Emma
The evidence against Langford sits on the laptop screen like an accusation I can’t ignore.
Eduard’s intelligence contact traced the supervisory override that accessed Cole’s credentials straight back to Deputy Assistant Director clearance.
Only three people in the Bureau have that level of access to our division’s systems, and Langford is one of them.
I stare at the financial records I pulled up earlier, the ones showing his brother-in-law’s security firm laundering auction money. The connection is there, undeniable and damning. But my mind keeps circling back to the same desperate questions.
What if it’s a mistake? What if someone hacked his credentials the same way they used Cole’s? What if there’s an explanation I haven’t found yet?
I close the laptop harder than necessary and press my palms against my eyes. The pressure helps, barely. My head pounds from too little sleep and too many revelations crashing down at once.
Langford was there when my parents died. He held my hand at their funeral. He encouraged me to join the FBI when I was drowning in grief and rage. He’s been the one constant in my life since I was sixteen years old.
He can’t be the mole. He just can’t.
But the evidence doesn’t lie.
I check the time on my phone. One-thirty. I need to leave soon if I’m going to make the meeting with Krystal at two. The café on Birch Street is about twenty minutes away, and I still need to go over the information the men want me to pass along.
A knock at the bedroom door pulls me from my thoughts.
I call out permission to enter, and all three of them file in.
Rurik’s pale blue eyes find mine immediately, assessing.
Eduard moves to lean against the desk, his gray eyes serious.
Artur drops into the leather recliner near the window, his usual grin absent.
“We need to go over the plan again,” Rurik says, his voice flat and controlled.
I nod and stand, crossing my arms over my chest. The fitted black sweater I’m wearing suddenly feels too tight, too warm. “I remember what you told me.”
“Tell us anyway,” Eduard says quietly. “We need to be certain.”
I take a breath and recite the information they’ve carefully constructed.
False shipping routes through Portland that will lead Volkov’s people to empty warehouses.
Fake meeting schedules with captains who don’t exist. Financial transactions that look legitimate but will dead-end if anyone tries to trace them.
It’s all designed to make Volkov think he’s getting valuable intelligence while actually feeding him useless garbage. The kind of disinformation that will keep him busy chasing ghosts while the real operations continue undisturbed. And will keep suspicion off Krystal.
“Good,” Rurik says when I finish. His gaze holds mine for a long moment. “You understand why this matters?”
“Because if Krystal passes bad information to Volkov, he’ll know she’s compromised,” I say. “It has to be convincing enough that he believes it’s real.”
“And if he believes it’s real,” Artur adds, his dark eyes serious, “he’ll trust Krystal more. Which gives us leverage.”
I hate this, hate using my best friend as a pawn in their criminal chess game, even though it was her idea in the first place. I have to trust that Krystal knows what she’s doing.
“There’s something else we need to discuss,” Rurik says, moving closer. He stops a few feet away, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the window. “Why are you still here?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“You had the opportunity to escape when you met Krystal the other day,” Eduard says, his tone gentle but probing. “You could have kept walking. Gone straight to FBI headquarters and turned yourself in. But you didn’t.”
“You came back,” Artur adds. “Why?”
My pulse quickens. I know what they’re really asking. They want to know if I’m staying because I have to or because I want to. They want to know if what’s growing between us is real or just Stockholm syndrome dressed up as attraction.
I want to know the same thing.
“Right now, being with you serves my purposes,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “I need your resources to find the mole. I need your connections to help Krystal. Walking away doesn’t accomplish either of those things.”
The words sound hollow even to my own ears. A deflection wrapped in logic that doesn’t quite hold up under scrutiny.
Rurik’s jaw tightens. Eduard’s expression shifts to something that might be disappointment. Artur just watches me with those knowing dark eyes, like he can see straight through the bullshit I’m trying to sell.
“That’s what you’re going with?” Artur asks quietly.
“That’s the truth,” I lie.
Except it’s not. Not really. Yes, I need their help.
Yes, staying makes strategic sense. But that’s not why I came back after meeting Krystal.
That’s not why my chest tightens when I think about leaving this estate.
That’s not why I wake up between them every morning and feel something dangerously close to belonging.
I’m falling for them. All three of them. And I’m terrified to admit it because once I do, there’s no taking it back. Once I acknowledge what I feel, I have to face what it means about who I’m becoming.
An FBI agent doesn’t fall for the criminals she’s supposed to bring down. A good person doesn’t find comfort in the arms of men who execute people in courtyards. A woman with any sense doesn’t look at three Bratva bosses and think mine.
But I do. God help me, I do.
Rurik studies my face for a long moment and I know he sees the lie. They all do. But none of them call me on it. Instead, Rurik just nods once and steps back.
