Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “You can hear that from here?” Neven asked.

  “There is a creak in the floorboards,” Remi said, looking up at the ceiling. “Whenever someone shifts on the bed, it announces the movement.”

  “You know that from listening to people rolling about the bed, up there?” Neven didn’t care about the answer. Asking questions would keep Remi’s attention off what he was doing.

  “There have been nights…” Remi said softly.

  Neven turned back to look at him. Remi was still frowning, only now a shadow clouded his eyes, that reminded Neven uncomfortably of the way Remi had looked as he stroked Neven to climax last night. The strange mix of pain and some other emotion Neven couldn’t quite analyze.

  “You just said you spend your nights with Kristijan,” Neven said, probing.

  “I haven’t always had that privilege,” Remi said flatly. He stirred, as if he had realized where he was and what he was talking about. He shoveled together the papers in front of him. “If you’re here, you can deal with this bullshit.”

  It was a deflection. Neven recognized it as if it was highlighted for him.

  When would Remi have been denied Kristijan’s bed? They had been lovers from the moment they met…

  “London,” Neven breathed, as he realized the truth. “She took your place.”

  Remi got to his feet. It was a fast movement, as if he had been galvanized into jumping up. “I have things to do—”

  “Before you go,” Neven said sharply, raising his hand.

  Remi paused. The scowl was back.

  “One.” Neven pointed to the desk. “That’s your responsibility. Sit your ass back down and get it done. Two.” He pointed to the computer. “I want your help. I need figures and dates and data to build a spreadsheet.”

  “Spreadsheet?” Remi sounded as startled as Neven had ever heard him.

  “You know what a spreadsheet is, don’t you?”

  Remi pursed his lips. “I didn’t think Kristijan did.”

  “I told you—”

  “You’re not Kristijan. Very well, genius. You can show me how to build a spreadsheet. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because the third thing you’re going to do—well, the second thing, really, because you’re going to do it now, before we get into this—is to call all the men and confirm that nine a.m. meeting you promised them yesterday afternoon. In that meeting, I’m going to give them the spreadsheet and break it down for them.”

  “Break down what?” Remi asked. His scowl had shifted to mere curiosity.

  “Break down the financial reasons why letting the shipment go ahead will bankrupt everyone.”

  Remi’s lips parted. His eyes widened. “Now I know you’re not Kristijan. I’ve never heard of anything so insane.”

  “The potential loss of their money will make them not want to complete the deal. There’s no insanity there. It’s a perfectly reasonable, logical response to financial facts. They can explain those facts to the village, too. Everyone will be deeply relieved to have avoided economic ruin.” Neven tilted his head. “Where is the fault in my reasoning?”

  Remi flicked at the corner of a sheet of paper, over and over, making a little cricket-chirping sound with each flick. He was thinking. Then he sat back. “There isn’t one,” he growled. “That doesn’t mean this is going to work.”

  “In the absence of any other options, this is the one I’m going with,” Neven told him. “Unless another way to halt the shipment has occurred to you from among the wealth of reasons you gave me why it should not be stopped?”

  Remi scowled. “No,” he said flatly.

  “Then jump to it,” Neven said. “We have until nine to pull this together.”

  “Are you giving me an order?” Remi asked curiously.

  “Yes.” Neven met his gaze and held it. “Or, if you prefer, I could tell everyone at nine a.m. that I am not Kristijan and, oh, by the way, you spent the night in my bed, anyway.”

  Remi’s mouth parted. Rage flickered in his eyes. Then, his mouth bent into a smile. He laughed and sat down again. “You may not be Kristijan, but you have all his ruthlessness.” Happily, he started sorting pages. “What do you want, first?”

  * * * * *

  Neven was glad that a spreadsheet required nothing more than tags and figures. It let him stay distant from the reality and allowed him to keep working. Even so, when he plugged in the figure for “stock units”, he felt a touch of nausea.

