Chapter 33
LUKE
“Right.” Less than twelve hours later, I look around Zin’s fishbowl office at a grim-faced assembly consisting of the remaining members of my SAS troop, Zin and her inner staff circle, and Niamh O’Connell, still sporting a sling.
“We’re only going to get one chance at this, and we’ve got less than a day to get all the pieces where we need them.
Is everyone clear on what their role is? ”
When everybody nods, my eyes settle on Zinaida. “Anything you’d like to add?”
There’s no hint of our customary banter, the brief sideways glances and silent understanding we’ve shared for the past months. Conscious of a dozen pairs of extremely sharp eyes observing our every move, I’m careful to keep my tone calm and professional.
What I really want to do is throw Zin over my shoulder, then kiss her until her damned mask cracks completely.
Unfortunately, given the tight time frame we’re working with, any kind of personal discussion will have to wait until after tonight’s work is done.
But not a fucking second longer than that.
Whatever plans Zin has to eject me from her life without so much as a conversation can go to hell. I’ll finish the job I was hired to do.
And then the lovely Miss Melikov and I are going to talk. Whether she wants to or not.
So I remain still and silent as she stares at the brief on the screen in front of us, my expression just as bland as hers.
I hate every minute of it.
When Zin finally speaks, she does it without looking at me. “I’m not putting Shelby up on the stage tonight. It’s too big a risk.”
Fuck. Sick tension clenches my chest. I was afraid of this.
“Shelby will be in full masquerade,” I answer as calmly as I can.
“The stage is a good distance from where Lowbridge and Stewart will be sitting. Between the feathers, sequins, makeup, and masks, she’ll be virtually unrecognizable.
And we will have people—the best people in the business—covering the crowd.
” I nod at the troop off to my side. “There’s no chance in hell anyone will get a shot off.
Shelby won’t be recognized, and we’ll keep her safe. ”
Zin gives a decisive shake of her head that makes me want to kick something.
“Given how I’ve played Lowbridge over the past months,” she says, “he’ll be suspicious as hell to receive an invitation to the ball.
And while Rhys Stewart will likely accept your story about Luke killing Ian Welch”—she nods at Paddy, Bryan, and the others—“he’s still going to wonder about your allegiance, and exactly how much you know.
In short, both of our targets will come here tonight half convinced they’re being set up.
If they suspect for one moment that it isn’t me on that stage at midnight, they’ll call off the hit, and all of this will have been for nothing. ”
Guests to the Winter Ball all arrive wearing masks. It’s one of the theatrical flourishes that adds mystery and makes the event so coveted. Just like the old Regency-style balls, guests unmask at midnight, when the real debauchery is scheduled to start.
Nobody has tried to hide the fact that the Winter Ball is, at its core, the most decadent, luxurious orgy of them all.
“That’s not going to work for me.” I match her decisiveness with my own. “You’re the principal here, Zinaida. You cannot be on that stage. It constitutes an unacceptable risk. There are too many variables in play.”
Zin turns to me, her eyes flashing blue fire. “Didn’t you just finish telling me that your men are the best in the business? If you’re so certain they can keep Shelby safe, why should it be any different for me?”
Because while Shelby’s death would be a tragedy, yours would fucking break me into a thousand pieces I can’t ever put back together.
The worst part is that I fucking know Zin is right. And going by the rather critical glances from my men, they know she’s right, too.
And I still can’t bring myself to agree to this.
I grasp around for a counterargument, but deep down, I’m horribly aware it isn’t just the risk to Zin’s life that is causing my hesitation.
The burlesque performance is one thing. I’ve worked at the Quartier long enough to understand the art form for what it is, and to respect the professionalism all the dancers bring to it.
Zinaida’s skill onstage is part of her legend.
People still whisper in awestruck tones about her performance at the first Winter Ball, and although she’s never taken to the stage since that night, I’ve no doubt she remains in a class of her own.
Unfortunately, thanks to Shelby’s endless boasting, I’m horribly aware that in addition to her performance, the Winter Queen’s role is to conduct the unmasking, then kick the orgy off in person.
On stage.
With multiple partners.
Over my dead fucking body is Zin playing that particular role.
“Zinaida is correct.” In the end, it’s Anatoly who speaks up, frowning darkly at me as if he can guess at my thoughts.
“Ve haf people at dis ball who haf been to Winter Ball before. Dey know vhat Shelby look like on stage, how she dance. She is good, yes. But nobody, not even Shelby, dance like Zin.”
There’s a muted chorus of agreement.
Paddy shoots me an apologetic look. “He’s right, cock,” he says quietly.
Fuck.
Even I know when an argument is lost. So although I quite literally feel sick at the thought of Zinaida being naked and vulnerable on a stage, while the very worst of men do their best to murder her, I give a curt nod.
“Fine. You dance. But you wear an earpiece,” I say grimly, locking eyes with her again.
