Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which Dmitri cements his legendary status as The Best Boyfriend in the World.
Ava…
The next day is no better
Adam is sitting on the bed when I wake up, already in his suit and tie.
"I have to tell you something," he says, like he's tired of delivering bad news.
"Oh, this is going to suck, I can tell," I say miserably, sitting up.
"I didn't want to say anything until we had him but…
Ilya identified the man who had given him the original contact.
" A rush of fury sweeps across his face.
"They were recruiting men out of my private club.
The one I'd built from the ground up, my own project.
" Knowing how proud he is of King's Rest, I can't imagine a greater violation for him.
"The man who gave him the contact information is your ex fiancé, Kevin Sinclair. Ilya identified him positively."
I must have made some kind of noise because he pauses, watching me. "Go on," I say, feeling like something ugly is being lanced from me. It stabs and burns but the only way out is through.
"We sent a team to pick him up earlier this morning at his apartment and he'd been murdered. They used a Columbian Necktie."
"What's that?" she whispers.
"They slice the throat open," he says, taking my hand and holding it between his, "and pull the tongue through the cut, dangling on the victim's neck. They'd done the same thing to Cynthia Watkins."
"That would send a warning about not talking to anyone, huh?
" I should probably feel terrible about Kevin's death.
How horrible it must've been. But the next logical conclusion is worse.
"He sold me to them, didn't he? He set me up.
Cynthia, the whole thing. He told them where to look for me, he knew how much I hated living with my roommates. "
Bolting to the bathroom, I fall to my knees in front of the toilet just in time. Dmitri holds my hair back, helping me up shaky legs when I'm finished, handing me my toothbrush after squeezing a line of toothpaste on it.
"Remember that night I told you about at Heaven and Hell?
His little surprise party of one?" He nods, leaning against the sink, watching me.
"I got the approval for my low-income housing application from Cynthia that night after I got home from blowing him off," I laugh bitterly.
"Maybe they didn't kidnap me right away because he was trying to decide if he could get me back or not.
The two women missing from the hospital, he would've had easy access to their records and information. "
"We must've interrupted them," Dmitri says. "They didn't have a chance to destroy his hard drive. Kolya is sorting through the data, he's already found several financial transactions - even though they're heavily encrypted - deposits of $50,000 to $75,000."
"How many deposits?" I'm swaying slightly, like gravity is more of a suggestion than a rule at this point.
"At least ten so far."
"Dr. Kevin Sinclair sold girls. He sold me for $50,000.
To pay for his fucking sports cars that were so important to him, his house in the Hamptons.
" I laugh. It's high and a little hysterical.
"His apartment in London. I thought his family was rich because even a surgeon doesn't pull that kind of money. How many more are there like him?"
"We're still going through all his known connections from the club and hospital that fit the profile," he says. "Combing through bank records, looking for unusual cash transfers for hidden accounts. So far, nothing that fits."
That's not all. Dmitri looks haggard.
"What else?" I whisper. "Tell me."
"The police found Ilya outside of his parent's house this morning, carrying a pile of cash and his passport. He'd been killed in the same way."
***
A few days later, I return home to an empty penthouse, sweaty and bedraggled after six hours of emergency surgery.
Five of the Morozov men came in wounded, two of them with chemical burns after an "incident" at one of their warehouses.
I was getting good about what questions I asked, just how they got their injuries.
Don't tell me anything else. Do not elaborate.
I want a long, hot bath, dinner, and Dmitri. Actually, the bath and Dmitri first, dinner could wait. He's probably busy cleaning up this latest mess with some cartel that I refuse to hear about. A bit discouraged, I go turn on the water, shedding my scrubs in a little trail behind me.
When I get out of the tub, my scrubs have been picked up and thrown in the hamper, and a flowing summer dress in shades of blue and green lay on the bed with a note.
My little Magpie,
Meet me on the roof in five minutes.
~D.
As I'm hastily blow-drying my hair, I can hear the dull thud of rotors as a helicopter lands on the roof. Dmitri has used this wildly expensive method of transportation every now and then when he had urgent meetings.
After the barest suggestion of lipstick and eyeliner, I take the stairs two at a time, swinging my sandals in my hand.
