Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
So it’s a good thing I drew the shortest straw.
“John Theodore Little,” Sandy says, looking between Danny and me. “That’s the name of the man who bought Winstable?”
“That’s what I said,” Danny replies quietly, as I watch the men standing behind Sandy, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch in the office at Hiatus, much to my displeasure. “You told us you had information.”
Sandy nods slowly. Dragging it out. Milking this situation for everything it’s worth. The Brit and The Enigma wanting something from him. Or, more significantly, needing it. “Let me ask you this,” Sandy says, his accent not as thick as Volodya’s, as he crosses one leg over the other, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You English, what is the name Theodore . . . how do you say it? Reduced to?”
“Shortened?” Danny tilts his head.
“Yes, shortened. Theodore shortened.”
Danny and I toss frowns at each other, and Brad sighs from his chair. “Ted—” He pauses, darting wide eyes Danny’s way as ice glides through my veins. “Jesus.”
“Teddy,” Danny whispers, looking shook.
“And Little John,” Sandy goes on as it all falls into painful place in my mind.
“Was a bear,” Brad says, hitting his desk with a balled fist.
I exhale on a disbelieving, unamused burst of laughter. I don’t believe this. How the fuck did we need this Russian prick to help us figure that out?
Sandy nods, and Danny starts pacing the office, the stress and anger radiating from him on a whole new level. “Fuck!” he roars, punching a filing cabinet.
“It’s a penname,” Sandy goes on, unperturbed by The Brit’s temper.
“An alias,” I correct him quietly.
“Potatoes, tomato.”
Danny stares at Sandy like he’s a fire-breathing dragon, and Otto goes straight to his laptop, tapping away frantically.
“He had men on the inside,” Sandy continues.
Had. “He doesn’t anymore?” Danny asks, his chest rising and falling slowly, a result of him trying so fucking hard to contain his rage.
“I say no.” Sandy’s rugged face takes on an edge of disgust. “I was being watched by entry police.”
“Immigration.”
“That stopped as soon as I accepted The Bear’s offer to join him. Just yesterday, my bank accounts were frozen. I expect they’ll catch up with me again soon. These are legitimate accounts for a legitimate business. That speaks to me that he has lost whoever he had on the inside. I also had a call from a Detective Collins. She said if I give her details on some things, she will ensure my accounts were thawed.”
“Unfrozen.”
“My English—”
“Will do.” I look at Danny, shaking my head. Details on us. Collins wants details on us. Higham told us this. But is he covering his arse? In too deep? Naturally, we don’t mention Higham.
“I’m not interested in being a mouse.” Sandy gives each of us a moment of his eyes. “I want to remain here and run my business. I want Volodya gone.”
I laugh under my breath. That’ll please Danny. “What’s the deal with you two?” I ask, helping myself to another vodka. Just one more before I go out there and search the streets. Again. Up and down, up and down, hoping, calling her repeatedly.
“He cannot be trusted.”
Danny laughs loudly and holds his glass out for me to refill. I’m barely done and he’s necking it. He won’t be getting another. We’ve got a long afternoon ahead. The last thing we both need is to be stopped for riding jet skis under the influence while smuggling in our guns. Fucking hell, now more than ever I wish the delivery wasn’t today.
“He’s ex KGB,” Sandy continues.
I finally feel like we’re getting somewhere, and it’s bittersweet with Beau missing. I need to get to the bottom of this today so I can call her and get her back. Problem is, even if we get answers, I can’t fucking get hold of her to share. And this man in front of me, who could potentially end this for us, still tried to kill Beau. A flashback of her lifeless body on the bed after Dexter shot her invades every corner of my mind. The bullet wound on her tummy.
Where our baby was once growing.
Was.
The Russian nurse who tried to inject her. Kill her.
I see red and am up in Sandy’s face before I can think better of it. “You tried to kill my girlfriend.”
“You killed half my men, including my little brother,” he hisses back, not backing down.
“Easy,” Danny says, pulling me away, giving me a look to suggest he’ll kill me himself if I fuck this up. “Easy,” he says again, patting my arm and guiding my tumbler to my mouth. Turning to Sandy, he holds out his hand, and when Sandy takes it, Danny shakes it like a gentleman rather than squeezes threateningly. It’s a strong message to Sandy.
“What now?” he asks.
“Now,” Danny says thoughtfully, “you tell me if you find out anything else, and I will return the favor.”