  “Three thousand of them?” he repeated, his voice wavering just a bit.

  Remi met his gaze. “Three thousand, two hundred and nineteen,” he repeated.

  “Hidden where no one will trip over them? Fed twice daily, controlled and kept captive? Without anyone suspecting anything?” The horror of it was spilling through him. The reality was crashing through his neutral barrier.

  Remi sat back. “What did you think this was about? Ten of them stuffed into a sea container with a chemical toilet and survival rations? Usenko is paying premiums for every one of them that arrives in a fit state to work.”

  Neven got to his feet. He couldn’t remain sitting on the upright chair he’d pulled in front of the computer. “Three thousand people,” he breathed. He already knew the premium that Usenko was offering. It was right there on the spreadsheet. Multiplied by thousands, the bottom line came to an amount that would run small countries.

  He bent to prop himself up on the edge of the desk. “How did I come to this?” he breathed. “Why would he even consider it?”

  “You said his timeline and yours split decades ago, yes?” Remi asked. He didn’t sound angry or disbelieving. He was just asking.

  “I think, yes,” Neven said. He couldn’t lift his head to look. He made himself breathe.

  “That’s your answer, then,” Remi said. “That’s why Kristijan could dream this up on a scale that would take care of anyone who looks to him for a living.”

  Neven lifted his head. “I don’t understand,” he croaked.

  Remi smiled. “You’re the time travel expert and you don’t see it?”

  Neven shook his head.

  Remi’s smile faded. “When I first met Kristijan, I don’t think he could have done this. Not then. He had to go through everything he did, to reach this point.”

  “You mean, he changed?”

  Remi considered him. “Until you arrived, I would have said no, that he was as he has always been. Then you arrived and now I can see exactly how much he had changed, by the end. You are much the way he was, once.” Remi’s gaze refocused and he stirred. The moment of confession had ended. “I’d better get the whiskey decanter refilled. They will want a stiff drink once they’ve seen this.”

  He left quickly. Not vampire speed, yet still moving fast.

  Neven stared at the closed door.

  What had Kristijan gone through to make him change like this? Neven was no closer to an answer than before.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was close to eleven in the morning by the time the meeting broke up. If Neven had known what was to follow, he would have stayed in the meeting, answering the objections and addressing the unhappiness of Kristijan’s men. Dragović was the most vocal of them, expressing his disbelief that the viability of what he called “the project” could shift almost overnight the way it had.

  As Neven had manipulated figures to do precisely that, the change really had happened overnight. He had not looked at any of the older projections, although Remi said that Kristijan had asked for at least one of them to be built, to justify the huge upfront expenses.

  Dragović, though, clearly had looked at the earlier projections. He had a head for numbers, too. He stared at the sheet long after the others had put their copies down, puzzling through it line by line.

  It was Dragović who had pointed to the “stock units” and shaken his head. “We don’t have that many,” he said flatly.

  Stefanovic sat up, looking horrified. “That means there will be even less profit in it?
” Stefanovic was blond, with close set eyes and a thick brow. He looked sleepy most of the time. Neven still wasn’t sure why he was part of the upper echelon in the organization. He didn’t seem to contribute anything of value.

  Neven shrugged. “Less stock means fewer sales, which means less revenue, so yes. Less profit.”

  Remi held up his hand. “Back up a bit. What do you mean, we don’t have that many?” he demanded of Dragović.

  Dragović shrugged. “I walk through the warehouse every day. There are not that many.”

  Warehouse. Neven tucked the word away for later.

  “How long is it since anyone did a head count?” Remi demanded. He tapped the printout in front of him, where he sat at the corner of the desk, on Neven’s right side. “This number was correct, a month ago.”

  “I guess that’s the last time we counted,” Dragović said. “I tell you, though, there isn’t that many now. I spent twenty years in the military, doing their stupid parades and formations. I know what a thousand people looks like. We don’t have three of that many, not anymore.”

