Chapter 16
COLE
Another item to record on the ledger I’m building against Pyotr Tarasov: Kate rejects my invitations to the dungeon for an entire week.
She says she’s tired. She says she has cramps—which shouldn’t be an issue with the hormonal birth control I arranged through Dr. Patel.
She says she’s scheduled an online meeting with a candidate for her new raiding team and she’s coding a challenging new twist to Winter Reckoning and her grandmother is still shaky days after the trip to Baltimore so Kate can’t be away from her phone.
Fionnula Lynch’s health is the only legitimate excuse in the bunch.
But the truth is Kate hasn’t forgiven me for giving Tarasov access to Lynch’s crypto files. The fact that Barry Lynch hasn’t even noticed the betrayal doesn’t matter. Kate can’t get past the fact that I’m working with her enemy—even if I’m doing it to save her.
Tarasov made himself clear last week. He won’t be content with minimal results going forward. I steal time from my usual client chaos to structure a second delivery.
I won’t give him anything with names—Canton Crew made men or runners, anyone associated with the mob. I won’t be responsible for the bratva’s hit men going after members of Kate’s clan.
I won’t give him business contacts either. The construction contracts Lynch runs for the city are a matter of public record, but plenty of private parties hire the mob. Lives could well be lost if I disrupt the Crew’s longstanding protection racket.
Tarasov must already know about the whorehouse Lynch runs, and the clan’s after-hours bars are barely kept secret. Lynch can’t afford to lose even one shipment at the docks, not with his gambling income down to nearly zero.
In the end, the only bait I can safely hand over is banking information.
I actually hack into First Maryland, adding security so Tarasov can’t drain Lynch’s accounts dry.
But at five minutes to midnight, I send my bratva handler a link to Lynch’s transaction logs—a record of all deposits and withdrawals for the last three years.
With Kate’s identity once again secured from the feds, I climb the stairs to find her waiting in our bed.
She hasn’t tried to sleep in one of the guest rooms since I hauled her out last week.
But she’s lying beneath the sheets in a ragged T-shirt I should tell Nilsson to burn in the morning.
She’s punched her pillow into a shapeless wad and her eyes are closed, but every muscle in her body screams that she’s wide awake.
Pretending I’m civilized, I brush my teeth and wash my face. When I take off my clothes, I fold them over a chair. I ease back the sheets like I don’t want to disturb my sleeping wife, and I turn off my nightstand lamp with the softest of clicks.
“What did you give him?” Kate asks, before I can pretend to fall asleep.
“As little as possible.”
“What?”
“Your father’s account at First Maryland. No access to funds, just a listing of deposits and withdrawals.”
She huffs and pushes herself into a seated position. “What did you really give him?”
I sit up, too, shoving my pillow behind my back. “I know,” I say. “Tarasov’ll come back saying it isn’t enough. But at least I’ve bought us more time.”
Kate gapes at me as if I’ve admitted handing over scores of homeless virgins to a known rapist. “Wait. You actually gave him a list of transactions?”
“It was the least harmful thing I could do.”
“Jaysus,” she mutters, scrambling for her phone on the nightstand. “You’ve ruined everything!” Before I can stop her, she’s placing a call to her father.
I clamp my fingers around her wrist. “No,” I say.
She rolls her eyes like an exasperated teenager. I pry the phone out of her hand as Lynch answers, his voice bleary with sleep. “Kaitlín?” he asks, before I end the call.
“Give it back!” Kate demands, shoving at my side.
I hold the phone beyond her reach. “Wait,” I say. “Stop. Just think a minute.” When she pauses for a heartbeat, I go on. “What will your father do if he finds out I’m working for Tarasov?”
“He’ll cut off your bollocks and drop them in his fishpond,” she snarls.
I suspect that isn’t too far from the truth. But I continue to plead my case. “And Tarasov would do worse, if he didn’t get something tonight. Feds would be at our door before morning. I had to keep you safe.”
Her phone buzzes—her father calling back.
“Tell him you made a mistake,” I say. “He can go back to sleep.”
“I’ll tell him—”
“Kate,” I say, loading all my power and control into the single syllable. I hand her the still-buzzing phone.
She stabs at the glass screen. “Sorry, Da,” she says, with a fierce scowl at me. “My finger slipped. I meant to ring someone else.” His complaint is loud enough for me to hear. “Sorry, Da,” she says again. Then, when he continues: “Sorry!”
She ends the call with a vicious jab. Glaring at me, she snarls, “You don’t understand what you’ve done!”
“Then explain it to me.” I’m confident that once she actually considers all the facts, she’ll realize I chose the best option.
“The document you gave that shitehawk… It has deposits and withdrawals, right?”
I nod.
“Along with dates.”
Another nod.
“So Tarasov can see when Da took in specific amounts of money.”
“For the last three years.”
“That Russian arsehole will know precisely how much I’ve been propping up the Crew!” she rages. “He’ll know I’ve been the only thing keeping the clan in the black for at least three years!”
“I didn’t think—” But I don’t get a chance to complete the sentence.
“No,” Kate shrieks. “You didn’t. But you can be sure Tarasov’ll make the truth public now. To his own men, just to see Da mocked. And to the Crew, to prove Da isn’t fit to lead.”
She shoves aside the covers, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Anger has pulled her face into tight lines. And I know at least part of her rage is actually terror of what will happen next.
I can’t pull back the file now. I’ll have to figure out some way to defray Tarasov’s use of the financials. Keep him from sharing the file. Dilute the impact of what I’ve done.
But for now, I need Kate to understand she’s physically safe. She needs structure. Control. The Russian will never, ever get to her in this room.
I reach the door before she does. “You sleep in this room,” I say, blocking her with one arm.
“I’m not sleeping,” she snaps. “I’m going downstairs. To my office. To figure out how to save my clan.”
“Nothing will change before morning.”
“I need—”
“You need a clear head. Get some sleep. I’ll help you tomorrow.”
“You’ve helped quite enough,” she snaps. But she clearly realizes I won’t yield. She turns back to the bed, where I join her as she curls onto her left side.
I let her steal the lion’s share of the covers as she yanks the sheet up to her chin. I don’t make any effort to touch her, to pull her back to my body, to gentle the ragged fury she exhales with every breath.
Instead, I close my eyes against the glow of her nightstand lamp, and I wonder how many other pitfalls wait for us. Because I know one thing is absolutely certain: Tarasov will come back with more demands. He’ll push for greater and greater access to the Canton Crew files.
And in the end, I may not be able to keep him from exposing Kate’s life to the feds.