Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Owen’s body remained rigid, like a soldier outside Buckingham Palace. His gaze was as tight as his stance, and his eyes were glued to the rose on the inside of her wrist—a permanent reminder of the man she’d lost.
Sam had never revealed the truth about her tattoos before.
The day I’m ready to tell someone about Brad and the ink, that’s when I’ll know he’s the one, Sam had told Emily. It felt like yesterday when she’d said those words, although it’d actually been years.
She had opened up to Owen, though. So, did that mean . . .
She couldn’t let her mind wander in that direction, not when the world felt like it was crumbling. And besides, she barely knew Owen. They had a connection because of their loss, but that didn’t make him “the one”—even if every fiber of her being was shouting to give him a chance.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” Her hands were tucked beneath her thighs as she sat on the bed. “You don’t need to stay in here with me, though.”
Owen’s brows stitched together as his eyes fastened on hers. “I want to be in here.” He relaxed his stance a little, his arms loosening at his sides. “With you.”
“You just want to convince me not to go if POTUS decides he wants me in Russia.” Her head angled to the side as she tried to get a read on him. “But you should know trying to convince me to stand down is the same as my asking you not to kill Teteruk if you have the chance on Wednesday.”
He immediately dropped his eyes to the concrete floor.
“You’d be at the center of it all, and something could go wrong.
” He edged closer without lifting his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her.
“I can’t let you get hurt.” He cradled his neck, his elbows meeting in front of him as he slowly dragged his gaze to her eyes.
She pulled her hands free and stood before him. Her fingers trailed up the back of his right arm, which had him lowering his hands to her hips.
“I’ve been lucky over the years, but my luck doesn’t always extend to the people around me. I’d rather you stay here.”
“If you’re sent to Russia, you’ll need me there, too, and you know it. How else will you all get into the event without raising red flags?” Her eyes squeezed closed, her chest tightening in terror at the idea she could be walking Owen and his team straight into some psycho’s trap.
“We can find another way,” he said with grit in his voice.
“No, you can’t,” she whispered. Peeling her eyes open, she found his hazel irises on her mouth.
His hand slipped up her side before greeting her chin. “I feel like . . . it took me ten years to find you; I can’t lose you now.”
She forced a smile, hoping to ease whatever burden of guilt he was feeling. “You didn’t even know you were looking for me.” Her shoulder lifted. “And I found you, by the way.”
“Because I was an idiot to walk away from you at the funeral and never look back.” He released his hold of her.
“I wouldn’t have been ready for you back then; and you wouldn’t have been, either,” she softly admitted.
The muscle in his jaw squeezed. “I meant as friends.”
Her stomach muscles banded tight at his words, at the suggestion. “Is that what you want now? I mean, after this is over, and we’re both okay come Thursday, do you really think we can be friends?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes steady on hers as he nodded. “I won’t be stupid this time. I promise.”
Friends. Friends with Owen York, a man she probably shouldn’t have slept with—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to do it again.
“Sam?”
“Hm?” She dismissed her thoughts.
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you in Russia.” He gave a light nod, as if he needed to say it aloud to make it come true. “But if something goes sideways, and I don’t make—”
She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t say that. I need a chance to get to know you when this is over.”
“Really?” He bit into his lip, studying her.
She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “As friends.”
“As friends,” he echoed, and his face edged closer to hers. “Do friends kiss?” His brows rose, and the beautiful shade of his eyes captured her focus.
She smoothed a hand over his beard. “Not normally.” Her throat tightened. “No.”
“So,” he bent his head and brought his lips a fraction from hers, “if I kiss you right now, I’d be breaking all kinds of rules, right?”
There was so much more to his question, and they both knew it, but to hell with it. She met his lips, pressing her mouth to his as the blood rushed through her body.
He guided her legs up to wrap around his hips as his hands settled beneath her ass, holding her in place as his tongue dipped into her mouth.
He swallowed her moan with his lips and urged her body even closer to his, not that there was any space to fill as she rubbed up against him.
The heavy metal door screeched across the floor, and the sound had Owen lowering her to the ground, breaking contact.
She pressed a hand to her shirt, smoothing it back in place before looking over at Knox in the doorframe.
“Sorry.” Knox scratched at the back of his neck and looked at Owen.
Owen expelled a deep breath and faced him. “What’s up?”
“POTUS is about to stream live on a secure feed.”
“Tell me you found something.” Owen strode closer to his friend.
