The Professional(121)

“You’re one to talk. Besides, I tell you everything that’s on my mind.”

“Not tonight.”

“Maybe not,” I conceded.

“I asked you to tell me what you needed. You agreed to.”

Where to start? “You really want to do this?”

“Yes.”

Here goes . . . “When you bailed the day after the club, I would’ve expected you to leave a note or a text. To reassure me.”

“Of what? There can be no doubt of how I felt after that night.”

“It would’ve been nice to receive any acknowledgment.”

Drum drum drum. “Very well. And . . . ?”

“I want to know where you go every day.”

“I have business concerns that I’m able to address from here.”

“Syndicate business with that Maksim guy?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “I know he gave you information about Berezka. I know you talk to him as much as I do Jess. Who is he to you?”

“Nothing more than a temporary ally. He’s assisting me with work obstacles I’ve run into.”

Again, I got the impression that Sevastyan was shielding me. Plausible deniability?

“What else is bothering you?” Drum drum.

“I can’t stay cooped up and alone in the town house any more.”

“Which is one of the reasons I’m taking you out tonight.”

I glared. “How much longer will we stay here? I’m used to being around people, talking and laughing. I’m used to having goals and working toward them. I need an end date; this indefinite shit doesn’t work for me.”

“We’ll return to Russia at the beginning of next week. Things will be different there, Natalie.”

Why did I have the sinking suspicion that I’d be hearing that line a lot? “How?”

“You’ll meet new friends. Your days will be full, and I’ll feel more confident in your safety. For now, I need you to be patient.”

I inwardly grumbled. I supposed I could make it another couple of days. . . .

When the limo slowed, I asked, “Are we there?” My voice sounded ridiculously expectant; curiosity killed the Nat.

Sevastyan drew a silk cloth from his jacket pocket. “As I said, it’s a surprise.”

“Fine.” I let him blindfold me. Once we’d parked, he helped me outside into the blustery night.

As he guided me up a flight of concrete stairs, I asked, “Oh, so we’re going aboveground this time?” Snark.

“I wouldn’t get used to it,” he snarked back.

We crossed a threshold into a warm interior. Aside from the echo of my heels, it was quiet inside.

When he removed my blindfold, I blinked my eyes, adjusting to the soaring area. Recognition hit, and I twirled in place.