Chapter One #2
I nodded politely, continuing my circuit of the room. My heartbeat had finally slowed to something resembling normal when I caught a flash of movement at the restaurant's entrance.
The ma?tre d' stepped forward to greet new arrivals, his spine stiffening almost imperceptibly as he did. I angled myself to see past a floral arrangement.
My stomach dropped.
Weasel-face and Neck-optional stood just inside the doorway, looking decidedly out of place in their damp coats and scowling expressions. They must have found a way to keep moving despite their damaged tires.
Persistent idiots.
The ma?tre d's voice carried across the room, his whispered urgency barely contained. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we cannot accommodate walk-ins this evening. We are fully booked."
"We ain't here to eat," Neck-optional growled. "We're looking for someone."
I set my nearly empty tray down on an unoccupied service station, keeping my movements unhurried despite the panic building in my chest. A quick scan revealed a dimly lit hallway beyond the bar area.
Exit strategy identified.
I still needed a distraction. My gaze landed on a sleek smart-phone resting on a nearby table while its owner was deep in conversation with a dining companion.
Perfect.
I brushed past the table, extending my awareness toward the device. The familiar tingle ran through my fingertips as I connected with its circuitry, instructing it to vibrate continuously as if receiving an emergency alert.
Modern alarms trumpeting old-school thugs.
Poetic, really.
The phone's owner jumped, startled by the sudden vibration, and knocked over his water glass. The resulting commotion – servers rushing to mop up the spill, apologies being offered – created the perfect cover as I slipped away from the main dining area.
The hallway led to a staircase marked "Private – Staff Only." I glanced back toward the dining room, where my pursuers were now arguing with the ma?tre d' and a man who appeared to be the manager. They hadn't spotted me yet, but it wouldn't take them long to start searching the restaurant.
I took the stairs two at a time, emerging onto a quieter floor. The plush carpet muffled my footsteps as I moved quickly down the corridor, trying each door I passed.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked again.
Behind me, I heard the stairwell door open and heavy footsteps on the stairs. My pulse spiked as I tried another door handle – this one turned. I slipped inside what appeared to be an office, closing the door silently behind me.
The room was dark except for the ambient light filtering through partially closed blinds.
Heavy furniture loomed in shadow – a massive desk, file cabinets, and leather chairs that probably cost more than my first car.
The air smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and something else.
Something wild and earthy that I couldn't quite place.
Footsteps approached in the hallway, slow and deliberate. Not the hurried pace of my kidnappers, but something more measured. More dangerous.
I dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk, pulling the leather chair in to shield me from immediate view. The footsteps stopped outside the door. My breath caught as the handle turned and the door swung open.
A massive silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. The figure reached inside and flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with sudden brightness that didn't quite reach my hiding spot.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and cold, with the faintest trace of a Russian accent. It filled the room like physical presence, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
"What business do you have on my private floor?"
I pressed myself further into the shadows beneath the desk, wondering if I had just traded one predator's jaws for another's.
I held my breath as the office light illuminated everything except my hiding spot beneath the massive desk.
From my vantage point, I could only see expensive Italian leather shoes and the hem of what had to be a custom-tailored suit.
The man moved with the quiet confidence of someone who never needed to raise his voice to command a room.
Great.
I'd escaped amateur hour only to land in the office of a professional.
"I know someone is here," he continued, his voice rumbling through the room like distant thunder. "Your heartbeat gives you away."
Wait, what? Normal humans don't hear heartbeats. Either this guy was bluffing or I'd stumbled into something even weirder than my own electronic abilities.
The shoes moved further into the room, circling the desk with predatory patience. I pressed myself against the wood panel at my back, wishing I could phase through solid objects. That would be a useful upgrade to my current skill set.
Before he could complete his circuit of the desk, rapid footsteps approached in the hallway, followed by urgent whispers. The shoes paused, then turned toward the door.
"Mr. Aleksandrovich," came a breathless voice – the ma?tre d' from downstairs. "My deepest apologies for the interruption, but we have a situation."
Mr. Aleksandrovich? I'd obviously hidden in the owner's office. Of course I had. My luck was working at peak performance tonight.
"What kind of situation requires my personal attention, Dmitri?" Aleksandrovich's tone suggested this better be good or someone would be updating their resume.
"Two men entered the restaurant searching for another man," the ma?tre d' explained, his voice lowered. "They claim he's a thief who stole from them, but they appear... unsavory. They're being quite insistent and making the guests uncomfortable."
"Did they provide a description of this man?"
I winced. Here it comes.
"Yes, sir. Young, blond hair, green eyes. They said he would appear disheveled, perhaps in his twenties."
A pause hung in the air, heavy with consideration. I could almost feel Aleksandrovich's gaze sweeping the room.
"And they believe this man might be in my restaurant?" His voice had dropped even lower.
"They're very insistent, sir. They mentioned checking the back areas, the kitchens. I refused, of course, without your authorization."
"Good. Return downstairs and inform our visitors that I will speak with them shortly." The command was soft but left no room for argument. "Have Ivan and Sergei ensure they remain in the foyer."
"Yes, Mr. Aleksandrovich."
The ma?tre d's footsteps retreated down the hall. The office door closed with a soft click, and I found myself alone with the owner of both the restaurant and, apparently, the floor I'd invaded.