He glanced over Owen’s shoulder to look at Sam. “We got the confirmation we needed to prove the scientist’s family is behind everything.” He tipped his head. “You guys need a minute?”
“No, we’re good.” Owen glanced back at Sam. “Let’s do this.”
They followed Knox down the hall a moment later, and the quiet walk gave her a chance to collect herself. She needed to shift gears before she faced Owen’s team and, apparently, the president.
“We have a few minutes before we’ll be live with POTUS.” Knox opened the door and stepped out of the way to allow Sam to walk through.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him and shifted her attention to the team assembled around the conference table.
“What do we have?” Owen pulled out a chair for Sam, then sat next to her.
Jessica was working on the laptop, maybe setting up the call with POTUS. “We got a hit on the deliveryman from that photo we pulled,” she said. “Gregoff Voyesky. He served in the Russian Armed Forces with Alexander Kozak, Laszlo’s son.”
“They work together now doing mercenary shit under the guise of a PI firm,” Liam said with a lopsided smile from across the table. “Ironic, right?”
“We also confirmed the transaction between Cheng and Laszlo Kozak,” Jessica said without looking up.
“Any connection between the Kozaks and the Sven Group?” Owen asked.
“Laszlo’s name isn’t officially on the list,” Jessica said, “but one of his charity houses is on the guest list, and they were a late addition. No names provided, just two guests attending to represent the charity.”
“Probably the son and father.” Luke eyed Sam; he was the only one standing, positioned behind Jessica.
“Would he have that much pull to manipulate decisions with Gromov?” Sam asked, hating how easily her strings had been pulled to manipulate this entire thing.
Jessica stood and positioned the laptop at the far side of the table. “Laszlo Kozak and Viktor Gromov grew up in the same town. Their sons went to private school together. They’ve known each other forever.”
“So Gromov is in on this?” She found that hard to believe. He seemed like such a good man.
Jessica shook her head. “Gromov may not know anything, and Laszlo is just using his friendship to manipulate the event. Maybe he mentioned to Gromov that he should have presidential support at the event, so that the Sven Group looks impressive. Who knows? But this is the best lead we have.”
Sam covered her face, hating that someone turned an event meant to encourage peace into a possible bloodbath for justice.
“We’re still not sure how our guys were smuggled out of the U.S., but at this point, it doesn’t matter because we know where they’re being brought.” Asher’s hand curled into a fist, bearing down on the table.
“You think they’re still alive?” Sam’s hands fell to her lap.
“They want everyone at the event so they can tell the world about what happened ten years ago,” Liam said, looking at her.
“Maybe they’ll kill everyone after—maybe not.
Who knows to what extent these people are willing to go, but if they killed Blane just to deflect our attention .
. . I’m guessing they’re more than willing to kill others. ”
“The son is hardcore,” Jessica said. “He was nicknamed the Grim Reaper—well, the Russian name for it—when in the military.”
“Shit, and that was before he learned the truth about his mom.” Knox braced his hands against the table and leaned back in his chair, connecting his eyes with Sam and shaking his head lightly.
“We’re canceling the event, right?” Sam’s stomach fluttered as all eyes turned to her.
“We have to rescue our men.” Owen looked over at her, a hard set to his jaw. “We can’t let more men die because of what happened ten years ago.”
“And if we cancel,” Luke began, “the Kozaks will probably go ahead and announce the truth about the op to the world, and then we’re fucked in more ways than one.”
“So tell the truth.” Sam stood, trying to maintain her confidence.
“Maybe Ukraine will have to wait on NATO, but it’s the cover-up that got us all into this mess.
Do we want to take the risk that we’ll always be living in fear of the truth getting exposed?
” She tried to hide the tremble to her tone as she surveyed each person in the room before her gaze stopped on Owen at her side.
“She’s right,” he whispered and slowly rose. “But we do it on our terms.”
Luke’s hands went to his hips just as the line over the computer suddenly connected to showcase the president’s face.
“Mr. President,” Owen said, a gravelly depth to his voice, “could I start?”
“Are you going to explain why Samantha McCarthy is in the room?” the president asked, looking right at her, and her stomach squeezed.
“I promise I’ll get to that,” he responded, “but first, could I ask, have you had any luck with the Chinese about Cheng?”
The president leaned back in his chair in the Oval. “It’d involve a deal in tariffs I’m not exactly itching to make. What’s your point?”
Owen glanced across the table at Luke for a moment before casting his eyes back to the screen. “I think I have an idea.”