I give Demyan a nod and he goes to get her a drink. While he’s pouring, Jennifer looks me up and down, making her ogling blindingly obvious.
“You look good, boss.”
She’s always had a habit of making my title sound seriously dirty. I’d have fucked her a long time ago if I didn’t value her contribution to my Bratva so much. She’s too good of a spy to lose to heartbreak.
“You look different,” I remark. “Why’d you go darker?”
“The man I was trying to seduce prefers brunettes,” she says. “I couldn’t bear going all the way, though.”
“You could do whatever you want with me, baby,” Demyan suggests salaciously. “Blond, brunette, shave it all off, I don’t care.”
“You and every other man on the planet,” she laughs. Then she eyes me. “Well, every man but one.”
She takes the drink that he offers her, then raises it in a toast. “To the Bratva.”
We all raise our glasses to that. But while Demyan and I only take a sip, Jennifer drains all of her whiskey in one go.
A tiny little red flag goes off in my head. The woman’s never been much of a drinker. The only time she really throws it back is when she’s anxious or nervous about something.
And I have a feeling this time that I know what.
“I needed that,” she says, thumping her now-empty glass down on the table.
“You okay?” I ask carefully.
She exhales slowly, but forces a smile on her face. “I’m always okay.”
“Jennifer.”
“What?”
“You look like you might need a break.”
Her eyes flash with menace. “I do not need a break from anything. I can handle this job. I’ve handled it for five fucking years.”
“Really? Because you seem pretty rattled right now.”
“You’re the one who’s rattled!” she snaps. I give her an all-knowing look—Don’t try to pull that bullshit on me—and she sighs. “Okay, fine. It’s just… it’s not always easy, you know? Moving back and forth between worlds.”
Demyan and I exchange a glance. Of course, she catches it.
“Oh, don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t look at each other like I’m a problem that needs to be fixed.”
“Like I said, you’ve been in it too long.”
“You have a lot of enemies, Mr. Makarova.”
I snort. “I’m aware.”
“If I don’t do what I do, who’s going to have your back when shit blows up?”
“You’re not my only spy, Jen.”
“But I am your favorite,” she points out cockily. “I’m the only one you trust.”
“Wrong. I don’t trust anyone.”
She smiles. “I’ve been in the underworld long enough to suss out a lie. You’re good, don’t get me wrong. But I can sense it all the same.”
“Or maybe your ego is just getting in the way of your judgment.”
She scoffs. “That hasn’t been the case in a long time. Not since—well, we don’t need to go there.”
I smile. “It’s good to see you, Jennifer.”
Her smile turns soft and sincere. “I know. It’s good to see you, too. Both of you.”
“Thanks for saying that. I was starting to feel left out,” Demyan pouts.
“Oh! Speaking of which, I heard you’ve got a pretty wife locked up here somewhere,” Jen says.
Her tone is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the way her fingers clench tight until the whites of her knuckles show through.
“She’s not locked up anymore,” I say. “I gave her freedom of the house, which of course she’s already abusing.”
“Freedom of the house?” Jennifer gasps in alarm. “You mean, I could have run into her out there?”
“It’s not impossible.”
“Christ. I didn’t expect her to be roaming the halls so soon.”
“What’s the matter?” I prod. “Not interested in a reunion?”
She glares at me. “I’m not staying long. I just wanted a chance to get dressed up.”
“I’m flattered,” I say. “Does this bring us to the reason you’re here in the first place?”
She nods and her smirk flattens out. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I assumed as much.”
“There is a reason the cops zeroed in on you,” she tells me. “Someone gave them an anonymous tip.”
“We knew that already.”
“But what we didn’t know was who gave them the tip.”
“Don’t drag it out. You have a name?”
She nods. “I do. You’re really not going to like it.”
29
OLIVIA
“Mom, I already told you, I’m fine.”
Her voice comes through hazily. I know it’s because she’s not holding the receiver to her mouth properly. She’s always been this way, buzzing around the house, cell phone held to her cheek with her shoulder while she tidies up or folds laundry. It drives all of us nuts.
“Mom,” I chide for the billionth time, “you have to speak into the receiver. I can’t hear you.”
“What?” Her voice is still soft before she readjusts the phone. “How’s this?”
“Jesus, Mom. Not so loud.”
“I thought you couldn’t hear?”
“I couldn’t hear when you weren’t holding the phone right. Now, you are, and I’m deaf.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because I can hear you,” I say, trying hard to hide my laughter.
“Oh, okay… so I can talk normal?”
“Phones are not a new technology, you know.”
“This phone is,” she complains. “I don’t know why your sister insisted on getting me a new one. My old phone was working just fine.”
“You had a Nokia flip the size of a brick.”
“Mhmm, and I miss the flip,” she retorts. “I miss the keyboard, too. I hate all this tap-tap-tapping.”
I snort with laughter. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mom. You’re only a little late.”
It feels nice to chat with her like old times. At least for a minute, I can forget how messed up everything is.
“Oh, stop that. I’m not old. I just like what I like,” she says. “And besides—your father gave me that phone.”
“Oh.”
And there it is again. The reminder bringing me back down to Earth.
“You keep asking me if I’m okay,” I say, “but… are you?”
“If my children are fine, so am I. Except my children are all in danger right now,” she says testily. “So no, I’d say not.”
“I’m not in danger, Mom,” I reassure, wincing at how forced and rehearsed it sounds. “I promise. I’m being treated well.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“In my own room,” I tell her. “He hasn’t tried anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the only question everyone else cares to ask.”
“Nor should he! I don’t understand why we can’t just get you back. Your brother’s an FBI agent, for crying out loud.”