“Be careful,” he says. “Volkov is dangerous and Krystal may not be as free as she appears.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
Eduard moves closer and his hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “We’ll have people nearby. Not close enough to spook Krystal’s guards, but close enough to intervene if something goes wrong.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I start, but Artur cuts me off.
“You’re getting one anyway, sweetheart. Non-negotiable.”
I want to argue, but the set of their jaws tells me it would be pointless. Besides, having backup nearby isn’t the worst idea. Volkov’s visit yesterday proved he’s not going to give up on acquiring me easily.
The memory of his pale gray eyes traveling over my body makes my skin crawl. The way he looked at me like I was something to be evaluated and purchased. The casual way he suggested borrowing me for a week or two, like I’m a fucking car he wants to test drive.
I suppress a shudder and focus on the present. “Fine. But they stay out of sight.”
“Agreed,” Rurik says.
I grab my jacket and check my phone one more time. One forty-five. I need to leave now if I’m going to make it on time.
Eduard walks me downstairs, his hand never leaving my back. At the front entrance, he pauses and turns me to face him. His gray eyes are serious, searching mine.
“Come back,” he says quietly.
It’s not a command. It’s a request. Maybe even a plea.
“I will,” I promise.
His mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s gentle and possessive at the same time. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes across my lower lip.
“We’ll be watching,” he murmurs.
Then I’m out the door and crossing the courtyard toward the main gate. The afternoon sun is warm against my skin. It’s almost peaceful, if I ignore the armed guards stationed at regular intervals and the cameras tracking my every movement.
The taxi I called is waiting outside the gate. I slide into the back seat and give the driver the address. As we pull away from the estate, I watch it disappear in the side mirror. The stone walls, manicured grounds, and the fortress that’s become something dangerously close to home.
I force myself to look away and focus on the meeting ahead.
The café on Birch Street is small and quiet. And empty. I arrive five minutes early and choose a table near the back with a clear view of the entrance. Old habits from my training kick in automatically. Always know your exits. Always position yourself where you can see threats coming.
Krystal arrives exactly on time, her honey-blonde hair falling in styled waves down her back.
She’s wearing a light blue dress that makes her look soft and approachable, the kind of outfit that draws no attention.
But I notice the way her hazel eyes scan the café before she sits down, the practiced ease with which she positions herself so her back isn’t to the door.
Volkov has trained her well.
“Hey,” she says, her voice warm but cautious.
“Hey,” I reply.
We order coffee from a server who looks bored and distracted. The moment she leaves, Krystal leans forward slightly.
“I don’t have much time,” she says quietly. “Volkov thinks I’m shopping.”
“Then let’s make this quick.” I pull out my phone and pretend to show her photos while I recite the information Rurik, Eduard, and Artur gave me.
Krystal listens carefully, her expression neutral. When I finish, she nods once. “I’ll pass it along,” she says. “But Emma, you need to be careful. Volkov is getting impatient. He wants you, and he’s not going to stop pushing until he gets what he wants.”
“I know,” I say. “The men I’m with won’t let that happen.”
Something flickers across Krystal’s face. Concern, maybe. Or doubt. “Are you sure about that? Are you sure they’re protecting you and not just keeping you for themselves?”
The question hits harder than it should. “I’m sure.”
Am I, though? The doubt creeps in despite my certainty. What if I’m wrong about them? What if this whole thing is just another form of captivity dressed up as protection?
No. I push the thoughts away. I’ve seen how they look at me. Felt how they touch me. Whatever this is between us, it’s real. Complicated and fucked up, but real.
Krystal reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I want the same for you,” I say quietly. “Come with me. Right now. We can get you out.”
She shakes her head, her expression sad. “Not yet. I’m close to something, Emma. Something big. If I can just hold on a little longer, I might be able to bring down Volkov’s entire operation.”
Before I can respond, before I can tell her it’s not worth the risk, a sharp crack splits the air.
The sound registers a split second before the impact. Something slams into my shoulder with enough force to knock me sideways out of my chair. I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the tile.
Pain explodes through my upper body, white-hot and overwhelming. I try to breathe, but my lungs won’t cooperate. My vision blurs, and I taste copper.
Blood. I’m bleeding.
Krystal’s scream cuts through the ringing in my ears. I see her drop to her knees beside me, her hands pressing against my shoulder. The pressure sends another wave of agony through me, and I gasp.
“Emma! Oh god, Emma, stay with me!”
I try to focus on her face, but everything is spinning. Another shot rings out, and the window behind us shatters.
Someone is shooting at us. At me.
My thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. I need to move. Need to find cover. Need to…
Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. Krystal’s voice grows distant and muffled, like she’s underwater.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is her terrified face hovering above mine, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then nothing.