Tempted & Taken (Men of Haven #4)(9)
She swallowed and took two more steps into the closet. Her pulse fluttered at her throat. A butterfly desperate to escape.
Live enough for both of us.
The last words JJ had spoken. Yefim hadn’t extracted the same promise in words, but his eyes as he’d set her escape in motion had said the same.
And running wasn’t living.
Squaring her shoulders and gritting her teeth, she stomped out of the closet and into the living room, checking every detail along the way. She settled at her desk chair and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. There was always the possibility whoever straightened her things wasn’t Ruslan. After all, if he’d tracked her down, he’d simply cart her away kicking and screaming no matter who heard. Avtoritet, what Americans would consider captains in the Russian bratva, answered only to their pakhan.
No, it was entirely possible someone else had moved her things. Maybe even someone as harmless as a maintenance man. Granted, them touching anything was grossly out of line, but the idea wasn’t beyond reason.
Still, she’d be wise to stay on the alert. If Ruslan really was after her, she’d need to think smart. Pay attention to her surroundings, fortify her resources and build what allies she could. She zeroed in on the email she’d left pulled up, resolve thickening even as her fingers settled on the keyboard. Step one was solidifying her future.
Chapter Four
One week Darya had waited. Waited, watched her every step and worked herself ragged. Outside the rearranged Post-its on her desk, not once had she glimpsed any indication Ruslan or anyone else had found her. In fact, her life had settled into its usual routine so easily she’d wondered if maybe she hadn’t imagined leaving things askew on her desk.
Regardless, the time to meet Knox was here and hopefully, the leg up she needed to go with the introduction. Parked in front of a single-story building with plain-Jane concrete walls, she stared up at the brushed chrome Citadel Security sign and rehashed the pitch she’d spoken aloud at least twenty times a day. Cool air pumped from the car’s vents against her clammy skin, barely making a dent with all the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The clock on the dash flicked from 1:54 p.m. to 1:55 p.m. Either she could sit here until straight up two o’clock and let her anxiety climb all the way up into the stratosphere, or she could pry herself out of her car and hope a slightly early arrival showed an extra level of professionalism.
She popped the handle and shoved the heavy door open, swinging her resale Jimmy Choo–shod feet out onto the concrete parking lot. What the tan pumps lacked in pizzazz they more than made up for in accentuating her legs, especially paired with the matching pencil skirt that ended just above her knees and the delicate ivory camp shirt with its mandarin collar. Putting the outfit together had been both a joy and a welcome distraction, a brief trip back to a time when she’d been able to enjoy fine fashion instead of constantly trying to blend in.
Before her hand connected with one of the glass entry handles, the click of a lock being released sounded. She pulled the door open and a wave of chilled air to make her Challenger’s AC seem weak blasted across her skin. Even with the ample light spilling through the double doors and windows on either side, it took her eyes a second to adjust from the bold midday sunshine.
A pretty blonde dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stood from behind a curved reception desk stained a soft ebony and accented in soft chrome. Her eyes were an enviable green and her hair styled in a tousled pixie cut. She reached across the tops of three monitors arranged in a perfect semi-circle and offered her hand in greeting. “You must be Jeannie Simpson. I’m Katy, Knox and Beckett’s assistant. Can I get you something to drink?”
Two or three shots of vodka would be nice. God knew she needed something to loosen up her tongue. While the outside of Knox’s building had been nothing short of plain, the inside was jaw-dropping high-end contemporary. Like Katy’s desk, the walls on either side of her were dark—not quite black, but charcoal gray, and fashioned from some kind of metal rather than paint. The wall behind Katy’s desk, however, was a beautiful dove gray that added extra depth to the limited space. Classy yet edgy cylinder pendant lights with frosted white glass hung above either end of her desk, and two impenetrable steel doors flanked her on either side. “If it’s not too much trouble, water would be nice.”
“No trouble at all.” Katy cocked her head, curiosity glimmering behind her assessing gaze. “Your accent is amazing. I’m guessing Russian?”
For a second, Darya’s thoughts flatlined. With limited daily interactions beyond her normal routine, it was seldom she met new people. So much so she’d forgotten the need for explanation. “Yes,” she said, realizing all too quickly Knox would expect the same. “Not too hard to understand I hope.”
“Not at all. It’s actually beautiful.” Katy punched a few buttons on her computer and waved Darya to the small seating area to one side of the front door. “Just give me a minute to grab your water and let Knox know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” She splayed her hand on a black screen beside one heavy door and a heavy clunk that sounded on par with a bank vault being released resonated through the room. Only then was Darya left alone in the intimidating environment.
Slowly, she paced toward the iron-colored leather couch and the oblong marble coffee table. Sitting was out of the question, not if she wanted to exude any kind of calm. She might be technically alone in the room, but the cameras anchored in every corner made it relatively certain there were eyes on her somewhere. She squeezed the handles on her briefcase a little tighter and pretended to study the landscape outside one picture window. What really held her attention was the glass itself, multiple layers thick and no doubt capable of stopping bullets. But then such measures made sense for a security company. As did the secured doors. At least she hoped that was the reason for such stringent measures. The last time she’d been in such a tightly controlled environment was the day she’d met Ruslan, and her world had gone from pampered to hell in all of five minutes.