Chapter 16
LUKE
“Thank you so much!” The slightly tearful young girl whose tire I’ve just changed gives me a watery smile.
“I’m so grateful. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.
” She grimaces as she takes in my mud- and grease-stained clothes.
“I hope you weren’t heading out to anything important. ”
“It’s fine, I was on my way home anyway.” I hold her car door open as she gets in. “If you run into any more trouble, just stay in the car and call the RAC, okay? It’s not safe to flag down strangers this late at night.”
I wait until she’s driven away before turning for home, checking the security cameras on my phone to make sure Zinaida got inside safely.
Oh, sure, Luke. Just checking, huh.
Zinaida is standing in the middle of my kitchen.
She looks hot as hell.
Not that there’s anything new in that. Wearing a hessian sack over her head and rags for clothing, Zin would still be the hottest smokeshow in town.
But dressed in a figure-hugging black sheath with a killer slit exposing one curved thigh, her white-blonde hair in the ever-present French roll and her lips painted bright red, Zin isn’t just stunning.
She’s a fucking knockout.
A bolt of mindless lust punches me in the groin.
I’m a military operative, for Chrissakes. Discipline is as natural as breathing.
I’m just going to have to disassociate.
Detach.
Someone tell that to my cock.
I take a deep breath before I approach Anatoly’s hunched figure standing by the car. He eyes my stained clothes but, typically, doesn’t ask any questions.
“Wait inside the car where it’s warm,” I say, smiling at him. “We’ll be done shortly, and then you can take her home.”
Oh, so you’re sending her home, are you, Luke?
“Da.” The faint flash of relief I see in Anatoly’s eyes tells me that I just made the right call. “I vill vait.”
Thank Christ the old man can’t read minds, or he’d be blocking the fucking door.
Outside the apartment I check my phone screen again. Now Zin’s standing in the bedroom, frozen like she’s in some kind of trance.
The sight of her so close to my bed, in stilettos and a dress I estimate would take me exactly three seconds to remove, has the potential to seriously short-circuit my brain.
So much for my legendary detachment.
I should knock, or at least let her know I’m here.
Instead I open the door and slip inside without making a sound, then lean against the bedroom doorframe. “Find anything interesting?”
She spins around, face pale but for two high spots of color. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly,” I say dryly.
The bed is close enough that all I can think about is bending her over it.
Get out of the bedroom, Luke.
I turn and walk into the kitchen, watching her covertly in the window reflection. She looks uncharacteristically uncertain, as if she might bolt at any moment.
I’m surprised by how much I don’t want her to.
“Drink?” I take a bottle down from the shelf.
She frowns as I open it. “I didn’t take you for a Disaronno drinker.”
“I’m not.” I pour the liqueur over rocks and hand her the glass. “But you are, and I like to be prepared.”
She sips cautiously, eyeing my wet clothes. “What happened to you?”
“Came across someone who needed a hand with a flat tire.” I pour myself a Scotch.
“And of course you had to help her.” There’s a slight edge to her voice.
“Her?” I raise my eyebrows. “Who said it was a woman?”
In the brief silence that follows, I’m intrigued to see the color mounting on her cheeks.
Zinaida is clearly off-kilter.
She’s not shooting me sultry looks, nor even giving me the blank stare.
There’s something furtive about the way her eyes touch mine and then dance away again that makes me uneasy.
I’m not sure how I’ve become so attuned to every nuance of her expression in only a matter of days.
“If you’re not in a rush,” I say, “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I strip off my top layers as I go, well aware of her eyes following me into the bedroom.
Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, Miss Melikov?
On a perverse impulse, I don’t shut the door. I take my time showering, mentally admonishing myself for being an asshole.
I dry off and pull on the sweatpants hanging on the back of my bathroom door, then go into the bedroom to get a T-shirt. I catch a glimpse of her through the open door, perched on a stool at my kitchen table, one exposed thigh gleaming in the downlight like a fucking temptation.
I throw the T-shirt back on the bed.
You’re not the only one who knows how to play the naked torture game, sweetheart.
“So,” I say, coming back into the kitchen, “what can I do for you, Zinaida?”
She spins around as I enter the room. Her eyes flare briefly as she takes in my half-dressed state.
Her fingers fan closed around her drink.
Curious.
Zin usually wears a much better mask than this.
