But that’s the thing about paranoia—it exists because it can be useful. Noah is probably somewhere in a FBI surveillance van, waiting for someone to incriminate themselves.
“It’s more your problem than mine, actually.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter. “Look Nikolai Koltsov just called me. They have Sutton.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath. Sutton herself told me Noah had tracked her down, that he liked her. I can’t blame him. It’s hard not to love someone as blatantly and unapologetically abrasive as Sutton. She just makes you want to. “I told you they were serious.”
“I believed you. I didn’t expect them to move so quickly, but apparently, they realized the FBI is in town.” I have to bite back a few choice things to say about this. Noah might have warned me, but he’s also endangered everyone I love by sticking around to stir the pot. “Your source. The one who’s informing on me and them. I need you to tell me who it is.”
“That’s a pretty big fucking ask, Ford.” Noah tries to sound pissed off, but he’s a lot less dismissive than I expected. Something about it bothers him, too.
“Yeah, yeah. Ongoing investigation. Leverage. I get all that—”
“I really don’t think you do,” Noah says. He’s as effortlessly condescending as a parent, that’s for sure. “I gave you a heads up as a courtesy. And my offer still stands. You tell me what you’ve been up to with the Koltsovs, and I can keep you alive. I can get a team down here to extract Sutton—”
“Let’s put our cards on the table,” I stop him. I just need to convince Noah my method will get him better results. In other words, I need to find something more compelling than persecuting me—not easy, but not impossible. “I know you don’t have shit, okay? If you did, you would arrest me, then use whatever you had to try to make me flip.”
“That’s a lot of assumptions—”
“Maybe, but I know you’re a decent person. You don’t like the idea of leveraging my safety just so you can do your job. And you like Sutton, you don’t want to see her get hurt.”
He’s quiet on the other end.
“This is simple math, Porter. The Koltsovs. My people. Your people. Three different groups, all caught up in something that feels off, right?” No one just gets the Russian mafia handed to them on a silver platter. Or me, for that matter. Not only am I good, I’m careful. Something doesn’t add up.
“I know the fucking players, alright?” There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear Noah changing location. A beefy metal door slams shut, and then I register the unmistakable sound of wind blowing over his phone mic. Either he really did get out of a surveillance van, or he went out on a rooftop. “Alright, our conversation is private now.”
Something about the direction I’m taking the conversation has spooked him—enough that he couldn’t let us be overheard. Interesting.
“There’s someone we’re not accounting for,” I say.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, but eventually he answers, “I know.”
“Someone says they have evidence that incriminates me,” I have to be careful how I discuss this. For all I know, Noah is recording everything I say. “But why give that information to you, Noah?”
“...when it would be much more valuable in extorting you. I know. I was wondering how long it would take you.”
“You’re being played. Whoever this is can't be trusted with any of this, so are you really going to risk Sutton’s life on a wild card?”
“I wish I could believe you were a team player, Sterling,” Noah chides. “That’s the whole problem. If I give you this information, you aren’t going to turn around and use it to help the FBI. You’re going to undermine the little progress we’ve made on the Koltsovs.”
“And if you were able to do something with the information, you would already have done it. Look, you trusted the wrong person before and I know you see blood on your hands. Do you really want to have Sutton’s blood on them, too?” There’s another bout of silence, and I hear what sounds like a soft sigh of resignation. I’ve almost got him. “Whoever promised you evidence to use against me, they are in danger of fucking the Bratva. And anyone thinking of doing that can’t afford to let anyone find out. You’re never getting more. Whoever is doing this