3. Evgeny #2
“Just so I’m clear, you broke into what was supposed to be a pretty secure parking garage, waited for who the hell knows how long for me to come down, ambushed me, demanded I answer a question, and now you need a ride out of here because you didn’t think this crazy plan through to the end? Is that about right, Ms. Reed?”
She furrows her brow, scrunching the skin into a scowl that I’m beginning to recognize as her pissed-off look. I refuse to admit that it’s cute as hell when she does it.
“I didn’t demand, and I’m not so sure this qualifies as an ambush. Stop calling me Ms. Reed. It makes me feel like you’ve got me up on the stand.”
“Get in the car, Harper. I’d love to debate the nuances of the law with you and how you’ve just broken several of them, but I’m tired and I want to go home.”
Surprised, she removes her ass from my door and walks around to the passenger side, getting in when I do.
“Wow, defending assholes really does pay well,” she says, running a hand over the interior of my car.
I push the button, ignoring her in favor of the purr of the engine. Reversing out of my reserved spot, I say, “Insulting the man who’s saving your ass from a concrete bed. Smart choice. I can’t believe I wasn’t swayed by your charm when you wanted an interview.”
“I can be very charming,” she says in her own defense.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I mutter as I turn the corner and head for the exit.
As soon as I’m outside and facing the street, I stop and look over at her.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Harper. Have fun stalking your next victim.
If you ever get arrested, give me a call.
Of course that means you’ll have to pay my astronomical and elitist fees,” I say, quoting her.
“I’m glad your secretary wrote that down correctly,” Harper says, and then has the audacity to point up the street. “Can you drive me to the parking garage that’s two blocks down? That’s where I’m parked.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What? It won’t take long, and I’m already in your car. Might as well see this adventure through, Ev.”
The corner of my mouth twitches at hearing her say my name. “No more Mr. Nikitin?”
I see her shrug as I take a right and head in the direction of the parking garage, even though it’s the exact opposite of where I need to go.
“I figured we were at the first-name-stage of our relationship,” she says.
“Since you hounded my office all day and broke into my parking garage?”
“I’d rather not verbally admit to anything,” she says, looking over at me. “I don’t trust you to not use it against me.”
“Probably for the best.”
She doesn’t even attempt to hide her curiosity as she looks around the car, not touching anything, but eyeing everything she can see and no doubt mentally cataloguing it.
There’s nothing for her to find. My life as Evgeny Nikitin is spotless.
The phone nestled against my chest is the only link to my real identity, and I’ll kill anyone who ever tries to take it from me.
“So, you’re working pretty late,” she finally says to fill the silence. The traffic is heavier than usual and her two-block request is going to end up being a twenty-minute detour for me.
“You going to put that in whatever article you write about me?”
“I’m not writing an article about you. I’m covering the DeMarco case. I was just curious why you aren’t defending him. It was eating at me, so I figured I’d ask and get it out of my system.”
“How’d that work out for you?” I ask, and then bite back my laugh when I feel the glare she gives me.
“Well, the plan was working fine until someone decided to be a jackass about it.”
At the next red light I turn to look at her. “You mean the jackass who’s now giving you a ride to your car?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and has the good sense to look slightly embarrassed. “Thank you for that,” she says. “I do appreciate the ride.”
“If I’d handed you over to the security guard, it just would’ve been more work for me. This was the easiest choice.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
“Should I remind you that this whole thing is a mess of your own choosing?” I ask before the light turns green and I manage to get us ten more feet before I’m forced to stop again.
She laughs, filling my car with the carefree sound before she says, “I bet that’s not something you ever tell your clients.”
With a straight face, I say, “I don’t need to. All my clients are innocent.”
I ignore the sarcastic snort of a laugh she gives, glad when the next light turns green and I’m close enough to pull up to the curb in front of the garage.
“How’d you get into the garage?” I ask before she can leave. When she hesitates, I say, “I answered your question, Harper. Now answer mine.”
“It wasn’t a good answer.”
