Читать книгу Trusting A Stranger - Melinda Di Lorenzo - Страница 10

At 6:58 a.m., Luke placed an order for two coffees with the barista at the counter. Two minutes later, he was seated at a table at the front of the coffee shop, two paper cups in front of him, when Darren Jensen walked through the door, on time as always.

He must have spotted Luke through the front window, as intended, because he headed straight toward him without scanning the room first. Jensen was already reaching for one of the cups even before he started to pull out the open chair. “For me?”

“Of course. Thanks for meeting with me.”

“It’s the least I can do. Anybody who drives in from Baltimore first thing in the morning instead of making do with a phone call is pretty much asking for a face-to-face, don’t you think?”

“I had some business in Washington,” Luke said mildly. It was the truth. He would have business to attend to, one way or another, whatever Jensen told him.

He watched the man take a long swallow from his cup, pushing back a twinge of impatience. As would be expected for someone who worked for the government, Jensen’s suit was less expensive than Luke’s own, but the man was still as immaculately groomed as he’d been when they’d been colleagues at the same law firm years earlier. Pursuing an interest in public service, Jensen had later gone to work for the State Department, making him an excellent source for exactly the kind of answers Luke was looking for. They’d always been on friendly terms, if not outright friends, and remained cordial after Jensen’s career change. If it was a friendship, it was the best kind, one where the only favors asked were professional or informational.

Not incredibly personal, he thought, his mind returning to the subject that had occupied his thoughts for nearly twenty-four hours now.

No, he would quite happily do without those kinds of friends.

As soon as Jensen began to lower his cup to the table, Luke spoke. “What do you have for me?”

“Nothing good. Is your firm thinking of doing business with Solokov? Because if you are, I’d think again.”

“He’s that bad?”

“Men in today’s Russia don’t stay as rich as Solokov without help from friends in high places and ones in low ones. And these aren’t the kind of friends you’d want to get on the wrong side of.”

“So he has government connections.”

“And mafia ones. Nothing I can prove concretely, but that’s what the talk around him indicates, and there’s too much there to just be rumors. Like most of the oligarchs who made their fortunes after the fall of the Soviet Union, Solokov knew how to play dirty, and he played to win, with plenty of backing from those friends I mentioned. In today’s economy, especially Russia’s, many of those Russian billionaires who rose up in the past few decades have lost most, if not all, of their fortunes, especially if they fell out of favor with the government. Not Solokov. He might have taken a hit, but he’s still standing.”

And if he had taken a hit financially, he would be even more protective of what he had left, Luke deduced. “Which brings us to Dmitri Fedorov.”

Jensen nodded. “Formerly of Solokov’s employ, currently six feet under. Turned up about a month and a half ago. Murdered.”

“Any word who’s responsible?”

“None officially. But considering how badly he’d been tortured, it definitely wasn’t random. And when a high-level financial manager for a very rich man turns up dead in the condition he was found in, most people are going to be casting a suspicious eye in his boss’s direction.”

“Including the police?”

Jensen smiled wryly. “I said most people. Solokov has those friends I mentioned. Officially no connection has been made between Fedorov and his former employer. I’m sure the man hasn’t even been questioned, not even politely.”

“Are there any other reasonable possibilities for why someone would kill Fedorov?”

“There’s always the chance he was involved in something unrelated to Solokov, some shady side action that got him killed. There doesn’t appear to be any evidence of that, but he could have done that good of a job keeping it under wraps. It’s a pretty distant possibility though. The smart money says it was Solokov.”

“Why would Solokov have him killed?”

“Not just killed. Tortured. The way my contact described the photographs of Fedorov’s body, he had very specifically, very carefully been tortured in a way designed to elicit information, not simply cause pain. Whoever did it to him wanted something from him. Best guess is Fedorov took something he shouldn’t have, like large sums of money, which is the only thing he would likely have access to which would be worth taking, and worth getting that upset about.”

“What about a business competitor of Solokov? Someone trying to get some information about Solokov or his company by any means necessary.”

