Shadow

by Nadine Nightingale

Me: Later.

  The Uber stops. I pay the driver and get out.

  Adjusting my baseball cap, I saunter down the street. I feel like an idiot carrying this stupid red rose. I need Karl’s help. So whatever.

  Panther Coffee crawls with people. It’s a favorite spot amongst locals. If Yelp is to be believed, they make wicked almond croissants.

  “Morning.” The barista greets me with a blinding smile. “What can I do for you today?” I worked the food business long enough to differentiate between faking it and loving his job. This one? He adores making coffee for grumpy-as-fuck people.

  I order an Americano and one of the delicious croissants. Then I hunt down a seat at the bar. Too bad there are none.

  A light tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  I spin, spotting a black-haired girl. “Yes?”

  “I’m about to head out,” she says, pointing at the bar stool she occupied. “You can sit here.”

  I ogle her steaming latte. “Nah, it’s okay. You can—”

  “Red roses.” She tilts her head, ogling the flower. “My favorite.”

  Next thing I know, she’s out the door.

  I park my ass on the seat she offered me. A brand-new iPhone sits on the counter. Damn, she must have forgotten it. I grab it, ready to run after her, but it rings. “Red Rose” flickers across the screen.

  I answer. “Hello?”

  “Black suits you well,” Karl chirps.

  I scan the coffee shop for him. Don’t see him. “Old dogs don’t change, huh?” He was a spy. Shouldn’t surprise me he keeps up the game in retirement.

  “What can I say, moy drug?” He chuckles. “One can’t be too careful.”

  “Agreed.” Gleb was murdered under the eyes of hundreds of people. Anything is possible.

  “So.” He blows out a heavy breath. “What can I do for you?”

  “I hoped we could talk in person,” I grumble, frustration seeping into my system.

  He laughs. “Miss me, huh?”

  I’m not in the mood for jokes. “I need your help, Karl.”

  “And you’ll have it.” He pauses. “So why don’t you tell me what this is about? Markus Boulder doesn’t just go around asking old farts like me for help. Unless—”

  “What do you know about Shadow?”

  Silence.

  “Karl?”

  “Ten’, huh?” He sighs heavily. “I should have known. Word on the street is you blame him for your brother’s death.”

  “He killed him,” I bark, loud enough to draw my seat-neighbor’s attention. The elderly lady cocks a brow, casts me a weird look, and continues with her crossword puzzle.

  “And now you think killing Shadow will bring you peace?” Karl inquires. “Is that why you took the job with the USSS?”

  I don’t even want to know how Karl caught wind of my mission, and I sure as fuck won’t talk peace of mind with an ex-KGB-SVR agent. “Can you help me or not?”

  “Of course,” he says, no hesitation. “Let me make a few calls. See what I can get my hands on.”

  Fuck. I was sorta hoping he could give me something now. Patience, Boulder. Patience. “Sounds good.”

  “Keep the phone,” he says. “The line is secure.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll have something for you in a few days max.”

  More disappointment floods me. A couple of days in Shadow’s world is enough to off half of Miami, let alone Deveraux junior. Which reminds me. “Karl?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “What do you know about Dimitri Volkov, formerly known as Dimitri—”

  “Orlov,” he cuts in. “Why are you asking?”

  “Shadow killed his son Friday night.”

  “I see.”

  “So?” I push after several moments of silence.

  Karl sighs. “Not on the phone. I’ll tell you everything when we meet.”

  “In a couple of days?” I grumble, annoyed.

  “I’ll be quick,” he promises.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” He waits a moment and adds, “Boulder?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. You have no fucking idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  I want Shadow dead, that’s all I need to know. “You know me,” I say, shrugging his concerns off.

  “Exactly.”

  • • •

  An hour later, Tiffany hauls me into her hotel room. No “hello,” no “how are you?” I knocked, she yanked the door open, seized hold of my shirt, and pulled me inside.

  Odd.

  “Whoa.” I straighten my shirt. “What’s with you?”