  “You’re letting them escape?” Remi asked. His voice was dangerously quiet, making the short hairs on the back of Neven’s neck rise.

  Everyone else looked abruptly far more alert and wary. No one stared openly at Remi yet Neven could feel the focus shift to the vampire.

  Dragović shrugged again. “I run a tight operation out there. No one is getting out. I’d know if they were.”

  “Yet we’re losing stock,” Remi said flatly. “How many have died, that you know of?”

  “Three. An appendix and some sort of chest infection. The other was just dead come morning. We figured, a heart attack or stroke. He was older.”

  The callous dismissal was appalling. Neven had to fight to not show any reaction other than concern about the missing “stock”.

  “Do you know how many thousands of Euros just those three represent?” Remi asked.

  Remi’s anger was registering on Dragović. He looked uncomfortable. “It’s not my fault they died. It’s not like we can rush them to hospital. Radic did the best he could. We even stuck ‘em with some antibiotics we scared up.”

  “And the others that are mysteriously missing? How many of them are gone?”

  Dragović swallowed. “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve had to consider it.”

  Neven put his hand on Remi’s shoulder and squeezed warningly. “Find out, Dragović,” he told the short man curtly. “I want a fresh count by this afternoon.”

  Dragović looked as though he wanted to protest at the short timeline. Instead, he nodded.

  Neven tapped the copy of the sheet in front of him. “We’ll meet back here tomorrow, at the same time. I want ideas for breaking up the…project. Dispersal, with cut-outs so this doesn’t come back at us.”

  “Easier to roll a canister or two of Sarin in there, then use a backhoe,” Dragović muttered.

  Neven breathed in slowly, fighting to stay still and not react to the casual suggestion of mass murder. “I want more options than that. Get creative. We could perhaps salvage the stock in some way. Usenko is not the only customer in the world. Think about your contacts. Think about alternatives.”

  Dragović looked happier. “You mean, some sort of going-out-of-business sale?”

  Neven made himself nod. “Exactly. We can recover expenses, get a problem off our hand and not lose any more money.” Although Neven had no intention of being around for the fire sale. “Think it through and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  The twelve men got up, looking more optimistic than they had when they came in. They trailed out, talking quietly among themselves. There were no grand-standers among Kristijan’s men, not when they were in front of Kristijan, or Remi.

  Remi shut the door after them and leaned against it. “I suppose I must congratulate you. I didn’t think you would be able to sell them on it, yet you just might have managed it. The cents-on-the-dollar recovery thing will pull the sting for them.”

  “Thank you, I think,” Neven said dryly. He moved in front him. “Do you want to get out of my way? I haven’t eaten for hours and if I don’t get coffee inside ten minutes, you’ll find out that Kristijan and I are not that far apart after all.”

  Remi smiled. “You are too in awe of yourself. You could never match him, in any regard.” He got out of the way, anyway.

  Neven strode into the drawing room, intending to head for the kitchen and make both food and coffee. At this point, he didn’t care what the food was, as long as it was somewhat fresh and hot. It was difficult to stay warm in this house.

  The last of the men were leaving through the big front door of the house, still talking softly.

  London was sitting in one of the pair of wing chairs in the corner of the drawing room, her long legs crossed and her feet to one side, the way tall, elegant women did and no one else in the world could manage. She was wearing tan colored trousers and a silky white blouse that seemed to simultaneously drape and cling. Her red hair lay against the white silk, looking even more radiant than usual against the pale background. Her eyes were on Neven.

  “How do you feel?” he asked politely, remembering the way she had been swaying last night.

  She glanced towards the front door. “Much better now,” she said, using the same pleasant tone. She uncrossed her legs and stood.

  The door shut with a soft click, leaving the three of them alone in the drawing room. London glanced at Remi. “You can leave,” she said shortly. “I have something to discuss with my husband.”

