my office, completely my domain, and I should be in my element, but she’s making me question everything. There’s something in her tone that tells me it’s bad news, and my soft tones evaporate immediately.
“Tell me everything. Now, Emma.”
She jumps at the harsh order but does as I say. “My sister. She’s the one who told me about the party and asked me to go. She told me about you, and Caleb, your dad, and about the company. The basics, at least. She even told me about Nikolai.”
I’m still as a statue at her side. “She knows a lot.”
Warning bells are going off like mad in my head, but I still want to hear it.
Whatever it is, Emma needs to tell me this.
“She does . . . because she’s FBI.”
Her admission is barely mumbled but is still like an electric cattle prod to my spine, vaulting me off the couch to gain a bit of separation before my instinct to strike back at Emma’s apparent betrayal causes me to do something stupid.
For a moment, I wish I could have a time machine, to go back to the night of the party and ignore her, to let Caleb play a few games with her before casually letting her walk out the door, oblivious to what really goes on in my life.
But the next instant, I realize I wouldn’t change a single moment of the past. It brought me here, brought us here . . . and that could be worth the pain, the price. Life was dangerous before, but shit just got interesting.
Still, now that the words are coming, Emma can’t stop them. I could make her stop, order her to or put my hand over her mouth, but I need to hear the truth as much as she needs to give it.
Maybe it’ll give me some insight into how to stop this before it spins out of control.
“She asked me to come to the party, told me what I needed to know to help me get intel, insight, and report back to her. To the FBI.”
I stop my pacing, turning to her, the accusation hot on my tongue and out of my mouth before I can stop it. “You’re a trap. You really are a honey pot.”
Obviously, I’m not as cool with this as part of me wants to be. The betrayal cuts me to the core, even as I know that I should’ve seen this coming. I’m as angry at myself as I am at Emma.
Somehow, the part that bugs me the most right this second is that I’m going to have to apologize to my brother. Caleb was right.
I fucking hate it when he’s right.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I don’t think you had anything to do with your dad or Anna and that this whole thing with Nikolai is aboveboard as far as I know, though I really don’t even know what’s actually going on there.”
“Anna? Who?” I ask, confused and almost not getting the reference out of context.
“Anna Russo,” she says sadly. “They think you had something to do with your dad’s death and with Anna’s.”
I’m shocked again. Not at Emma’s words, but at the sheer ignorance that is the FBI. How stupid can they be?
But the thought is bitter, because I’m just as stupid, maybe more.
I thought Emma . . . I really thought we . . .
The thought is cut short by my phone ringing. I’d let it go, but that particular ringtone is assigned to one person only.
I point at Emma, walking over to my desk. “Don’t speak, don’t move,” I order, picking up my phone. “Yes.”
“Da. Stone. We meet to discuss in one hour. Bring the girl. She amuses me.”
Nikolai’s voice is jovial, simple, and relaxed. But I know with a sinking dread that if he so much as gets one whiff of the truth about Emma, it’s not going to be bad.
It’s going to be deadly.
But still, I have to try. “I’m not sure if Kitty can get away. I’ll have to check her schedule, but I can meet with you and we can discuss business.”
Nikolai is not to be dissuaded, however. “You, me, girl. One hour. I’ll send address.”
“Of course. I’ll see you soon,” I say, knowing it’s my only option.
I turn to Emma. “Nikolai wants to meet with us. Now.”
She shakes her head, absolutely aghast. “No, no. We can’t. Not like this. We need to talk first, Nathan.”
That’s a luxury we can’t afford. “Seems fate has something