Page 15 of Shadowed Agenda
Regan dug into her pie, and they ate in silence. She was grateful that Pavlo understood she couldn’t divide her time between listening to him and devouring the best dessert she’d ever experienced.
“My sister is responsible for my writing career,” Pavlo said after sliding their empty plates to the side of the table. Regan raised her eyebrow. “Anya emailed me every day, even though she knew it could be weeks before I read her emails. It was her way of keeping me close.”
“Most of our missions were classified, and I’d felt bad responding with a few short lines. So, I started writing short stories loosely based on my experiences and sending them to her. I found writing released the tension built up from a mission. I’d share the stories with my team before emailing them to her. After a while, my buddies convinced me to write a novel. Most of my first series was written while I was a sailor.”
“Wow! Your sister must be so proud of you,” Regan said and, without thinking, reached across the table and touched his hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers, and her heart jolted at their unexpected connection. They both said nothing.
Regan met Pavlo’s gaze. His expression mirrored her surprise. He’d felt it, too. She should say something, but Regan’s voice caught in her throat.
A woman approached their table, saving her from making a witty comment to defuse the awkward moment. Regan hoped the fan hadn’t caught the interaction between them.
“I’m sorry to bother the two of you, but I was hoping I could speak with you. It’ll only take a moment.” Her eyes flitted nervously across the restaurant. “I didn’t want to interrupt until you had dessert.”
Regan never turned down speaking with a fan. Apparently, neither did Pavlo.
He stood and placed a chair from the empty table beside them at their table. “Our friend will join us for coffee,” he told Niguel as the man arrived to clear their dessert plates.
“Cream and sugar?” he asked, setting the two cups on his tray on the table.
“Two of each, please,” the woman said and then sat. “I’m Finlay Giammarino.”
“I read your article about the Smith and Jones merger. It was an impressive piece,” Pavlo said, tilting his head. “We’re honored you’re a fan.”
Regan had also read the front-page article and subsequent articles by the investigative reporter. The merger had allowed the companies to tap into a cheap labor source that hired children who should have been learning their ABCs, not manufacturing knock-off designer garments. The determined reporter had shown what the company meant byindividually handmade. She’d disguised herself as a teenager and spent a month working in one of their factories in Mexico.
“It’s the reason my editor has me on this gig. I’ve been a Regan Christenson and Pavlo Barislov fan from the start of your careers,” Finlay said and thanked Niguel with a nod as he placed her coffee in front of her. “I need to lie low so no one connects me to secondary information I’ve uncovered while doing that piece. This assignment should have been easy.”
“The rumor that you were doing a private book signing was sent to every reporter and paparazzo covering your book tour this morning and everyone attending the book convention at the hotel. My gut says there’s more to this. No one profited by revealing the book signing. That’s not how this business works.” Finlay paused, giving them a moment to consider her words, and sipped her coffee.
Nausea rolled in Regan’s stomach like gathering storm clouds. The Senator’s followers figured she’d cave under the media’s pressure.
Finlay looked at Regan, her expression one of concern and compassion. “I already found out you have a daughter and were married to Nicholas Wyndham. So will others. A friend played tourist in your hometown and discovered Emmeline has a heart condition.”
“Thank you for warning us,” Pavlo said, a tight frown on his handsome face.
“My editor isn’t aware of anything I found. I’m okay with another reporter scooping me. There’s something more behind this, and I’m interested in discovering what.” Finlay finished her coffee and moved the messenger bag at her feet into her lap. She spoke as she rummaged through it. “I’ll keep in touch and let you know of any progress I make.”
“Please accompany us back to our hotel. I’d love to give you a signed book for your kindness,” Regan said, grateful for the information.
“I’ll take a rain check,” Finlay said, pulling out Regan’s latest release. “It’d be better if anyone watching thinks I’m simply a fan.” She passed the book to Regan. “Sign the book and take the piece of paper inside. It has my cell phone number. Call me if you need my help.”
Regan took Finlay’s offered pen, slipped the paper into her handbag, and signed the book.
She looked up and noticed a couple leaving the restaurant. It was Nicholas, his armed wound possessively around a model-thin redhead’s waist.
Finlay placed her hand on Regan’s arm and moved closer so Pavlo couldn’t hear. “He came in shortly after you arrived,” she whispered. “Stay clear of him. He’s still involved with the associates who backed his first business.”
Regan nodded in response as Pavlo raised a questioning eyebrow.
She wasn’t surprised. The men who had backed Nicholas’ first company would have ensured they’d had some hold on him as he made his millions. They didn’t know she knew who they were and had proof of their illegal business dealings. Knowledge was a powerful weapon, but, in this case, she hadn’t figured out how to use it without winding up dead.
“How did you know we were dining here?” Pavlo asked as Finlay put the book into her bag.
“I parked in a loading zone beside the studio entrance so I could follow you.” A cocky grin accompanied her amused expression. “Taking Regan to a restaurant to avoid the paparazzi outside the studio and hotel was predictable. You boys need to up your game.”
Regan watched her walk out of the restaurant and then turned to Pavlo. “What was that all about?”