“From what I gather, they likely would have targeted someone far junior than Fedorov, someone whose death wouldn’t make such a splash. If Solokov wasn’t involved, then taking out someone so high up in his organization would be risking getting on his bad side, which would probably lead to him bringing in all those friends of his to find out who’s responsible. No, whoever did this did so with Solokov’s full knowledge and blessing.”

“So Fedorov probably managed to take a great deal of money, enough to be worth torturing him over, and Solokov wants it back.”

“That’s what it looks like. And there might be more to it than simply being pissed off about being taken by someone he trusted. From what my contact told me, the rumors of Solokov’s close ties with organized crime are no joke. There’s a chance Solokov was working with the mafia’s money.”

“And it could be the Russian mafia’s money that Fedorov stole,” Luke said, his unease growing. “No wonder Solokov wanted it back.”

“Especially because he wouldn’t have been able to tell the mafia he let one of his people steal their money. He would have had to quietly replace it, most likely from his own private fortune, completely separate from the company. That couldn’t have been fun.”

So far everything Viktor and Karina had told him was lining up, Luke thought, dread beginning to pool in his gut. He’d wanted nothing more than to have Jensen tell him otherwise. He didn’t know why Viktor would have lied, especially when the man knew he had the resources to check the story. That hadn’t stopped him from spending much of the past day trying to think of a reason. Anything to make it easier to turn down the ridiculous request made by Viktor.

And Karina.

Which brought them to the main topic. “What about Fedorov’s wife?”

“I assume you mean his current wife, Karina, since that’s the name you gave me on the phone. Karina Andreevna Fedorova. Nearly two decades his junior. They’d been married for five years before his death.”

“How old is she now?” Luke asked, the question rising automatically to his tongue. He immediately regretted it. It really wasn’t relevant.

“Twenty-eight.”

Five years, Luke thought. She’d been so young when she’d married, especially a man so much older. Or maybe that wasn’t so unusual in Russia. It was something else he didn’t know, which was why he really had no business getting involved in any of this.

Jensen continued, “She worked for an upscale interior designer in Moscow. She left Russia within days of her husband’s death, the timing of which probably isn’t a coincidence. Most likely she knew what her husband was doing and why he was killed, and knew it was time to get out of dodge. Lucky for her, she had a connection of her own, Sergei Yevchenko, a consul with the Russian embassy in D.C. He arranged to bring her here, and she was staying with him up until his sudden death a week ago.” Jensen stopped, his brows going up in silent question. “Which I’m guessing is what brings us here today.”

Luke nodded.

“I’m still curious about your interest in this. Yevchenko’s murder was certainly highly publicized. A foreign diplomat, especially one from a high-profile country with an always delicate relationship with the U.S., being murdered is big news. But I’m pretty sure neither his goddaughter nor the connection to Solokov was mentioned in the press. Which makes me wonder how you knew about it.”

Luke took a slow, deep breath. And so it began. He’d been prepared for this moment, but had hoped to be able to avoid it. If only Jensen had been able to prove Viktor’s story a lie, or that what Karina Fedorova faced was not so dire. But here they were.

“I’m involved with her.” A lie, the first of many, laying the necessary groundwork if he actually went through with this.

For a moment, Jensen didn’t seem to understand, his brow furrowing. “Fedorov’s wife?” Luke nodded. “How involved?”

“Very.”

Jensen released a low whistle. “You might want to rethink that.”

A whisper of a smile played against Luke’s mouth. “I might. But some things aren’t quite so easy to say no to.”

Jensen frowned and gave a little shake of his head. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I don’t remember you ever being ‘very involved’ with a woman.”

That was because he hadn’t been, not as long as Jensen had known him. “What can I say? I was waiting for the right one. Karina’s something special.”

“Can’t argue with you there. I saw a few pictures. She’s quite attractive. But no woman is worth the kind of trouble this one brings with her.”

“Is there any evidence Solokov is coming after her, any proof Yevchenko’s death is connected to all of this?”

The look Jensen gave him was clearly pitying. “It’s not likely to be a coincidence.”

“And yet, they happen sometimes.”

“Not in this case, they don’t. A high-ranking Russian diplomat falling victim to a drive-by shooting is not something that simply happens. No, he was taken out. It takes a lot of hubris to pull something like that, and from what I hear, that’s one thing Solokov isn’t lacking.”

