years ago.”
She sucks in a breath, and the pink in her cheeks deepens. “How do you know that?”
I arch one brow while recalling her earlier statements. “Public resources. Databases.”
Word games might be a hobby for her, but for me, they’re survival. The number of times I’ve talked my way out of danger far exceeds the times I haven’t. And I always have a backup plan.
“I could more than match that lost endowment, though.”
I expect her to crack. Instead, she presses her fingers onto the form on the counter, her pen wedged between her knuckles as she nudges the papers closer.
She leans in, narrowing the gap by an inch. “In triplicate.”
I’ve never heard fuck you in bureaucratese before. I can’t help but wonder what else her very talented mouth might be capable of.
Admiration, desire, and irritation tangle beneath my skin. I close the distance between us, drawing near enough to drown in the scent of old paper and flowers clinging to her skin. Lilies, maybe.
She freezes. “What are you doing?” This time, her tone conveys no defiance.
Perfect. I managed to shake her.
“What do you think I’m doing? Or is it what I might want to do that worries you?”
Her chin jerks, and her pupils expand, Baltic blue shrinking under a sea of black.
Shock. Or nerves.
Or arousal, perhaps.
“Do you want me to do something, Paige?”
Her breath hitches, and she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. “N-no. You need to—”
“I’ll need a pen for that.” As I deliberately pluck hers from her grip, the brush of our fingertips rushes heat straight to my groin. “Thanks.”
She goes soft, her shoulders curling like an unstrung bow as she tilts her face to the side and refuses to meet my gaze. Her face flames bright red.
Wordplay might’ve kicked down the door, but our physicality drops her defenses. This stuffy archivist might not be a prude after all. Just pent up.
I have the perfect cure for that.
After scooping the form off the glossy surface, I lift two fingers to my forehead and give Paige a lazy salute.
Back in my car, I replay our exchange in my mind.
That did not at all go the way I expected. Not even close.
Which means I need leverage.
This kind of job calls for Emil, the Kozlovs’ online shadow who works with computers and records alike, so I dial his number. I’m good, but he sits at the top of the food chain for sniffing out secrets in the maze of digital archives.
He answers on the second ring.
“Emil, I need information on Paige Kisner. Works at St. Augustine Rare Books and Manuscripts Library. Find me a secret. Whatever she’s hiding. Something that’ll break her.”
Emil clears his throat. “Can’t do it overnight, Vanya. Too much else going on with Gio Falcone and the crew he hired to take us down. Gimme a day or two.”
“That works.” I spin the stolen pen in my hand, the lacquer catching the light and the ink pooling like blood. What kind of woman uses such a thing at her day job? Makes me wonder what she’s like at home. “I’ve got a distraction until then.”