  She slams her hands on her hips. “What do you know about Deveraux’s girlfriend?”

  “Dasha?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice.

  “Answer the question,” she hisses through gritted teeth.

  Have you ever missed a couple of episodes of your favorite TV show, and when you tuned in the next time, you had no fucking clue why X fought with Z, or why W accused Y of cheating with the butler? That’s pretty much how I feel right now. Clueless.

  I swallow the pins and needles in my throat and cast Tiffany a talk-or-be-quiet-forever look. “Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “You told me to check out everyone present at the party, remember?”

  “I did.” I hoped we’d find Shadow like this. He had to have had an invitation to get past security. To inject Gleb, he also had to get real close to him. And I know for a fact that couldn’t have been easy. His daddy’s guys watched him from afar. Still, I never meant for Tiffany to check out Dasha. A.) She’s a petite little girl. B.) She’s Deveraux’s girlfriend. Pretty sure he already checked her out. Thoroughly.

  Tiffany paces the room. “Dasha was at the party, too.”

  How could I forget? She—

  “I couldn’t find shit about her, Boulder.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t find shit about her?” I ask, not sure what to make of the info she tossed at me.

  Tiffany halts in the middle of the room, facing me with eyes like flint. “Dasha Belaya,” Tiffany recites, eyes closed. “No bank account, no social media, no nothing.”

  “Maybe she’s a private person,” I justify the lack of Facebooking.

  Tiffany rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, give me a break.” She crosses her arms. “No one is that private. And how do you explain the fact she has no bank account, but lives in a fancy apartment complex in South Beach?”

  Isn’t it obvious? “She dates a billionaire, Tiff.”

  Tiffany’s expression is hard and unforgiving. “You have an explanation for everything when it comes to her, huh?” She moves closer. “Maybe it’s time you take off the pink glasses.”

  Heat flushes my cheeks. “I have no idea—”

  “Please,” she huffs. “Everyone can tell you’ve got it bad for her.”

  I don’t recall Tiffany ever seeing me with Dasha. But her words remind me of what Angela said before the auction started. Everyone sees the way you eye-fuck her.

  “Boulder.” Tiffany elbows me. “Still with me?”

  “Yes.” I frown. “And I think you’ve walked into crazy town if you truly believe Dasha could be Shadow.”

  “One,” her index finger shoots up, “I never said she’s Shadow. I said something about her isn’t right.” Her middle finger is in my face. “Two, why the fuck couldn’t she be Shadow?” She cocks a brow. “Because she’s a woman?”

  “Damn right, Tiff.”

  She snorts. “Someone ever tell you what a chauvinistic asshat you are?”

  She can accuse me of gender bias all she wants, but it won’t change my stand on Shadow. I’ve seen his art. Shoving dead Alexei into the trunk alone required a lot of muscle. No way in hell a woman of Dasha’s size and build could do it. And don’t even get me started on all the other shit the notorious assassin did.

  “Dasha isn’t Shadow. Period.”

  Tiffany looks me in the eye. “Again
, I didn’t say she was. But I do think you should have a little chat with her, find out why she’s such a mystery.”

  My brows fly up. “You want me to interrogate Deveraux’s girlfriend?” I laugh. “I bet he’d love that.”

  She slams a piece of paper in my hand. “He doesn’t have to know,” she retorts, pointing at the note. “That’s her address. Go talk to her. Preferably before I have to report back to London.”

  I ogle her handwriting. “And what do you want me to say? Shall I knock on the door and ask her if she’s working with a hitman? Or do you want me to frisk her for weapons?” It’s fucking ridiculous.

  Tiffany rolls her eyes. “I don’t care what you say or do. Just get me something.” Her shoulders droop. “I’ve got enough heat from London as it is.”

  “Fine.” I shove the paper in my pocket. “But I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time.”

  “Boulder.” She stops me at the door.

  “What?”

  “Never underestimate a woman.”

  “Thanks for the feminism lesson,” I grumble, slamming the door shut behind me.

  “I’m going to be the death of you, soldier.”