“So what will happen to her?”

“The way I hear it, she’s due to be sent back to Russia ASAP.”

“Which is what Solokov wants.”

“I imagine. He wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble if he didn’t. He must think she was involved with her husband’s theft, and either has the money or knows where it is. It makes sense, considering she knew to run.”

Or she was there when Solokov’s men came for her husband and barely managed to escape herself, Luke thought. But of course, there was no way for Jensen or anyone else to know that.

“Is there any chance she’ll be able to protect herself from Solokov if she’s sent back?”

A hint of sympathy flashed across Jensen’s face. “Doesn’t look like it. She may be a thief like her husband, but we’re not talking about someone with the background or the connections to go head-to-head with Solokov. She’s an interior decorator. She finds pretty things to fill the homes of rich people. Some of those rich people might be able to help her, but even if they could, what happened to her godfather would probably give them second thoughts.”

“There’s no chance our government will grant her some kind of asylum?”

“On what grounds? She’s not a target of political persecution, at least not in any way that would qualify. Besides, a Russian diplomat was murdered on American soil. The U.S. government is not about to interfere with anything the Russians want at the moment, and right now, they want her shipped back to Moscow.”

“Where she’ll be completely at Solokov’s mercy.”

Jensen’s eyes grew shrewd. “No doubt. Something I’m sure she knows, too. Which may be why she became involved with you. Maybe she’s looking for someone to marry her so she can stay in the country.”

“She’s not like that,” Luke said automatically, somehow managing to keep the irony out of his tone.

“She’s not, huh? Then why do I get the feeling you knew most of this before I told you? Was it because she told you? Maybe she already asked you to marry her to save her. Or is that an idea you came up with on your own because you want to save her since you’re so ‘very involved’?”

With practiced ease, Luke let the words bounce off him, not letting a single muscle twitch or blink of the eye give the slightest indication Jensen’s comments had hit home. Odd to think that Jensen was right, and yet hadn’t even managed to come up with the real way this had all come about. That was how outlandish it was.

Luke shot the man a wry smile. “Does that sound like something I would do?”

He waited to see how the man would respond, a test run of how someone who knew him would react to the idea.

For a long moment, Jensen simply looked at him, his eyes assessing, his expression considering.

Luke simply stared back.

Then Jensen’s expression eased, his lips working into a smile of his own. “No, I guess not. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t thought of it.”

“I told you, she’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Jensen said into his coffee cup, his disbelief coming across loud and clear despite the muffled sound. “But seriously, you need to rethink your involvement with this woman. No good can come of it. Trust me, you do not want to be involved in this.”

No, Luke agreed silently, his heart sinking, he didn’t. Unfortunately, he already was.

The biggest question was why. The world was full of sad stories and people in desperate situations. All he had to do was watch five minutes of the news to see them every day. He’d never been remotely inspired to come to the aid of any of them. But now he was faced with this woman, asking something that wasn’t in any way reasonable for one person to ask of another.

And the “no” that should rise to his tongue so easily failed to come.

Perhaps it was because the problem had been so directly laid at his feet. There wasn’t a question of what might happen or the possibility that someone else might pick up the ball and run with it if he failed to. Viktor had brought the situation to him and laid it out in a way that left him little choice.

If you don’t do this, she will die.

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care about her. He still didn’t really. But that didn’t mean he could live with this woman’s death on his hands. Didn’t mean he could stand by and essentially kill the last member of Viktor’s family.

“You know better than anyone that blood is not a requirement for family.”

As much as he didn’t want to be involved, as much as he wanted to say no, as much as it would surprise anyone who thought they knew him, it seemed he wasn’t quite cold enough to allow that to happen.

THE SOUND OF THE DOORBELL came out of nowhere, the noise loud and jarring, scraping against Karina’s already-raw nerves. Seated on the couch in Viktor’s living room, she sent a nervous glance toward the hall to the entryway. She knew there was little chance Solokov’s people would come right up to the front door and ring the bell, but there were other threats that might. Threats that seemed even more imminent at the moment. Government officials. Immigration officers there to send her home.

To Russia.

To Solokov.

