The Black Wolf (In the Company of Killers, #5)(88)

There is a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call out, and close the folder.

“You wanted me to report my findings,” Nora says, coming into the room.

I take a seat. “Yes,” I say, and gesture at an empty chair where Nora sits down. “What do you have for me?”

“Niklas did what you thought he would,” she says, crossing her legs. “There was no way he was going to make Izabel play the role of a slave; he probably knew she’d f*ck up at some point and he’d be forced to beat her like he did me. Making her his girlfriend, or whatever, gave her just enough leeway to make the mistakes he knew she’d make, and not have to punish her for them.”

I nod; reach out and absently touch the edge of the file folder in my fingers; a nervous gesture I suppose.

“Niklas could’ve used her against you,” she says. “He had every opportunity to take it farther than a kiss.”

“He would not have done that,” I say.

“Because of his loyalty to you?”

“No,” I say, “not because of his loyalty to me.”

Silence passes.

“You know,” Nora speaks up, “I would ask you what you’re doing, but I have a feeling I already know.”

“I thought you might.”

“And I’m not sure if you want to hear this or not,” she goes on, “but I have to say that it looks like it might already be working.”

“I thought it might.”

“But you love her,” she says. “Don’t you?” She seems unsure.

“Yes. I do love her.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

I place my full palm on the folder and slide it away from me. “I’m doing it,” I say, “because I love her.”

“But you’re going to make her hate you, Victor.”

“That is the last thing I want,” I say, staring off at nothing, thinking of Izabel—my only weakness. “But just like I told her, I would do anything to protect her.”

“Is that—protecting her—the only thing this is about? I’m telling you, Victor, my way is much easier.”

I look at Nora coldly.

“Your way, Kessler, is not an option. We may be looking into the same mirror, you and me, but we are not the same person.”

“Maybe not,” she says, “but if you really love her the way you say you do, then your way of dealing with things is only going to cause you a lot of unnecessary pain. And it’ll never go away, because it’ll always be there, staring you in the face. Are you strong enough to handle that?”

I do not answer, not only because this is not a conversation I feel comfortable having with Kessler, but because I simply do not know the answer.

She stands from the chair.

“Unless there’s anything else you need,” she says, “I’d like to go to my apartment and get some sleep.”

“No, that will be all for now.”

She starts to walk away, stops and then says, “Dorian’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She pauses, chewing on the inside of her mouth—a nervous gesture much like mine with the folder moments ago. But then she shrugs it off, smiles and says, “Better him than me,” and leaves quickly.

I lock the file folder away inside my briefcase, along with its secrets.





Niklas





Jackie plops her half-naked ass down beside me on the bed. She’d started to strip the second she walked into the room—the woman is almost as horny as I usually am. “Not sure what you brought me here for, if not to get laid, but I’m glad you called.”

I get up from the bed, burning cigarette wedged between my lips, and I open my duffle bag on the table by the window.

“Holy shit! Is that—?”

I toss a stack of one hundred dollar bills to her, and then a second. And then a third.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” I say. “Give or take a little.”

Jackie stares at the money in her hands, wide-eyed, high on the color green; someone like her has probably never seen a thousand dollars all at one time, much less held fifty.

“What the f*ck?”—she looks up at me—“where’d you get this?”

“I worked for it.” I plop back down beside her on the bed, crossing my ankles. “It’s yours.”

She blinks, stunned. “What do you mean? You can’t be serious.” And then she surprises me when she starts to shove the money into my lap, shaking her head. “No, I-I, Niklas I can’t take this.”

“Sure you can,” I insist, pushing her hands away, the money still in them. “And you will. Because you deserve it.”

“Hey, now that’s not…Niklas, I thought you never paid for sex.” She grins. And blushes like a f*cking kewpie doll—I really have no idea what a kewpie doll is, if it blushes, or where that reference came from.

I laugh and then reach over to set the cigarette in the ashtray. “Damn woman, you think so highly of yourself that I’d pay you fifty thousand dollars for, what, ten or so nights with you?”

She slaps me on the arm. “Asshole!” she laughs. “Well I just meant—”