  “There’s nothing you can tell him that I don’t already know,” Remi said.

  London’s pale face was expressionless as she considered him. “I’m asking nicely,” she said and Neven thought she might even be gritting her teeth as she said it.

  Remi threw himself into the chair opposite the one she had been sitting in. “Are you about to apologize for kissing him last night? I would like to hear that.”

  London’s gaze flickered between the two of them. “You told him,” she said flatly, to Neven.

  “I didn’t,” Neven assured her. “I don’t know how much he saw, though.”

  “Most of it,” Remi admitted cheerfully. “I heard all of it.”

  Vampire hearing. Of course. That would explain why his interruption had been so timely.

  London’s gaze narrowed as she studied Remi. “Is this the point where you remind me, as usual, that you are the one that sleeps with him, not me?”

  “It doesn’t sound like I need to, today,” Remi said. “Consider yourself reminded, though, if you need the input.”

  “Mm.” London pursed her lips and her high cheekbones seemed to rise even higher and her cheeks hollowed out. “It’s curious you should say that today of all days.”

  Remi shrugged. “I aim to please,” he said flatly. No warmth colored his voice.

  “I find it odd that you would be in his bed, as that is not Kristijan Zoric,” London added, pointing at Neven. “I don’t know who he is. I do know he is not the man I married.”

  * * * * *

  Neither of them reacted. They just looked at her blankly. London cursed to herself. She had been rehearsing the dramatic declaration for the last hour, while sitting in the chair waiting for Kristijan’s business meeting to end. Her declaration had to be dramatic. As both of them were as difficult to ruffle as the north face of Ben Nevis, her best bet had been to dump it on them with maximum shock value and watch for the slightest hint she had struck home.

  Remi actually smiled. “Now I know you had too much wine last night. You are a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, aren’t you?”

  She ignored him. Kristijan was the key. She studied him…or at least, she studied the man who was passing as Kristijan, a shadow of doubt touching her. She reminded herself of the logical facts she had arranged while recovering in bed this morning and working her way through two liters of water.

  First, there had been his drinking.
The whatever it was that had been in the glass when she had arriving in the dining room. He hadn’t been sitting at the table waiting for her, but standing politely. Then the confession that he hadn’t known what was for dinner. She had thought he was being mean. Perhaps he had not known, after all. His kindness…

  That was where her breath always caught. Every time she remembered the moment he had almost begged her to stay for two more weeks, then he would give her the one thing he had dangled out of her reach for four miserable years. He had freely offered it. No cajoling, no extortion. No emotional blackmail or manipulating her into a different unpleasant corner, in exchange. Just two weeks of his time, then she would be free.

  It was so patently not something Kristijan would do, that London was surprised she had not been jolted into considering this possibility straight away.

  Then there was the kiss.

  It was a poor excuse for a kiss. He had tried to extricate himself almost immediately…and that was another non-Kristijan thing to do. Kristijan would have taken the kiss, then flung it back at her—maybe with some pithy comment about how Remi did it better.

  London stared at him now, noticing once more the scar on his jaw, which was exactly as it had always been. Was it plastic surgery? Makeup? It couldn’t be makeup, for a genuine indentation showed in the skin under the pale little fleck.

  Everything about him was completely Kristijan. His clothes, of course, as well as his build, his height and everything about his appearance, except that he seemed to have aged since she had seen him last.

  She had noticed that—the aging—when she had first seen him. She had presumed he was tired. In the far recesses of her mind, a cruel voice had whispered that Kristijan’s past was catching up with him and now starting to show on his face.

  It came back to the kiss again. Everything came back to that.

  London hit him with it. “You were warm, when I kissed you last night. You were human hot.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone and his urbane expression slipped back into place. “You were drunk last night,” he pointed out.

  She shook her head. “Drunk, yes, but not enough to suffer hallucinations. It didn’t occur to me until this morning, anyway. You were nice at dinner.”