I lean against the table, facing her, pick up my Scotch, and take a leisurely mouthful, waiting.
She clears her throat. “I had a meeting with Niamh O’Connell today. From the NCA.”
Her voice isn’t entirely steady, and she’s still avoiding my eyes.
Something is definitely off.
And instinct tells me it has nothing to do with Niamh O’Connell or the NCA.
“Niamh’s had a tip-off about two shipping containers due to arrive at Avonmouth Docks this Saturday night.
One of the containers will be opened on Saturday, and the girls inside it transported somewhere by the people who trafficked them here.
Niamh’s team will track the transport as part of their investigation.
My people are going to rescue the girls in the second container. ”
A spark of adrenaline uncurls in my belly, low and dangerous.
“I appreciate you telling me.” I keep my tone carefully neutral.
“I don’t want you involved in the rescue,” she says bluntly. “But since I’ll be discussing the details with my team at Sophie’s House tomorrow, I thought you should be aware.”
There’s no fucking chance you’re going anywhere near those docks without me.
But I keep my silence and let her talk.
“The girls in those containers are going to be terrified,” she goes on. “The last thing they need to see when that door opens is a man. Especially one so . . .” Her eyes flicker to my chest. “Intimidating.”
She takes a mouthful of her drink, eyes still avoiding mine.
“I agree with you.” I keep my tone calm and easy. “I know your team is experienced in these types of operations, and you’re right about how frightened those women will be.” I sip my Scotch. “But I still need to be there.”
Her head jerks up, eyes narrowing as she studies me. It’s the same expression she wore when I first drove her home. Like she’s not entirely certain what kind of animal I am, or how to treat me.
I feel an edge of frustration.
It always takes time for clients to develop trust. But I’ve rarely had to work so damn hard for it. And never under quite these circumstances.
“Come on, Zinaida.” I do my best to keep my voice level. “You must have known I’d insist on that, at least.”
Her mouth tightens. “I don’t want you interfering in the way I run Sophie’s House or my rescue operations.”
“I understand that.”
Her eyes narrow. “But?”
“But I think we both know that whoever is trying to kill you is likely connected to the human trafficking trade you are working to disrupt. Which means that every time you do one of these rescue operations, you put yourself, and your people, at risk. If I’m going to keep you safe, then I don’t just need to be there, Zinaida. I need to be all over every detail.”
She frowns. “None of the attempts on my life have happened during rescue missions.”
Not yet, they haven’t. I suppress a serious urge to shake her until her teeth rattle.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t be dangerous.” I don’t miss the rather stubborn set to her jaw. I can tell we’re headed to a standoff that is unlikely to end well.
Time to change tack, Luke.
“Look.” I lean forward so my forearms rest on the table. “I realize it might be difficult for you to trust me. But when it comes to dealing with abused women, this definitely isn’t my first rodeo.”
“This isn’t like Myanmar—” she begins.
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about Myanmar.”
She looks up, actually meeting my eyes.
“My stepfather was a piece of shit bikie,” I say. “He dealt heroin, and he got my mother hooked on it when my sister, Liana, and I were just kids. He also liked to knock us around. Particularly my mother and Liana, and particularly when I wasn’t there.”
Her eyes widen. “Luke. I’m so sorry—”
“I’m not looking for sympathy.” Realizing how harsh I sound, I force myself to smile.
“My point is that I grew up with a front-row seat to abuse. I know how terrifying it is to be powerless at the hands of people who are bigger and stronger. I want you to know that I understand how vulnerable the women coming out of that container will be.”
I turn back to the bottles on the shelf, more to regain my own composure than because I really need another drink.
I’ve never been comfortable talking about my past.
“What happened to her?”
“To Liana?” I smile, turning back and topping up our drinks. “She’s great. Happily married in Perth, Australia, with two kids who are probably smearing chocolate all over my boat as we speak.”
“That’s nice.” Zinaida is watching me closely, with just a little too much perception for my liking. “But I meant what happened to your mother?”
Yeah. I figured.
I was just hoping we might be able to skim over that part.
I take a measured mouthful of my drink. “She died of an overdose. A year after I left with Liana.”
Zinaida nods slowly. “You weren’t there when she died?”
“No.”
“Me either.” Her sapphire eyes have darkened and no longer dart away from mine. “Or rather, I don’t remember being there. My mother died when I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, her lips curving slightly. “I’m not looking for sympathy.”