Page 40 of Ford
“That she was murdered.”
“Assassinated. She was looking into a scandal involving a Russian politician who had an American mistress, with the theory that he gave her state secrets in exchange for…well, you know.”
“You think the politician had her killed?”
“I don’t know. York brought me her computer, and I swept it for information, dug through her emails, and all I came up with was a reoccurring name—Pavel Tsarnaev. He’s some sort of Russian-Chechen boss and we couldn’t connect the dots. York got a call from some guy who lives off the grid in Europe, a black-ops type who said he’d picked up news about a contract on Tasha’s life. Said the contract was tagged by an operator who worked in Moscow. A guy named Damien Gustov. He’s got a laundry list of kills and horrific acts. Wanted in seven countries.”
Silhouetted against the pane, she looked alone but fierce, an older version of the girl who knew how to stand up to Wyatt and his cocky shenanigans. She’d been the only one, that RJ knew of, who’d gotten under Wyatt’s skin, diverted his attention away from his first love, hockey.
Of course he’d loved Coco. RJ had a gut feeling he’d never gotten over losing her.
Funny that Coco hadn’t figured that out.
“York became obsessed with finding him. He’s still here under an embassy visa, but I’m not sure what he does.” Coco came back to her computer, sat down. “All I know is that he isn’t leaving Russia until he finds him.”
Transportation. RJ had joked about his definition of his profession, but yeah.
She’d seen the darkness in his eyes.
Tasted the deep wounds evidenced in his hungry kiss.
He’s pretty private.
“He saved my life. And he’s helping me figure out who took a shot at General Stanislov, so he’s still a hero underneath all that darkness.”
“No, actually, I’m not.”
She stiffened, then turned. Of course York stood at the door, his hands in his pockets, his mouth in a tight line of annoyance.
Sorry, but, “Yes, you are.”
“The minute you start thinking that is the minute you find yourself trusting me. And you shouldn’t trust anyone right now, honey. First rule of spy craft.”
“I’m not a spy. I’m an analyst, Sugar Pie.”
His eyes narrowed around the edges, just a smidgen. Then he walked over behind Coco and leaned down. “Tell me something good.”
“Okay.” Coco was typing and now pulled up the results of the search. “The emails to RJ were sent from a server here in Moscow. They came from a blind user, but I’ve tracked the account to a secure email box, not unlike the one I set up for Tash.”
RJ glanced at him, and the name didn’t even register a flicker on his face.
“I was able to get into the logs, and I’ve been running a search on other emails sent by this server in the past three years.” She leaned back. “Look familiar?”
RJ leaned over and a plain text email popped up.
I will find you.
Chilling, but she frowned, not sure—
York took a deep breath, stood up, went to the window, and stared out, an unmoving fortress.
“I don’t understand,” RJ said.
Coco looked up at her. “York sent that letter to Damien two years ago. To this IP address.”
“And that’s the same IP address that sourced the emails that I received?”
“Yeah. The same person who set you up.”