“If I give an order, you get the fuck offstage, or I’ll get on there and carry you off myself. Understood?”
“Ooh, McTasty!” Charlie clutches her heart in a mock swoon. “That almost sounded like foreplay.”
There’s a sudden burst of laughter, not least from the men of my troop. I glare at them.
Pricks.
Unfortunately, I realize, as I take in the barely suppressed grins and sideways glances in the room, my threats have betrayed rather more than I might have intended.
“Lowbridge and Stewart might be dangerous on paper,” I go on, attempting to ignore them all, “but in person, they’re both toothless. Bogdan Kozlov, however, is not. He is the unknown quantity tonight, and we need to be prepared for whatever he might bring to the party.”
“Bogdan Kozlov.” Zinaida frowns. “I haven’t had a chance to be fully briefed on his background.”
And whose fault is that, princess? I resist an extremely strong urge to grind my teeth in frustration. But since I can hardly chastise her in front of the entire room, I turn politely to Paddy, who is watching our exchange with amusement.
“Paddy,” I growl, “pull up the Kozlov file.”
Still grinning, he clicks the mouse, bringing up Kozlov’s details.
“From what we can discern,” I begin, “Kozlov was a small-time player in London back when Lowbridge got started. We think they were working together back then, although we have no actual proof. They definitely were by the time Lowbridge set up his first webcam business over in Romania. Kozlov ran the day-to-day there, while Lowbridge focused on building his security business on the profits. They’ve maintained the same kind of partnership ever since.
When Lowbridge won the Port Authority contract several years ago, he set up Minos as a cover company for Kozlov and brought him back to England.
Kozlov brings a steady supply of girls in from his networks overseas.
Lowbridge has a private militia to keep the supply chain moving, and an extremely rich client list, all of whom will pay top dollar to fulfill their sick fantasies. ”
“I don’t understand why I haven’t come across this piece of shit.” Zinaida frowns at the screen. “I know nearly all of London’s criminal players. I’ve never even heard this guy’s name. Do you have a photograph?”
“Sure.” Paddy clicks again, and Kozlov’s heavy features fill the screen.
I zoom in until the man’s mean eyes seem to stare directly into the room.
“I’d say he’s as dumb as he looks, but that would be a lie, unfortunately.
” That gets a few muted chuckles. “Kozlov is as wily as a gutter rat and utterly without conscience. According to Eva,” I go on, my smile fading as I remember her face when she talked about Kozlov, “there’s no request too depraved for him to refuse.
He’s sent countless girls—and boys—to torture and death without thought for anything but the money involved. ”
“Are we expecting him to have backup?” Bryan eyes the face onscreen like he’s counting the hours until he can put a fist through it.
“Absolutely.” I nod. “I’ll go through that part with you boys in more detail when we get closer to tonight, but Kozlov definitely has trained muscle at his disposal, and a lot of it.
We’ll need to be prepared.” I look around the room.
“If that’s all the questions, we should probably get cracking.
Paddy and I will keep you updated during the day. ”
Everyone nods. It’s only when they begin to move that I realize Zinaida is frozen in place, her eyes still locked on the screen.
Her expression is as blank as I’ve ever seen it, but there’s a shadow behind the brilliant sapphire eyes that gives me a queer jolt deep inside.
I know that look.
It’s the same hunted, terrified look I’ve seen in the eyes of children trapped in war zones, those who long ago lost parents and siblings or any real form of security, reduced to desperately scrapping in the streets for a chance at survival.
It’s not an expression I’ve ever seen in Zinaida’s eyes. And the moment I recognize it, I know I can’t let anyone else here see it.
“Right.” I shift position slightly, effectively blocking Zin from the room. “Get to it, everyone. We’ll talk later.”
I remain in place as they all shuffle out, talking quietly among themselves. Only Paddy gives me a searching look, but seeing my face, he doesn’t push it.
I turn to Zinaida. She still hasn’t moved. Her hands are clenched into fists at her side, and she’s paled so much I wonder if she’s actually going to faint.
“Zin,” I say gently. I want to reach out and touch her, but instinct and experience warn me against it. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Her head turns mechanically toward me, like a marionette on a string, and although her eyes meet mine, there’s no trace of Zin herself in them. The shadow has spread since the others left the room, taking the brilliance from her eyes and leaving them as dead as the night sea.
“I need to see Eva.” Her voice rasps like old steel.
“Eva?” I keep my voice even with no small effort. “Why?”
“I need you to hold off on your plans for Kozlov.” She gives the directive flatly, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll explain after I’ve spoken to Eva.”
Unease turns inside me. “I’ll drive,” I say, reaching for my phone to have the limo pulled around.
“No.” Again, her tone brooks no opposition. “Charlie will take me. I’ll be back in time for my meeting with the home secretary. We can talk then.”
She walks stiffly from the room, leaving me no option but to watch her go and wonder what the fuck just happened.