Page 43 of Savage Boss
When it’s just the two of us, as it was so often on the frozen streets of St. Petersburg, we talk as the brothers we are, addressing each other as we did when we were boys.
Pavel places the thick folder he has in his hands on the desk. “The background checks are done,Dima.”
“On all of my employees?”
He nods. “Every one of them. Clean, thorough, nothing missed. There were a few inconsistencies—some loans here and there, and strange travel visas—but nothing that stood out as a red flag. However?—”
Pavel hesitates, an unfamiliar expression on his face, his jaw clenching. My fingers tighten around my glass.
“Clara’s friend, the one who is staying with her now, Emily Colton. Do you know anything about her?”
“Clara’s mentioned her often. I believe they’ve been friends since their freshman year at Columbia. She is an art conservator.”
What in the world could an art restoration specialist have to do with the mole in my organization? And why is Pavel dancing around the subject? “Pashka?”
“Her professional history is spotless. It’s her personal life.” Pavel opens the folder and flips to a color photo of two laughing women. “This is Emily Colton. She’s engaged to be married next month. Her fiancé is Agent Michael Hunt of the FBI.”
The logic is brutal, simple, and undeniable. It bypasses all the complex calculations I’ve been making about loyalties, old grudges, enemies, and chess play. It’s a perfect, clean resolution.
And utterly confounding.
A brilliant young lawyer who just happens to stumble into my apartment one night, who then applies for a job at my corporation, one who has a direct line to the federal government.
I slam my glass down. “No, it’s not Clara.”
Pavel doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t have to.
“Someone just tried to kill her today,Pasha.” I shove myself to my feet and start pacing the length of the windows. “Why would they kill their own informant?”
“Who says they were killing their own informant?” Pavel replies. “Andrey—if it is Andrey, as we believe—would still think she was simply your girlfriend. Two things can be true at the same time,Dima.”
“Of course it’s Andrey,” I snarl.
I don’t want to listen, but it’s impossible to deny the truth of what he’s saying. My mind is a battlefield of disbelief and cold, hard calculation. The thought makes me sick, not just from betrayal, but because Clara, the woman who is slowly taking over my heart, may have been trying to take down my operation the entire time.
The woman who sat there while I bared my soul, while I showed her my deepest, darkest grief. I might have been drunk, but I wasn’t so drunk that I don’t remember the way she held me, consoled me.
“The mole was operating before we hired Clara.” I cling to that fact.
“It doesn’t mean she was the only one. Just that she was the most important, sent to get close to you. And as a member of the legal team, she has access to all our files.”
Pavel’s theory, monstrous as it is, fits better than anything else. The affection I was beginning to feel for Clara is now a raw,exposed nerve. I had been concerned, protective,tenderwith the woman who might, at this moment, be passing on secrets.
Just as the awful weight of the possibility settles on my shoulders, a chime cuts through the air, an innocuous, digital sound from my computer, alerting me to a new email. Out of habit, my attention flicks to the screen and reads the glowing subject line on the pop-up:
Clara Benson:Official Resignation
I crossthe space to the computer in two strides and click it open, reading the message with a growing sense of rage.
The timing is too precise, too damning. The background check, the conversation… the clues all point directly to Clara, and now she’s trying to bolt.
“She’s running.”
The thought ignites a volcano that instantly evaporates any denial. My hands clench into fists around the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning bone white. This isn’t just business; this is personal. That woman took my vulnerability, my growing trust, and exploited it.
“Contact her. Now.”
Pavel takes out his phone and puts it on speaker. It rings in the silence of my office, then goes to voicemail. He tries twice more, but Clara doesn’t pick up.