I needed an exit strategy.
Fast.
From my hiding place, I spotted a phone on the desk above me. If I could trigger it, create another distraction...
I reached out with my ability, searching for the device's electronic signature, but before I could connect with it, the desk chair was suddenly pulled away. I found myself staring up at the man I'd been hiding from.
Nikolai Aleksandrovich was not what I expected.
Tall and broad-shouldered, yes – that much I had guessed from his silhouette.
But his face was a study in controlled power.
Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with perfectly maintained stubble, and eyes that were surprisingly light against his olive complexion.
Cold, assessing eyes that seemed to see straight through my hastily constructed facade.
He didn't look surprised to find me there. That was perhaps the most unsettling thing of all.
"Found your missing man, I presume," he said, though not to me. It was a statement to himself, an acknowledgment of a puzzle piece clicking into place.
I scrambled backward until I hit the wall, weighing my options. The window was too far. The door was behind him. And something told me this man moved faster than he appeared.
"I can explain," I said, though I had no idea what explanation would satisfy a man who looked like he ate excuses for breakfast.
"I'm certain you can," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Most trespassers have fascinating stories." His accent grew more pronounced when he was annoyed.
Noted for future reference.
Assuming I had a future.
"Those men downstairs?" I said, deciding honesty might be my best play. "They kidnapped me. I escaped. End of story."
One eyebrow arched slightly. "And you chose my restaurant for sanctuary because...?"
"It was the only place with lights on." I shrugged, trying for nonchalant despite being cornered under a desk. "Plus, I figured no one would look for a broke fugitive in a place where the napkins probably cost more than my shoes."
A fleeting expression crossed his face – was that amusement? It vanished so quickly I couldn't be sure.
"Stand up," he commanded. "I prefer not to conduct interviews with people hiding under my furniture."
Reluctantly, I climbed to my feet, noting that even at my full height, I barely reached his shoulder. The man was built like a brick wall in an expensive suit.
Great.
Just great.
"I'll go," I said, brushing off my borrowed apron. "Your ma?tre d' can tell those guys he found nothing and we can all get on with our evenings."
"Those men," Aleksandrovich said, ignoring my suggestion completely, "they work for Patty O'Rourke, don't they?"
The name hit me like ice water. How did he know?
My silence was apparently answer enough.
"Interesting," he murmured. "And what would O'Rourke want with you? You don't look like his usual associates."
I laughed, a short, sharp sound with no humor in it. "Trust me, I'm not."
Before he could press further, shouting erupted from downstairs. The muffled sounds of struggle carried through the floor, followed by the distinct crash of breaking glass.
Aleksandrovich's expression hardened. "It appears your friends are not taking 'no' for an answer."
"They're not my friends," I snapped, panic rising in my throat. "And they're not going to stop looking."
I needed to get out of here, but the commotion downstairs meant the stairs were no longer an option. My gaze darted to the window, calculating my chances of survival from a second-story drop.
As if reading my thoughts, Aleksandrovich stepped between me and the window. "Before you attempt something dramatic and most likely painful, perhaps we should discuss why O'Rourke's men are so determined to find you."
More shouting from below, followed by what sounded like furniture being overturned. Someone was not happy about being kept in the foyer.
I made a split-second decision and reached out with my ability, connecting to the phone on his desk. I made it vibrate violently, skittering across the polished surface.
Modern alarms trumpeting old-school thugs.
Works every time.
Aleksandrovich glanced at the device, momentarily distracted, and I bolted for the door. I yanked it open only to find the hallway now occupied by two men in suits who looked like they bench-pressed cars for fun.
I froze, caught between Aleksandrovich behind me and his security detail ahead of me. The phone on the desk stopped vibrating as my concentration broke.
"Going somewhere?" Aleksandrovich asked, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. I hadn't even heard him move.
I turned slowly to face him, my back pressed against the door frame. "Would you believe I just remembered a dental appointment?"
Those cold eyes studied me for a long moment, then he did something completely unexpected. He smiled. It was small, barely there, but it transformed his face from intimidating to... something else entirely.
"You have two choices," he said. "You can continue this ill-advised escape attempt, likely ending with O'Rourke's men finding you. Or..." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "You can explain to me exactly what makes you valuable enough for O'Rourke to send his people into my territory."
His territory. The phrase sent a chill down my spine. I wasn't dealing with just any restaurant owner. This was something else entirely.
"And if I choose option two?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
"Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement that benefits us both."
More crashes from downstairs. The shouting was getting louder.
Aleksandrovich leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to vibrate through my chest. "Time to decide. O'Rourke's hospitality or mine?"
I looked up into his eyes, searching for some hint of what "his hospitality" might entail. What I saw there wasn't kindness, exactly, but there was calculation, interest, and something wild lurking just beneath the surface.
I'd just traded one predator's jaws for another's. But at least this one seemed willing to negotiate.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin. "Let's talk. But just so you know, I'm a terrible houseguest."
The smile returned, slightly wider this time, revealing the edge of a canine tooth that seemed just a fraction too sharp.
"I'll keep that in mind," Nikolai Aleksandrovich replied. "Now, let's discuss why a young man who can make phones dance across desks has caught O'Rourke's attention, shall we?"