The wind from the helicopter blades hits me like a slap.
I'm holding down my dress, hair flying loose as Dmitri stands there in his gray suit and a vivid green tie, calm and unruffled.
Good lord, the man's hair is still in place.
"Are you ready, Magpie?" he shouts over the noise of the rotors, holding out one broad palm to me.
I eye it suspiciously. "Where are we going?"
He gives me a grin. It's one I've not seen before, it's more open. Youthful and anticipatory. "I'm taking you to dinner," he says, and I take his hand. I could never say no to a grin like that.
The helicopter swoops through the canyon of high-rises, swiftly gaining altitude, soaring over the water.
The late afternoon lights up the ocean with bursts of green and blue and gold over the surface.
Trawlers and tugs decorate the water, sharing space with expensive yachts and a cruise liner.
The flight can't be more than an hour or so before we're approaching a small island, all craggy rocks and a white lighthouse standing tall.
The pilot lands us on the grass and Dmitri helps me out.
"We're having dinner at a lighthouse?" I say with a huge grin. "I love lighthouses!"
"Yes darling, I know," he says. "You sketch them in the margins of my books."
"It was just that one time," I protest, immediately feeling guilty. "I did buy you a new edition right away."
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper, carefully folded. It's the page from that book with my drawing of a lighthouse vivid, though inexpertly detailed. White like this one, even with the small cottage I'd added, little shrubs and trees, and on its own island.
I look at him in disbelief. "You searched through all the island lighthouses on the East Coast until you found one that most closely matched my drawing?" I ask incredulously, hands pressed to my heart.
"It's fortunate that the Murrow Point lighthouse was similar," he says. "The next closest was down near Florida."
"You are the sweetest and most thoughtful man on any given day, but this is over the top.
Cowboys will sing songs about you around campfires, women will toast to your legendary status on girl's night for decades to come, men everywhere will hate you for raising the bar.
" He's laughing, it sounds more relaxed, not the polite chuckle he usually gives.
"Come on." He takes my hand. "We have several flights of stairs to circle before we make it to the top and you get your dinner."
Marie is a talented chef with a huge grin and a magical way with lobster and citrus ceviche. To Dmitri's amusement, I thank her lavishly for every new dish and by the time she brings out dessert - blueberry bread and butter pudding - I'm ready to propose marriage.
"I do appreciate your enthusiasm," she says demurely. "But your companion is giving me meaningful glares that I'm interpreting as, 'get the hell out now and leave us alone.'"
"You would be correct," Dmitri gives her his most charming smile and a large stack of cash.
"Enjoy your evening!" Marie's footsteps echo down the circular stairs. The rest of her crew has already packed up and they're waiting for her in the van.
"Why, Mr. Morozov, why have you gotten me alone like this?" I lean against the railing, attempting to look alluring. "I do hope you don't intend anything ungentlemanly."
"Oh, Magpie…" he takes off his jacket. "I intend to do the most ungentlemanly of things to you."
"Oh, good," I sigh before he takes my mouth in one of his soul-stirring kisses.
"Magpie?" he murmurs.
"Huh?" He's seated me on the railing, hips hard against mine and my legs wrapped around his waist.
Drawing back just enough to chuckle when my lips chase his, he whispers, "Tell me that I'm allowed to do anything I want with you."
The flashing light from the tower sweeps over his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the sharp curve of his jaw. Dmitri is beautiful in the same way an eclipse is, mesmerizing yet dangerous to look at. It's far too late, though, for me to look away.
Licking my lips, I whisper, "Yes."
"Anything?" he whispers, running the tip of his nose along my neck, breathing deep.
A high-pitched squeak leaves my lips, acutely embarrassing but impossible to stop. "Anything."
His thumbs loop under the spaghetti straps of my dress, pulling it down to my waist, his mouth following to close around a nipple. I can't wear a bra with this dress, the reason, I suspect, he selected it.
Teeth against my nipple, tugging lightly. Finger and thumb on the other, sending sparks down my spine as my nipples eagerly stiffen.
The light makes another sweep, highlighting us both in excruciating detail before moving on.