Oh. “When was this? What did you do? And why didn’t you tell me?” I tried to keep my voice even, but I was getting kind of fed up about being kept in the dark.
“Snowflake…I can’t stand that look you’re giving me.” He scrubbed his hand across his face. “It was at the ball, and I only hit him once, as much as I wanted to pound his fucking face in. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to cause any more trouble between us, not when I’d only just got you back. Then things have been going really fucking well between us, and…” He shrugged helplessly, his mouth twisting, and I swung my body over his to straddle him.
“Cade.” I kissed him, threading my arms around his neck, and he pulled me to him, burying his face in my shoulder. “Look at me a minute.” I waited until he lifted his head and his eyes met mine. “I know you, and honestly? I think you’ve been really restrained with the whole James thing. I’ve been expecting you to retaliate, and I’m actually impressed and shocked that you only hit him once. Of course, now I know about the thing with Joseph and his brother dying, I understand why you didn’t do more. What I’m kind of sad about is that you kept secrets from me.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. No more secrets.” He wrapped his arms more tightly around me, kissing my head softly. “Not from me, anyway.”
Yeah. Maybe not from him, but I had the feeling there were a lot more secrets to reveal, before we got to the bottom of whatever was going on with my mother.
“Mercury’s online.” Weston’s words cut through the silence in the room.
Finally. I put down the playing cards in my hand, making my way over to the computer.
“For fuck’s sake, I had a really good hand,” Cass muttered from behind me. Mercury had sent Weston a message earlier to say that with the new information on Vasily’s name, he needed a bit longer to gather intel, so we’d been playing poker to pass the time.
“Even so, you know Z would have won.” I cut a look at Zayde, still sitting at the table, a large pile of poker chips in front of him. As I caught his eye, the corners of his mouth tipped up in a tiny, satisfied grin.
Sitting on Cade, I focused all my attention on the computer screen as the words appeared in the chat box.
MERCURY: No intel on Andromeda, total dead end. We have info on the rest - sent you Vasily Ivanov’s dossier. Someone went to great lengths to hide info on him & Petr. Short summary: cousins, both part of the Belarusian Strelichevo crime syndicate. Streli sigil is on the sovereign ring you sent me photos of. Connections with larger criminal gangs in Russia & Poland.
NITRO: Thanks. Any connections with Alstone Holdings other than Petr’s employment?
MERCURY: This is where it gets interesting. No record of Vasily connection so that’s a dead end. BUT I hacked Petr’s accounts. Large quantity of money paid in and out, both transactions this month. Traced the account numbers. Offshore accounts. Couldn’t get much info but I have names of the account holders.
We waited, staring at the screen, watching the blinking cursor. My heart was racing. Eventually Weston started typing, none of us able to wait any longer.
NITRO: ???
MERCURY: Sorry. Out: Nikolay Stravinsky. Right-hand man for Mikhail Strelichevo aka big boss man.
In: Christine Clifford.
TWENTY-TWO
After that piece of evidence, we knew we needed to speed the fuck up with our investigations. Today’s job—distract my dad and Christine while West planted the trackers on their cars. Winter knocked at the door, and it was opened by Allan, my father’s long-time butler.
“Allan.” I nodded as I passed, and he returned my nod, inclining his head at me, and gave Winter a small bow. She smiled brightly, happy to be moving one step closer to justice for her dad. We hoped.
As arranged earlier, Weston called over to us as we were heading into the house. “I’m gonna check the leak on your car, Winter. Catch you inside in a few.” Winter gave him a wave, and we walked inside, Allan closing the door behind us.
“How’ve you been?” I made small talk with Allan as we moved through the house, heading to the small sitting room where my father and Christine were apparently waiting. Winter walked a couple of paces behind us. It was shit, but we had to act like nothing was going on between us. No point adding to the drama.
“Well, thank you. Other than a cough I can’t seem to shake.” He coughed hoarsely as if on cue. “Excuse me.”
Winter made an effort to join in with our conversation to seem polite when Allan stopped and waited for her to catch up with us. “Thank you. Uh…sorry about your cough. Honey and lemon helps, I find.” She stared awkwardly at him and continued. “Sooo…how long have you worked here, Allan?”
“Nine years, Miss Huntington,” he answered politely, and I could see her cast around for something else to say, her politeness coming across a little unnatural, and clearly making them both uncomfortable. Sighing under my breath, I distracted them by asking Allan his thoughts on Chelsea football team’s latest transfer, and she shot me a private, grateful smile.
Allan showed us into the small sitting room, then disappeared. My dad looked up from his position on the brown chesterfield sofa as we entered, tablet balanced on his knee and his reading glasses on.
“Caiden. Winter. No Weston?” The table lamp next to him threw shadows across his face, making him appear older, almost weary.
“He’ll be in in a minute. Just checking something on Winter’s car.” I lightly caressed the back of Winter’s hand with my finger, where my father couldn’t see, then crossed over and took a seat opposite him.
“Where’s Chr—my mother?” Winter asked hesitantly. The plan was to keep an eye on them both. Of course, my dad had security and cameras and all sorts of shit, so we could never be too careful, but we’d planned everything to eliminate as many risks as possible. Winter’s car had been parked next to her mother’s car, behind my dad’s, and since there was no reason for anyone to be suspicious, we were hoping West could get away with planting the trackers undetected. They were easy to place—under the wheel arch, attached by a powerful magnet, they took only seconds to put on.
“Your mother’s in the dining room. Choosing new curtains, apparently.” My dad shrugged. “Why, when there’s nothing wrong with the ones we have. I’m at a loss.”