Page 39 of Shadow Of Sin

“That’s great, Sal.” I try to keep my voice normal even though he’s completely glossing over the fact that this insanely large payment was made from an anonymous source as some gesture of goodwill. Like that’s not any more concerning than owing all that cash to the guys who’ve been threatening him in the first place.

I cover my face with my hand.

Sweet Jesus.

“Come by tonight. I’m making something ridiculous for dinner. We’re celebrating.”

“I’ll be there.”

I drop my phone on the desk and collapse against the back of my chair.

Forty-two-thousand dollars. Anonymous. From a business account nobody recognized.

Wolfe.

He said he’d take care of it. I thought that meant he’d make some calls, maybe find some leverage or an angle to work.

I did not think it meant someone would drop forty-two grand like it was pocket change.

Who the hell lives above a dry cleaner, eats Cheerios for every meal, and has forty-two-thousand dollars to throw at a stranger’s debt?

I pick up the burner phone, then put it down and stare at it.

My pulse kicks against my throat when I pick it up again.

I want to call him and ask if he did it.

I want to call him and scream at him for doing it.

I want to call him and say thank you so hard it cracks my voice.

But I don’t do any of those things. I put the phone down and sit with it, the way I sit with everything that scares me… turning it over in my head until I can see all the sides and all the motives.

Because I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve missed glaring red flags when I let my emotions consume me. I can’t let that happen again.

I press my fingertips to my temples and rock back and forth.

Someone is taking care of the person I love most. Without being asked. Without expecting credit. Without even telling me it was done.

That’s either the most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me, or the most effective manipulation I’ve ever seen. And the fact that I genuinely can’t tell which is the part that keeps me sitting at this desk while my heart does something I don’t have a name for…and honestly, I don’t think I want a name for it.

Because knowing what it is means I’m acknowledging it, and that freaks me the hell out.

Dmitri texts me at noon. He’d given me instructions for a new job that I’ve been researching for the past couple of days and he said he wants an update. He never texts me details or questions about jobs. Those are reserved for in-person meetings, like the one we have scheduled for today.

The target for his latest job is Ashford and Crane, a consulting firm in Back Bay. He wants their client roster, billing records, and internal communications related to a specific project.

But this time he wanted something else…a specific person’s calendar for the next two weeks. When I heard that, it chilled my blood.

That isn’t simple data collection. That is tracking a person…where they’ll be, when they’ll be there, who they’re meeting with.

I check the knife in my jacket before I leave to meet him. It’s still there.

Always there.

Our meeting will be held sitting on a bench in the Public Garden this time. A shiver licks the back of my neck at the sight of him. It’s broad daylight and there are tourists everywhere. I shouldn’t feel panicked, but seeing Dmitri sitting with his legs crossed reading a newspaper like a man who has nowhere to be and nothing to worry about is fucking unsettling because underneath that bullshit façade lies a hell of a lot of danger.

“Eva.” He folds the paper when he sees me approach. A smile stretches across his face.