Page 22 of Reckless Woman
His grin widens, but there’s a bleaker story in his gray eyes. “I made her a promise.”
I know about promises.I know how to break them.
Just then his cellphone beeps. He glances sideways at it. “Roman’s arrived,” he says, scooping it up. “He’s waiting for us in the car downstairs.”
Chapter Eight
Joseph
The detective’s face is bathed in shadow as I swing into the backseat next to him. Rick climbs into the passenger seat upfront. His man, Danny, is driving. Rick tweaks the stereo until New York City Cops by The Strokes is blasting out of the SUV’s speakers.
“Your sense of humor never fails to amuse me, Sanders.” Roman’s words are so dry, I’m surprised his voice doesn’t crack. “Has Santiago called you out about D’Angelo’s daughter yesterday?”
“No.” The volume dips momentarily. “And it’s none of your business who keeps my dick wet. She’s obliging, and I’m very much obliged…wait, I have a better one.”
Undercover of the Night by The Stones starts playing.
“Are you done?” The detective’s composure is in danger of being left on the corner of Cedars and Ninth.
“Not even close.”
We pull away from the curb, the shadows falling away from Roman’s face as he turns to talk to me. Handsome. Expressionless. There’s not a dark blond hair out of place. His shirt is crisp and white, new on today, and his shoes are so polished they gleam orange-gold in the passing streetlights. He’s everything a good undercover agent should be. One difference. He plays for us, not them.
“Grayson.” He hands me a red file. “Thanks for coming at short notice”
“What’s this? Fan mail?”
He glances at the back of Rick’s head, waiting until he cranks the music back up before leaning over. “There’s a very good reason I dragged you all this way.”
I nod once, understanding immediately.
“You asked me to look into those…connectionsin Miami.”
We share a look in the darkness before the flare of Rick’s lighter kills it. I’m dicing with death by going behind Dante’s back with this, but I know that Roman doesn’t trust Viviana Santiago, either.
“You found something?”
“I have,” he confirms, flipping open the file for me as I switch on the torch app on my cell. “It’s tenuous, but it’s there.”
There are pages and pages of business transactions and papers for an organization called The Vindicta Corporation.
“What’s this?”
“On the surface, Vindicta is a shipping company with an annual turnover of eighty million. They were only founded a couple of years ago, but since my father’s death they’ve been buying up lines and property all over the world.”
Roman’s father was a shipping magnet himself, and one of Russia’s most fearedPakhan. Roman still operates his father’s company under an umbrella organization that disguises his true name. He’s the only FBI agent with a net worth of a hundred billion, but the money doesn’t meanjackto him.
“Why the fuck is Santiago interested in shipping companies?” asks Rick, turning the music down.
“Go back to playing your songs, Brooklyn Boy,” I murmur. “Leave the hard stuff to us.”
Roman laughs, a sound that’s rare from him. Rick says nothing, but I know that his retaliation is being stored up and multiplied for a later date.
“It’s Dante’s business.” I relent with a double lie. “Shipping channels in and out of Miami need consolidating.”
“Then this is Miami shit, not New York shit. Why the hell am I even here?”
“We required your scintillating conversation and views on world politics,” drawls Roman.