“It may not have been the one you wanted, but it was the truth,” I tell her, lying so easily that she never has a chance to doubt it.
After huffing out an annoyed breath, she says, “I got a ride down there.”
“How?”
“Isn’t that two questions?”
I meet her eyes, refusing to acknowledge how pretty they are. “No, it’s a continuation of the first. You haven’t fully answered the question.”
She studies me for a second. “I see why you do so well in court.”
“Thank you,” I say.
The corner of her mouth lifts up just enough to let me know she’s smirking.
“It wasn’t a compliment. Anyway, I told some guy that it was my boyfriend’s birthday and that I wanted to decorate his car and surprise him when he comes down.
I said he was just about to get off work and I needed to hurry, but that there was no way the security guard would let me in and that I really wanted it to be a surprise. ”
“And people talk shit about my profession,” I say. “Reporters are a thousand times more devious. At least I don’t ever pretend to be something I’m not.” The irony is thick, but she’s oblivious to it, too busy being pissed at me and too in the dark about who I really am.
“For the record, had I been surprising my boyfriend on his birthday, he would’ve been really happy about it.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be devastated to hear you wasted the lie on me.”
“There is no boyfriend,” she practically growls at me. A flicker of relief shoots through me that’s so asinine I immediately dismiss it. “I just used it as an excuse to get in, and if you’d just returned my phone call, then none of this would’ve been necessary.”
“Nice try, but this is all on you.” I hit the button to unlock her door. “You got what you wanted. Have a good night, Harper. If you break in again, I’ll have you arrested.”
“Of course you will,” she mutters before opening the door. Before she gets out, she looks at me once more. “Don’t get the guard fired. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t even know I was there.”
“He should have,” are my last words to her.
When she shuts the door, it’s with a lot more force than is necessary.
I don’t watch her walk away, I pull back into traffic, refusing to look in the rearview mirror.
It doesn’t last long. With a frustrated groan, I turn the corner and race around the block so I can park where it gives me a clear view of the parking garage’s exit.
It bothers me that she snuck in. It annoys the hell out of me that she did it so goddamn easily, and it really pisses me off that I can’t just let it go and drive home.
I’m doing this because I have to, I tell myself.
She’s a reporter, doesn’t give a shit about boundaries, and is curious about me.
Any one of those would be enough to ring alarm bells in my head, but all three?
She’s a disaster just waiting to happen, and I need to minimize the fallout as much as possible.
I need to know she’s going to stop pursuing me, even if a tiny part of myself liked seeing her standing next to my car when I’d walked into that parking garage.
As soon as I see the Toyota pull out onto the street, I catch a flash of her bobbed hair and start to follow her.
I may not be as hands-on in the Bratva anymore, but I still remember how to tail a person without getting caught.
I follow her, trying not to let my temper get the best of me when she stops for food and then to get gas before finally parking near a small apartment building.
It’s on a side street, giving it a less-than-busy feel, and I can’t help but smirk because whether she knows it or not, she’s living in our territory, which gives me a lot of leeway right now.
I park far enough away so she won’t see me and wait.
My stomach growls in protest, but I ignore it, unable to drive away until I know for sure she’s in for the night.
When I’m almost convinced it’s safe to leave, I see her step out of the building with a leash in hand.
The dog that trots along beside her is all long legs and a lazy swagger that makes it clear he has all the time in the world.
The greyhound sniffs every crack in the sidewalk and stops at every tree along the way, hiking his leg up on several of them.
Harper never rushes him, letting him sniff and pee to his heart’s content, and because I know no one else will ever know about it, I begrudgingly admit that I really like that about her.
When they get too far for me to see, I slip out of my car and follow them.
Keeping to the shadows, I watch Harper enter a small dog park and then unhook the leash.
She throws a ball, says something to the greyhound, and then sits down on a bench when the dog completely ignores her and the ball.
I find myself wanting to smile and then immediately shut it down.
This isn’t a fun visit. This is me assessing a threat, and Harper is most definitely a threat.