Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
The problem was, surveillance takes a lot of manpower, and our little team didn’t have it. Normally, we’d have two or three people on each shift, but that was impossible with only four of us. Worse, Hadderwell and Fitch refused to work overtime, and Caroline’s kids meant she couldn’t work late either. So most of the time it was just me, sitting outside Gennadiy’s mansion in an FBI car or following him through traffic on my bike. I watched him even when I was meant to be off duty. I was determined to bring him down...and it wasn’t like I had anything better to do with my evenings.
The casino’s doors swung open, and Gennadiy emerged, scowly and gorgeous, moving fast towards his car. He might be an evil, uncaring son of a bitch, but I had to admit he worked his ass off. He was always up and out of his mansion by seven, and he barely stopped all day, racing around town to visit the family’s various illegal enterprises. He never made it home until the early hours. The man was a machine.
Gennadiy spotted me. His dark brows lowered, and he gave me one of his million-watt glares, his gray eyes like lasers. I glared right back, loathing him...and trying not to think about how his new suit really showed off the V-shape of his upper body, or how soft his coal-black hair looked today. Then he climbed into his car, and I started my engine, ready to follow.
Watching him had become my entire life: Caroline joked that I spent more time with him than with a husband. When you’re around someone that much, you start to notice things. Like the fact that he favored his left leg when he walked. And that when he climbed into his BMW, he stroked the roof affectionately with that big, tattooed hand. And that sometimes, when he glared, and that tidal wave of hate slammed into me...it felt like there was something else, a current going in the opposite direction, trying to tug me closer even as the main wave pushed me away…
I scowled. Don’t be stupid. Why would he want me?
When I wasn’t watching him, I was working with Caroline to map his network of illegal operations and front companies. A few days ago, we’d finally gathered enough to convince a judge to authorize a phone tap. The first time I listened to one of Gennadiy’s calls, I was full of hope.
But the calls I’d intercepted so far were worthless: the casino manager telling him about a new consignment of poker chips, the dry cleaners telling him his suit was ready. Gennadiy was too smart: he probably had burner phones we didn’t know about, and he only used his regular phone for unimportant stuff.
Gennadiy drove off, and I tailed him to a bar called Worship, which the brothers had taken from a bunch of Armenians earlier that year. I followed him in and sat in the corner sipping a ridiculously expensive alcohol-free beer, but it was useless: the Aristovs disappeared into a VIP area upstairs, and I wasn’t getting in there without a warrant. Goddammit!
When he finally left the bar, it was nearly midnight, and I was exhausted. I followed him back to the mansion and set up in my usual location outside. Weird...wasn’t that streetlight broken before?
I reclined my seat as far as it would go. I didn’t dare sleep, but I could at least get comfortable...or as comfortable as it’s possible to be, in a car with only tepid bottled water and a stale takeout sandwich.
Suddenly, the laptop on the seat next to me bleeped. Gennadiy was making a call! I grabbed my earbuds, hope rising. It was the middle of the night; no way this was the dry cleaners.
A voice. Russian-accented, female, and... excited. “Are you almost here?”
A long-suffering sigh from Gennadiy. “I have to cancel, Avelina. I’m sorry.”
“Gennadiy! Nooo!” She drew out the ‘o’ into a moan, and I grimaced. I could picture her, lower lip pouting. In my mind, she had long blonde hair and catwalk-model looks. I hated her already. It was something about his name in her mouth.
“You know how it is,” he said tiredly. “A problem with work.”
“There’s always a problem with work.”
I winced. I’d had this exact conversation with boyfriends in the past, when I had to work late at the FBI. They just didn’t understand that—
“It’s important,” Gennadiy told Avelina. I nodded in agreement.
Avelina’s voice became sulky and sing-song, like a spoiled princess. “Sometimes, I think you just don’t care about me.”
There was a scraping sound, and I realized Gennadiy was running his hand over his stubble. “Avelina, you went into this with your eyes open. I told you, no getting involved. Just sex.”
I blinked. Was that really how he ran his life? It sounded so...stark. And lonely.