Body Checked (Center Ice Book 1) (19 page)

Once upon a time, I might have blushed, but not now. It feels good, to know I’ve severed all emotional response from Todd. It gives me hope that one day, I’ll feel the same way about Sergei. 

“Thanks,” I say. “Uh . . . you don’t look so bad yourself.” 

“Just came from an investor meeting. Like always, these days.” He sighs and props one elbow on the soapstone bar. “I barely have time for classes now. I think I’m running a B-minus average.” 

My eyebrows raise. “And you’re okay with this?” 

“It’s hard work, getting my business up and running. But I’m loving it.” He grins—really, truly grins. Not the smug smile he wears like a mask; not the placating smile that was all I never seemed to merit from him. 

Holy crap. Todd Beckwith has completely altered his life course, and he’s actually
happy
about it. 

“You know,” he says, “as well as business is going now, my problem is quickly going to be one of keeping up with demand. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of things high-income individuals and businesses are willing to pay consultants for, if you just know to pitch it to them.” 

“You’re not trying to do it all yourself, are you?” I ask. 

“Oh, no. I’ve got a small but growing core of consultants with various specialties.” His smile curls at the edges. “We’d love for you to join, but I understand if you want to finish your studies, flail around in bureaucratic stagnancy for a few years . . .” 

“Um. About that . . .” I say. 

Todd raises his chin. 

“Let’s just say the Bureau and I have parted ways.” 

“Oh. Oh, Jael.” He pats my hand—
pats
it—and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. I can’t say I didn’t expect this, but—” 

“You
expected
me to fail?” 

Todd swallows. “I, uh, didn’t exactly mean it like that.” He takes a step back. “But you’re so—you’re so creative, and quick on your feet, while the Bureau prefers everything to be stamped in triplicate. After deliberating it for a good six months.” 

“I know, I know.” I plop my chin into my fist. “And you
told
me so. I get it. I just—I had to see for myself.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath. “I wasn’t ready to realize that my plans had already changed.” 

“And what are you thinking you’ll do now?” Todd asks. 

I open my eyes again. Let the world swim back into focus. “You said you have some clients interested in private investigators?” 

Todd grins wide once more. “I most certainly do.” 

I awaken to a crash against my basement studio’s door. I jump out of bed, only to find I fell asleep still in my coat and dress. Crap. Where was I? I remember going to Georgetown with Beth and Monique, and ignoring some perfectly mediocre boys to watch the hockey game, and then— 

Oh, my god. I didn’t hook up with Todd Beckwith again, did I? 

Oh, no. I remember now. It’s even worse. I agreed to
work
for him. 

“I’m afraid we can only offer you a hundred and twenty, at first,” he’d said. I’d broken the glass I was holding when I realized he meant a hundred and twenty
thousand
. 

The knock sounds on my door again. With a glance out the window, I notice it’s raining. With another glance, I check the streets for any unmarked black SUVs. But those days are over. My small consolation prize for losing Sergei. 

Just in case, though, I grab the piece of plywood that I use to prop up my A/C window unit in the summer months and tuck it behind my back. 

I open the door to find Sergei Drakonov looming on the basement steps, drenched in rain. 

“Oh, my god,” I gasp, then remember—too late—to switch to Russian. “
Bozhe moi.
What are you doing?” I hesitate, fingers tightening around the plywood, and take a step back into my cramped studio. “You . . . should come inside. You’re soaked.” 

“Jael.” 

That husky voice burns straight through me. I back against the wall, jaw working as I stifle a cry. My god, but I’ve missed him. Every day without him felt washed out, void of color and warmth. I look him over—his soaked black t-shirt, clinging to his muscles, and his jeans dripping all over the cheap tiles of my floor. He isn’t even wearing a jacket. His leather shoes make a squishing noise as he staggers toward me. 

“I have to know, Jael.” The look he turns on me is one forged from pure misery. His gaunt cheeks hang long; that luscious lower lip sags as his head tips forward. Painful shadows cling to the hollows beneath his eyes. 

I swallow hard and try to look away, but I can’t. I did this to him. This is my fault. 

“Jael,” he whispers. “Was any of it real?” 

The plywood clatters from my hand, but he doesn’t even flinch. I bring my fist to my mouth and bite down hard to stifle a sob. “I meant it,” I whisper. “Every last word. Every last kiss.” 

His head hangs forward. “But how can I believe you?” 

He can’t. He shouldn’t. 

I did everything wrong. 

Slowly, he lifts his head, gaze locking onto mine. I can’t look away. I never wanted to look away from him, from that playful face that hid his quiet pain. I miss him. I want him. I want to deserve him again. 

Sergei brushes the back of his hand against my cheek, and I close my eyes, sinking into his touch, cold and clammy though it is. His fingers slip under my chin, and tilt it up toward him. I swallow, shivering from the cold of the open door and the freezing rain clinging to his skin. 

“I want to believe you,” he whispers. “But I can’t.” 