  Markus

  Phone tucked between shoulder and ear, the receptionist ogles me suspiciously. “Ma’am,” he says, not once taking his eyes off me. “There’s a visitor for you. Hold on.” He presses the heel of his palm against the phone speaker. “What’s your name again?”

  Fucking ridiculous. I’m not just talking about the receptionist’s inability to remember my name—which, by the way, I repeated at least ten times in the past two minutes. This—all of this—is fucking crazy. Me showing up at Dasha’s apartment to prove my pain-in-the-ass assistant wrong about her…Fuck, just the thought that Dasha is Shadow makes me burst with laughter and causes my heart to cramp at the same time.

  “Hey.” Receptionist snaps his fingers. “Name?”

  “Boulder.” I sigh. “Markus Boulder.”

  He takes his hand off the speaker. “Ma’am?” A slight pause, then, “He says his name is Mark Boulder.”

  “Markus,” I grumble, pissed to no end. The jerk has treated me like a criminal since the moment I stepped foot inside the very impressive money-reeking apartment complex.

  He ignores me. “Anything for you, ma’am.” Judging by the drool at the corner of his mouth, he’s got it bad for Dasha.

  I shouldn’t blame him. Fuck me, I do. That jealousy thing…it’s like a parasite from another planet, taking over without leaving you much control.

  “Follow me,” Jerk mutters, rising from his desk chair in extra-slow motion.

  On the way to the elevator, he scans me—head to toe. By the time he reaches my biceps, the green-eyed monster’s gotten to him, too. I start to think Dasha is the source of countless infections.

  We ride up to the tenth floor, neither of us speaking, both of us assessing the other. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re age-old rivals, fighting for the affection of the same woman. A woman who belongs to the son of the president of the United States of America. Jesus, we’re pathetic.

  “Last apartment on the right,” he mutters.

  I don’t thank him. Why would I? He’s been an asshole.

  Dasha is already waiting on me. She wears oversized pants, a hoodie, a messy bun, and her natural face. I’ve never seen her so…mundane? Somehow it makes her even more beautiful.

  She waits till I’m in hearing range. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Whoa, that isn’t what I expected. Last time she opened her mouth, she devoured my dick. Now, she’s spewing poison. As I said, not what I expected.

  I muster up my most charming smile. “Hello to you, too.”

  Shoulders pushed back, lips straight, she looks me dead in the eye. “What do you want?” Her voice is alien to me. So much darker. So fucking distant. I wonder if maybe she’s the one possessed by otherworldly parasites.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I ask softly.

  She crosses her arms. “No.”

  What the—

  Wait, is she hiding someone in there? A naked dude in her bed? A hot guy in her shower? Some—

  Focus, Boulder. It’s none of your business who’s in her bed. You’re here to put Tiffany’s mind at ease.

  “I’ll ask again,” she hisses. “What are you doing here, soldier?”

  Interrogating you? Proving you’re not affiliated with an assassin? Making sure you aren’t the killer? Yeah, I can see how well those answers would go. They’d earn me a slap. I’d deserve it, too. How about this, “I didn’t see you around yesterday.” True, she wasn’t at the mansion. In fact, she left Friday night with everyone else and hasn’t returned since. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I shrug. “It’s not every day you see a corpse.”

  “I’m Russian,” she spits back, as if it were the answer to everything. “I’ve seen plenty of corpses growing up.” This is what I came for—a glimpse of her pre-Deveraux life. It sounds terrible, by the way.

  “Did I upset you?”

  “No.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She bites back a smile. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

  “Then why are you acting as if I’m the fucking devil?” I need to know. I really do.

  “Why are you here?” she counters rather than answering my question. “How did you even get my address?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Obviously.”

  I inch closer. “So can I come—”

  The apartment door on the left opens. A gray-haired elderly woman and her French bulldog walk out. “Oh,” she flashes a big fat smile, “hello, Dasha.”

  Goddess’s lips curve upward. “Hello, Mrs. Miller.” She drops to one knee, patting the tail-wagging doggy. “How’s my girl, today?”