She waited nervously as Viktor made his way to the door, waited for his reaction to whatever he found there.

“It’s Luke,” he said, no doubt for her benefit, before she heard him open the door.

The announcement did nothing to reassure her. Instead, it only served to intensify the tension gripping her insides. She’d barely slept last night, the cold, unyielding face of a stranger looming too large in her mind. She and Viktor had both been waiting for a telephone call, expecting Luke Hubbard to deliver his answer that way. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d instead chosen to come here himself, a mere day after hearing their request. Did it mean he’d decided to do it, or that he’d simply come to deliver the bad news himself, having the courtesy of telling them in person? What did it mean that he’d chosen so fast? And what answer did she really want to hear?

Karina rose slowly from her seat, feeling not as though she were about to face an attorney, but a judge, one prepared to deliver his decision to her fate.

Luke Hubbard stepped into the room first, his eyes immediately finding hers. He said nothing, simply stared at her. She searched his expression for some sign of what had brought him here, what his decision was. He remained as unreadable as she remembered, his eyes cold as ever.

Viktor moved into the room behind him. “Well?” he prompted.

“I want to make a few things clear first.”

She frowned uncertainly. “Okay.”

“You have to agree that as soon as the danger to your life is over, we will terminate the marriage.”

He’s agreeing to the marriage, she thought, the shock so severe she merely felt numb from it. There was no room for relief, or unease, or anything else. The shock was too great.

“Of course,” Viktor said when she didn’t respond.

“I need to hear it from her,” Luke said, never taking his eyes off her.

“Yes,” she made herself say. “I agree.”

“You’ll sign a prenuptial agreement.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a large brown envelope. “Naturally you should read it first. It guarantees that when the marriage ends, we will each leave it with only what we brought into it.”

He held out the document to her. She accepted it, scanning over the words on the first page without really seeing them. It hardly mattered what it said. She was only bringing one thing to the marriage and it was all she wanted from it. Her life. To live.

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to move into my house immediately after the ceremony to make it believable.”

“I know.” It was as they’d discussed.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her again, saying nothing. She wondered if he was changing his mind. He hadn’t agreed yet, not really.

She held her breath, not certain what she wanted him to say next.

He nodded sharply. “Then let’s do this.”

Karina barely had time to react when Viktor clapped his hands. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we can’t waste any more time.”

“Agreed. We’ll need wedding rings.”

“Done,” Viktor said, surprising her. She watched him move to a nearby desk and retrieve two small boxes. He flipped them open, showing the contents to her and Luke. A plain gold band and another with a small but lovely diamond.

“Were you that positive I would agree or did you have someone else to ask if I didn’t?” Luke asked.

“I thought it best to be prepared for anything,” Viktor said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “We’ll do this today.”

“Today?” Karina echoed, eyes wide. Even Viktor seemed surprised.

Luke shot her a glance. “Is there a reason to wait?”

“No.” Of course there wasn’t. It was just happening so fast. Two minutes ago she hadn’t even known his answer. Now they would be married today, perhaps within hours.

“There’s no waiting period to be married in Virginia,” he said. “With any luck, we should be able to find a chapel where we can have the ceremony. I’ll call my assistant and have her find one. She can call us on the way with the information. It would look better if we did that rather than have it done at a courthouse or a justice of the peace. The marriage might seem more genuine if we went to all that trouble to be married in a religious setting.”

“Good idea,” Viktor said.

“Should we go?” Luke asked, looking solely at her. And it occurred to her that, in a way, he was now asking her to marry him.

Her earlier doubts about whether she could go through with this even if he agreed came back in a rush. If she wanted to stop this, now would be the time to do it.

Agreeing to this would mean placing her life in this man’s hands. She’d done it with Sergei, and to a lesser degree Viktor. But they were practically family. This man was a stranger. A man she knew nothing about but the little Viktor had told her. Including the fact that Viktor trusted him. Was that enough?

But it wasn’t as though she could turn back now. It was she who had asked him. And there were no other options available to her. This was her only chance. The stranger or certain death.

So why did the choices seem equally perilous?

She forced herself to swallow, to lift her head and keep every trace of doubt from her face.

“Yes,” she said.

And with that, her future was secure.

For now.