“Columbia University, in New York.”
Mikhail places his wine glass back onto the table. “I thought you were from Ohio?”
“I grew up in Ohio. My family lives there, but I went to school in New York. That’s why I came back here, looking for a job.”
“To be with Thomas?”
“What? No!” I laugh at his absurd thought process. “I came back here because I had lived in New York in college and loved the atmosphere of the city. It’s quite different from Cleveland.” I sip my wine, pinning him with my stare. “I never took you for the jealous type.”
Mikhail straightens his shoulders and clears his throat. “Who said anything about being jealous?”
“It’s written all over your face, your body language, even the questions that you’re asking me.”
I take a deep breath. I need to settle down. Fighting with Mikhail isn’t going to help my assignment. I have to get close to him, and if I push him away, I’m only hurting myself and the investigation. Hell, I’ll be letting down my team.
I should be relieved that dinner is brought out, but instead, there is mounting tension between us.
He barely looks at me during dinner. Like I’ve betrayed him. He has no idea what I’ve done, who I am.
There’s a heaviness between us, and halfway through our meal, his steak knife in his hand, he pins me with his stare. “Are you with the FBI, Madisyn?”
My mouth is dry.
Thomas blew my cover.
I swallow back my nerves. “No,” I say, my gaze meeting his. I don’t waver or cower. I refuse to blink.
“I don’t believe you.” Mikhail doesn’t put down the knife.
He wouldn’t use that here, in a public place, would he?
He hasn’t physically threatened me yet, but I’m terrified of what he will do if I can’t convince him that he’s wrong.
“Why would you think I’m working with the FBI, Mikhail? You’ve seen me at the medical center. I’m a nurse. I bandaged up your friend. You came to my work and picked me up during the day. Do you think if I was with the FBI, I’d be hanging around a concierge medical center?”
He exhales a soft puff of air, but his expression is unconvinced. “Why did it sound like your old buddy, Thomas, was about to say that he knew you from Quantico?”
“You’re mistaken,” I say. “He was saying that he knew me from Columbia. He didn’t finish his sentence. Both sound similar.”
“No, they don’t.” Mikhail’s gaze never leaves mine. “It’s not a coincidence that your ex-boyfriend works at the FBI.”
I can’t deny that Aaron is a Senior Special Agent in white-collar crime.
“That’s all it is, Mikhail. A coincidence.”
Mikhail gestures to the waitress that we’re done. There’s no bill to pay, a benefit of being part owner in the establishment.
He’s ready to leave, and I doubt he’ll let me go home or walk free.
I’m as good as dead if he believes that I’ve betrayed him.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Kisa. I was naïve about your ex-boyfriend. I looked the other way because I liked you, and I made a mistake.”
He accompanies me outside, his hand wrapped around my waist. There’s no chance of me running. I can feel his gun against my lower back as we approach his car.
“Get in,” he commands.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
It’s the truth, but will he believe me?
He opens the back door and yanks me around, grabbing my hands behind my back. He binds them with a zip tie from the glove compartment before he pushes me into the vehicle.
He’s not the least bit warm or gentle. However, I’ve never known Mikhail to be either of those traits. He’s firm, and while he’s been fair and reasonable toward me, I doubt I will have the benefit of those attributes to experience tonight.
I’m shoved into the vehicle, and he slams the door shut. He hurries around to the driver’s seat and starts the engine, pulling away from the restaurant.
He hits the gas hard, and I fall back against the seat.
I shift forward and inconspicuously lift my arms, trying to slam my wrists down and apart to break free from the plastic binds.
I had plenty of training years ago at Quantico to escape from zip ties, but I wasn’t situated in the back of an SUV and trying to break free without being noticed.
Mikhail’s gaze shoots up at me every so often.
I’m lucky he didn’t shove me into the trunk. If he catches me trying to escape, he’ll put a bullet into my head.
We drive past his home. Mikhail doesn’t so much as slow down.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.