30. Emma
EMMA
The laptop screen blurs in front of me, my eyes burning from staring at it for too many hours straight. I blink hard and force myself to focus on the document I just pulled up. Eduard sits beside me at the desk, his shoulder brushing mine as he leans closer to read over my shoulder.
We’ve been at this all night. The sky outside the bedroom windows has shifted from black to gray to the pale gold of early morning, and neither of us has slept. Coffee cups litter the desk surface, some empty, some half-full and forgotten.
But I can’t stop. Not when I’m this close to finding answers.
“There,” I say, pointing at the screen. “Hayes met with the Department of Justice the day before my sting operation.”
Eduard’s gray eyes narrow as he reads the calendar entry I’ve pulled from Hayes’s official schedule. The meeting was marked as routine oversight, nothing that would raise flags. But the timing makes my stomach twist.
“What was discussed?” Eduard asks quietly.
“That’s not in the public record.” I navigate to another database, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “But I can access internal memos if I’m careful.”
I pull up the Bureau’s classified communication logs and start filtering by date and participant. It takes several minutes of searching before I find what I’m looking for. An email chain between Hayes and a DOJ official discussing my undercover operation.
My breath catches as I read.
The DOJ official expresses concern about the auction investigation, calling it “politically sensitive” and “potentially damaging to ongoing federal partnerships.” Hayes responds with careful language, assuring them that the operation will be contained and managed appropriately.
“Contained,” I mutter. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Eduard’s hand goes to my shoulder and he starts slowly massaging the tense muscles there. “Keep reading.”
I scroll through more emails, piecing together a timeline. Two days after my disappearance, Hayes files his operational assessment, blaming me for poor judgment. Three days later, the DOJ sends a memo praising his “decisive leadership during a difficult situation.”
And then, buried in a forwarded message chain, I find it.
A rumor circulating through Bureau leadership that Hayes is being considered for a promotion.
Deputy Assistant Director of the Organized Crime Division.
The position would put him directly under Langford’s authority and give him oversight of multiple task forces.
The promotion discussion started the week after my case was officially closed.
“He sabotaged me,” I say, my voice tight with fury. “Hayes knew the operation was risky. He opposed it from the start. And when it went wrong, he used my disappearance to make himself look decisive and competent.”
Eduard is quiet for a moment, his hand still resting against my back. “It fits the pattern.”
“It’s more than a pattern. It’s motive.” I lean back in the chair, my hands shaking slightly.
“He didn’t want me investigating the auction because it was politically sensitive.
When I pushed forward anyway, he let me walk into a trap.
Then he blamed me for it and got a fucking promotion out of the deal. ”
The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected. Hayes wasn’t a mentor like Langford, but I respected him. I thought his caution came from experience, not ambition. I thought he opposed the operation because he cared about my safety.
I was wrong.
Eduard’s fingers brush along my spine, grounding me. “We need to verify this before we act on it.”
“I know.” I force myself to breathe, to think like an investigator instead of someone who’s been betrayed. “But the evidence is there. The timeline, motive, and opportunity. Hayes had everything he needed to sell me out.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, the weight of what I’ve discovered settling over us. Then Eduard stands and moves to the window, looking out over the estate grounds as morning light spreads across the gardens.
“You should eat something,” he says quietly. “And rest. You’ve been at this all night.”
My stomach growls at the mention of food, and I realize I’m actually hungry. “I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.” He turns to face me, his gray eyes serious. “Take a break, Emma. The information will still be here when you come back.”
Before I can argue, Artur appears in the doorway carrying a tray loaded with food. The smell of eggs, bacon, and fresh bread makes my mouth water despite my determination to keep working.
“Brunch,” Artur announces, setting the tray on the small table near the window. “Rurik’s orders. You eat, or he comes up here and makes you.”
Holy crap. I’ve been so wrapped up in research, I hadn’t noticed Artur or Rurik leaving the bedroom.
I want to refuse, want to keep digging through files until I have every piece of evidence I need. But my body is screaming for food and rest, and I know pushing myself further won’t help.
Eduard guides me to the table, his hand warm on my lower back. I sink into the chair and reach for the coffee first, letting the hot liquid burn down my throat. Then I start eating, surprised by how ravenous I am.
Artur settles into the chair across from me, his dark eyes amused. “You look like hell, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter automatically.
“She’s been up all night,” Eduard says, taking the seat beside me. “Found evidence that Hayes might have sabotaged her operation to protect his career.”
Artur’s expression shifts from amused to serious. “That’s a bold move for a federal supervisor.”