I bite my lower lip to redirect the pain. 

“I thought I knew what I wanted,” I say. “Thought I could have it all. You, and a job that was so wrong for me. Thought I could keep you safe.” 

“But you hurt me.” His thumb grazes against my cheek, barely touching me, yet it aches. “You lied to me.” 

“I thought it was for your own good.” 

“Jael.” He sighs, leaning forward. “There’s nothing good for me anymore. There’s no helping me.” 

“No. Stop. We just have to stop your brother. Maybe the FBI can’t help you—maybe you’re right. But there has to be some way—” 

“No.” He presses his thumb to my lips. “I told you. It’s too late.” 

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Too late for what?” 

But his fingers are combing through my hair; his face looms, anguished and soft, before mine. His forehead leans into me and his lashes feather against my cheek as he closes his eyes. I miss him so madly, it’s like a weight sinking me to the bottom. I want to lock this moment away forever, something I can pull from my pocket and run my fingers along its edges so I never forget. Sergei. With me. In my arms one last time. 

His lips sink into mine. I grip the sopping wet fabric of his shirt and pull him toward me as we kiss. He makes a soft moan as our kiss deepens, and presses the length of his body against mine, pinning me to the wall. Every inch of him, trapping every inch of me. Nothing else exists but the heat that churns between us. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. His lips leave my mouth to trail down my jaw.  

I lean my head back against the wall, back arching to meet him as his mouth sucks a gentle circle against my collarbone. “I missed you,” I whisper. “Every moment of every day.” 

His hands close around my hips as his teeth sink into the flesh of my breast, visible over the low neckline of my dress. “I want this again. I want to be us again.” His head tips to the side; his cheek rests against me as a sob wracks through him. 

“I do too.” I run my fingers through his soaked hair. “I do too.” 

Sergei slips one hand down, around my back, cupping my ass, lifting me up. I curl my leg around his waist and feel the firm outline of his shaft pressed right up against me. Warmth radiates through me. I reach for his belt buckle, desperate to feel him again. To melt into his flesh and never know the torment of being away from him again. 

“Jael.” He rocks his hips against me, driving me wild. “Jael.” 

“I need you, Sergei.” I work his belt buckle free and reach for the zipper on his jeans. 

He bucks against me once more, but then stops. His hands fall away from me with a groan. I glance up at him, confused, and lower my leg back to the ground. 

“I just—can’t.” Sergei backs away from me. That miserable twist to his lips has returned. It twists right into my heart. 

My heart is in my throat. I’m choking, choking on everything I’ve done wrong. Everything I’ve ruined. “Sergei—” 

“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” He backs into the door. “I just can’t trust you.” His eyes squeeze shut. “I never will.” 

And then he’s out the door, leaving only a puddle of rain on my tile floor. As he climbs back up the basement stairs to the street, that’s when I see it—the gun tucked into the back of his waistband. I suck in my breath as a sob tears through me. 

But was the gun for me? Or someone else? 

“Hello, Miss Pereira. This is Special Agent Frederica Monteverdi, from the Organized Crime Unit. I wanted to notify you that the information you provided to us regarding the use of the Washington Eagles team plane for illegal smuggling purposes was found to be false. The Bureau wishes to advise you not to contact us again regarding any further information you may claim to uncover, and I would also strongly suggest that you not consider us for future employment. 

“Have a good day.” 

“Okay,” Todd says over the phone, “you should be able to log in to the VPN now. Give it a shot.” 

I type the credentials he gave me into my browser, and the page dissolves into a dashboard for Beckwith Consulting.
Welcome, Jael,
the page’s banner greets me, and I give it a little wave. I glance toward the left-hand side, where a series of folders cascade open. Pending requests. Current files. 

“Sorry, the website’s a little rough still,” Todd says. “My IT nerds are working as fast as they can, though—” 

“Dude. It’s fine. You should see the shit I had to use at the FBI.” I grin. “Spinning email logos, red text on black, it was like the ‘90s all over again.” 

Todd laughs. “Okay, so, if you navigate over to pending requests, you’ll find the list of all the current cases our clients have contacted us for that fit your skillset. Anytime you’re looking for new work, you’ll just go there. And remember, it’s all confidential—” 

“Oh, wow.” I stare at the list of pending requests as it populates down my screen. “This is all the business you’ve already gotten?” There must be almost a hundred pending requests. 

“That fit your skillset,” Todd says. “I know it isn’t much, but we’re doing a brisk business on the accounting and auditing side of the firm—” 

“Todd. This alone could keep me busy for
years.
”  

I scroll through the listings, skimming the summaries. One guy’s hired us to track down where his ex-wife has hid her extensive stash of vintage jewelry, so its value wouldn’t be counted against her in the alimony hearings. Another case is from an insurance company who wants us to assess whether they’re being defrauded by a high-dollar client who can’t seem to keep his vacation homes from catching fire, splitting open in earthquakes, or sliding into the sea.