Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
ANA
A pattern is emerging, and it’s an intriguing one. There are eleven big successful companies who make up the bulk of the donations every year, alongside the smaller, more irregular ones. They follow the same blueprint. All independently owned companies with a successful man at the helm. The sums never waiver and every company is doing well despite the nature of their businesses and their competition who are struggling in the economic climate.
When I come to my own family’s contribution, it follows the same pattern and every single donation was signed off by my father from a holding company called Hybrid Blue.
I discovered it in a file marked ‘confidential’ in his safe at the house. It is not listed as part of the Romanov empire and was created solely in my father’s name. The company was not part of his last will and testament and on closer investigation, it was signed over to Veronica Scott-Stanley one month after its creation.
When my brother Valentin met Polly and they went through her aunt’s estate, it was discovered to be a small part of it. I spent the last hour checking its association with The Rose Foundation and, like the others, the sum of three hundred and sixty thousand pounds was donated every year since its conception. On closer inspection, the company accounts reveal that is the exact sum it makes in profit every year from the sale of a particular breed of rose called Hybrid Blue.
I decide to call my brother Valentin and ask for his help in uncovering the secrets of this business, but not here. I must be covert in my investigations because in one day I’ve uncovered a trail that will definitely lead me somewhere.
It’s almost as if The Rose Foundation is the nucleus that these businesses revolve around, and I am intrigued to uncover the mystery because I sense that once I do, my father’s murder will be solved.
My colleagues departed for the day and only by pretending to leave and then hiding in the restroom could I return to my desk unnoticed. It paid off because I’ve had uninterrupted hours to search for information and when I finish my investigations on one company, I decide to end the day there.
I’m tired. Both physically and mentally and could use a long hot bath and room service. So, I close down my computer and grab my purse and prepare to head back to the luxury of my hotel room and a much earlier night than yesterday.
The office is deserted and in darkness and as I head to the entrance, the only person left is the security guard on the main desk, who doesn’t give me a second look. As I step onto the sidewalk, the darkened sky is illuminated by street lights and, as I turn to the right, I fix my purse securely across my body, anticipating that everyone I meet is hostile.
I head toward the Connaught, intent on room service and a date with the tub, my homework firmly secured on my iPad that is safely settled in my purse.
My heels click along the sidewalk and the occasional call of a homeless man high on meth and facing rock bottom serenades me as I pass along with many more of them cowering in shop doorways.
I try not to make eye contact with anyone. It’s always better that way and unlike in Russia where I have a driver and protection, Los Angeles is taunting me that I’m here on my own and I’m the fool who demanded it.
My mind is occupied with my mission and I almost miss him, but a well-timed glance in the right direction reveals my new boss striding in front of me in the distance. I blink, unsure if my eyes are deceiving me, but on closer inspection, I don’t miss the swagger of the man who hasn’t left my mind since I met him in the bar.
My heart is racing on adrenalin as I make the decision to follow him. There is something so sneaky about how he walks, checking side alleys and searching the shadows as if danger lurks ready to pounce.
We carry on for a few blocks and my sixth sense tells me this is not his way home and as he disappears down one of the alleys into the shadows I edge a little closer, keeping my eye trained on the entrance. I notice two men following him in and something tells me they don’t look friendly.
Instinctively, I grip my purse a little tighter, grateful for the small gun I always keep inside. I may be a protected Russian princess, but I learned how to protect myself, and all the hours of training I endured may be tested in the next five minutes.
I check the surrounding area and note nothing out of place and as I edge along the wall, I remove my phone from my purse and call up the camera. I slip to the floor and pretend to retrieve something from the ground, angling my hand around the corner so I can see what is happening. I capture the scene and pull back, studying the photograph, zooming in on the four men who are surrounding James Warner.
It appears they are conducting some kind of transaction because James is offering them an envelope and doesn’t seem happy at all and from the expressions on the faces of the men surrounding him, this is not a social occasion. I can only guess what’s inside the envelope and wonder if the money that’s changing hands is from the company he works at, which raises a giant red flag and makes me determined to study the accounts as a matter of urgency tomorrow.