“It’s a smart move if you’re ambitious enough.” I take another bite of eggs, chewing slowly. “He opposed the operation from the start. When it went wrong, he positioned himself as the responsible leader who tried to prevent a disaster. The DOJ ate it up.”
“And now he’s getting promoted for it,” Eduard adds.
Artur leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “So Hayes is the mole.”
I want to say yes. Want to close this investigation and have a clear target for my fury. But something nags at me, a detail that doesn’t quite fit.
“Maybe,” I say slowly. “But I need more evidence before I’m certain.”
We finish eating in relative quiet, the exhaustion finally catching up with me. My eyelids feel heavy and I have to fight to keep them open. Eduard notices immediately.
“You’re taking a nap,” he says firmly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re falling asleep in your chair.” He stands and offers his hand. “Come on. A few hours of rest won’t hurt the investigation.”
I want to argue, but my body betrays me with a jaw-cracking yawn. Eduard’s lips curve into a small smile as he pulls me to my feet and guides me toward the massive bed.
“I’ll stay with you,” he says quietly. “Make sure you actually sleep instead of sneaking back to the laptop.”
I’m too tired to protest. I strip down to my underwear and crawl under the covers. The soft sheets feel like heaven against my exhausted body. Eduard joins me moments later, his warm presence settling behind me as he pulls me against his chest.
His hand slides over my hip, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against my skin. The touch is soothing at first, gentle and comforting. But then his palm flattens against my stomach, pulling me closer, and I feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my ass.
Heat floods through me despite my exhaustion. I shift slightly, grinding back against him, and Eduard’s breath catches.
“Emma,” he murmurs against my ear. “We should sleep.”
“I’m not that tired,” I lie.
His hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear. When he finds me already wet, he groans.
“Your fault,” I breathe, arching into his touch.
Eduard’s fingers work me slowly, circling my clit with just enough pressure to make me squirm. His other hand slides up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra.
“I want you,” he says roughly. “But you need rest.”
“I need you more.”
That’s all the permission he needs. Eduard pulls my underwear down my legs and tosses it aside, positioning himself behind me. His cock slides through my folds, teasing, before he pushes inside with one slow thrust.
I gasp with pleasure. He’s thick and hard, filling me completely, and the angle has him hitting deep. Eduard’s hand grips my hip as he starts to move, slow and deliberate, making me feel every inch of him.
“God, you feel perfect,” he groans against my neck.
“So do you,” I breathe out.
His pace is unhurried, almost lazy, like he has all the time in the world to take me apart. His hand slides between my thighs, fingers finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles that make my toes curl.
The pleasure builds slowly, coiling tight in my belly. I rock back against him, meeting each thrust, chasing the release I can feel just out of reach. Eduard’s breathing quickens, his grip on my hip tightening as he drives deeper.
“Come for me,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you.”
His fingers press harder against my clit and my orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure roll through me. Eduard follows moments later, his cock jerking inside me as he fills me with his release.
We stay like that for several minutes, tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Then Eduard pulls out carefully and tucks me against his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
“Sleep,” he says softly.
This time, I don’t argue. I let my eyes close and drift off with his warmth surrounding me.
When I wake, the afternoon sun is streaming through the windows. Eduard is still beside me, his breathing deep and even. I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him, and pull on fresh clothes before returning to the laptop.
My mind feels clearer after the rest. I dive back into the files, cross-referencing Hayes’s activities with the auction investigation timeline. Everything points to him. The motive, opportunity, and the benefit he gained from my disappearance.
But then I find something that makes me pause.
A request filed by Hayes three weeks before my sting operation. He asked for access to auction-related financial documents, specifically the shell companies connected to Baltic Logistics and the other networks I’d been tracking.
The request was denied.
I stare at the screen, my pulse quickening. If Hayes was working with the auction organizers, why would he need to request access to their financial records? He would already have that information. And why would his request be denied?
Unless he wasn’t part of the conspiracy. Unless he was investigating it himself.
My hands shake as I pull up more files, searching for anything that might explain the denial. I find a memo from Langford’s office, brief and bureaucratic, stating that the financial documents were classified under a separate investigation and access was restricted to essential personnel only.
Langford restricted Hayes’s access.
The realization hits me like ice water. If Hayes couldn’t access the financial records, he couldn’t have coordinated my capture with the auction organizers. He didn’t have the information he would have needed to sell me out.
Which means it wasn’t Hayes.
And it wasn’t Cole, whose arrest for minor charges proves he was just a scapegoat.
I lean back in the chair, my mind racing. If it wasn’t Cole or Hayes, then who the hell set me up?