  Doggy climbs onto her lap and licks her face. She most likely needs a shower afterward.

  “She just loves you,” Mrs. Miller declares, obviously touched by her dog’s affection for the neighbor goddess. “Never seen her so cute with anyone but me.”

  “Well,” Dasha looks Doggy in the eye, “I love her, too.”

  Doggy barks. Probably declaring her undying love for her.

  “All right.” Mrs. Miller tugs on the leash, pulling Doggy away. “Time for your walk, Ginger.” She looks at Dasha but continues to speak to her dog. “Give the lovebirds some privacy.”

  Dasha balls her fists. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Mrs. Miller furrows her brows. “He’s not?”

  “No, ma’am.” I’m most certainly not.

  The gray-haired lady drinks me in. “Damn shame if you ask me.” Then she walks Doggy to the elevator.

  Dasha moves backward, reaching for the doorknob. “I have to go.”

  I cup her elbow. “Wait.”

  She looks so pissed, I’m afraid she’s going to use those punch combos I taught her on me. “Take your hands off me.” She’s dead serious.

  Her fucking defiance turns a switch. I inch closer, inhaling her incredibly sweet scent. “That’s not what you said Friday night.” Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m not that kind of guy. I understand “no,” and I never use sex against a woman.

  “Friday night?” She laughs hysterically.

  Heat sears my insides. “That’s funny?”

  She chokes the laughter back and nods. “Sure is, soldier.”

  “How about you let me in on the joke then?” Because I feel like a fucking idiot right now.

  “You don’t know?”

  “What don’t I know?”

  She studies me, long and hard. “You really don’t?” Her eyes are wide, her lips slightly apart. She’s startled.

  “What the hell is going on, Dasha?” One minute she gives me the blow job of my life, begging me to fuck her to Nirvana, the next she’s the ice queen and talking in code?

  She opens her door. “Doesn’t matter.”

  I seize hold of her hoodie. “The hell it
doesn’t.”

  “Forget I said anything, okay?”

  “No.” I’m a persistent bastard. “Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.” I almost add please. Almost.

  “You want to know?” She shakes her head a little. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.” I fucking do.

  “Friday night,” she says, sighing heavily, “was Will’s gift to you. A little ‘thank you’ for saving his life.”

  Did she just insinuate Will made her buy me at the auction? Did he ask her to suck my dick, too? Impossible. Why would she—

  She fucked Dimitri because Deveraux said so. Why wouldn’t she blow you for him?

  Disgust washes over me. I almost fucked a woman forced to please me? She…she didn’t want it?

  Deveraux’s odd remarks come back to me. “You’ll fucking love it.” Isn’t that what he said when I told him I had doubts about the auction? He knew Dasha was going to bid on me. Fuck, he—

  I’m going to kill the bastard myself. Shadow will have to get in line. Because I swear by my brother’s grave, I’ll kill that son of a bitch.

  “Soldier?” Dasha’s voice is galaxies away.

  I can’t bring myself to look at her. Not after what I’ve done.

  “Markus?” She grabs my wrist. “Hey, look at me.”

  I can never look at you again.

  Eyes closed, I try to get the raging storm inside me under control. “I-I’m sorry, Dasha.” I truly am. “I didn’t know. I would have never—”

  “Shh.” I feel her finger on my lips. “It’s okay.”

  In which fucking world? “Okay?” I bark. “It’s okay your boyfriend made you have sex with some random stranger?”

  “One, we didn’t have sex.” She rubs her palm up and down my arm, sending shivers down my spine. “Two, you’re not a random stranger.”

  Is she justifying the asshole’s actions? Up until two seconds ago, I wanted to murder Deveraux. Now, I just want to shake Dasha until she comes to her fucking senses. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” I’m half-yelling, half-pleading. “That asshole treats you like garbage. He passes you around like a joint, and you…”

  “I what?” she challenges. “I fuck his friends? Suck your dick? Am a whore?”

  “I never said that.”