I dash off a quick text and share the photograph, sending it to my brother Titus to identify the other men in the picture, confident I will hold the information by the time I wake up tomorrow. I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do next because despite the fact James could be involved in the misery surrounding my father’s death, there is something about him that I like.
The memory of the night we met is still playing on repeat in my mind and hasn’t left. I am so frustrated that we never finished what we started, yet that will always be impossible now. The ache inside persists when he glares at me and my heart races when he looks my way, suggesting there may be unfinished business between us.
I hear nothing from the alley and risk another shot with my phone but as soon as I slide the camera around the corner, a sharp object against my back causes me to stumble and a husky voice whispers in my ear, “Move and don’t say a word or it’ll be your last.”
I’m pushed into the alley and I try to keep calm, even though my heart is racing like a winner at The Kentucky Derby.
“I found a spy.”
My assailant says in a deep voice and the five men glance up as I stumble deeper into the alley.
“Ana!”
James yells in shock and one of the men laughs out loud.
“Well, what do we have here? I told you to come alone, not bring your girlfriend.”
James replies roughly, “She’s not my girlfriend, just an associate who must have followed me from the office.”
The man turns and I shiver at the cruel expression on his face, illuminated by the lit end of the cigar falling from his fingers.
“Did you follow him?” He asks, flicking the ash to the ground, and I nod.
“I saw him and had some questions that rose at the office and hoped to snatch a word.”
The men laugh and the one behind me presses the gun deeper into my back and hisses, “Slide the purse from your body and throw it to the ground.”
James says quickly, “Do it, Ana. You have nothing to hide.”
I edge the strap from my shoulder as I assess the situation, noting there are five hostile men with guns. James may be hostile or friendly, I’m still figuring that out, but if they open my purse, they will find my gun and, on closer inspection of my phone, discover the photo I forwarded to Titus. My cover could be blown by my own foolish curiosity, and I consider my options carefully.
The ringleader senses my hesitation and steps toward me and slaps my face hard, causing my head to spin as my purse is wrenched from my shoulder.
James yells, “Leave her the fuck alone! She is not involved in this.”
My face hurts like hell and as the mist before my eyes clears, I watch the man unzip the purse and spill the contents to the ground.
“Well, well, it looks as if the lady may have something to hide after all.”
He bends down and retrieves my gun from the ground and nods to his men, who grasp hold of James in a sudden move, trapping his hands behind him as the man with the cigar presses my gun to his temple.
“We have a promising situation here, gentlemen.” He laughs, “We hold the money and we don’t need either of you now. One shot from this gun will end one problem and the subsequent suicidal one will wrap the case up.”
I face him with derision and none of the fear swirling inside me as he presses my gun to James’ temple and removes the safety.
“You have what you wanted, let us go,” James hisses, a bead of sweat trickling from his temple.
The man merely laughs as the one behind me pulls me roughly against him, his hand around my throat, a knife cutting into the soft skin.
I hate how helpless I am as the man says roughly, “Say hi to Dylan when he joins you both in hell.”
As he tightens his grip on the trigger, I watch the resignation in James’ eyes as he faces him with a bravery I certainly don’t feel inside. When the shot rings out, my agonized scream gurgles against the knife at my throat, but it’s not James who falls.
I’m pushed violently to the ground and the weight of the man behind me almost knocks the breath from my lungs as he falls against me, and then a strong arm lifts me and drags me back down the alley.
I notice six bodies on the ground and scream when I see James is one of them and as I’m pulled from the scene, a familiar voice whispers in my ear, “Don’t look back.”
The black car waiting is a familiar one and as I’m pushed inside, my rescuer follows and as the door slams, I turn and stare into the malevolent eyes of my brother Mikhail.
No words are spoken as he pulls me hard against him, wrapping his hand around the back of my head, and whispers, “Mission over. You’re going home.”