Say It Again (First Wives)

by Catherine Bybee

  “Seems your alum has no need of the income I can offer.”

  “I warned you that might be the case.”

  “I wasted my time, Linette. You know how much I hate doing that.”

  “At least you haven’t wasted your money.”

  “And you have not earned a finder’s fee.”

  “It appears so.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Sasha tilted her head back and muttered in a language AJ didn’t understand. “A finder’s fee?”

  Neil stood and crossed to the computer, turned off the audio. “She didn’t sound upset about the loss of money.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact she’s taken it in the past.”

  AJ finished his drink, set the glass aside. “Or will in the future.”

  Sasha pushed up in her chair and reached for the keyboard. “I’m going to need coffee.”

  Neil placed a hand on hers. “This will all be here in the morning. The guys in LA are bored stiff. This will give them something to work on while you recharge.”

  “This is my—”

  “You’re right. And morning is in less than four hours.”

  Sasha looked like she was going to argue. Giving up . . . or maybe giving in to the fatigue that was hovering above them like smog, she removed another zip drive from her pocket and pressed it into Neil’s palm.

  “What’s this?”

  “Raw data from Linette’s computer. Along with a list of students. Past and present. I haven’t spent any time looking this over.”

  “We’ll get on it.” Neil reached for the drive.

  Sasha kept it slightly out of his reach. “I’m not used to asking for help.”

  Neil took the drive from her fingertips. “You didn’t ask.”

  She released a long-suffering sigh and turned toward AJ. “C’mon. I’ll show you to your room.”

  AJ turned toward Neil. “Thanks again.”

  Neil nodded once and moved to the seat Sasha had just vacated.

  AJ fell into step beside Sasha, grabbing his duffel bag on the way out of the room. They moved back to the foyer and main staircase. His feet felt like lead bricks now that he knew sleep was only a few feet away. “I could sleep on a sidewalk.”

  “Save that for another night.”

  They rounded the corner to a hallway with a half a dozen doors separated by a wide corridor.

  She stopped long enough to open a door. “This one is yours.”

  The room held a queen-size bed with muted colors of tan and beige. It was a little more formal than you’d see in a guest room in the States, but perfectly acceptable for a manor house in the English countryside.

  “Where’s Claire?” he asked.

  “Across the hall . . . why?”

  He dropped his bag, sat on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know. I didn’t realize she was an orphan. There’s no one outside of Richter for her to contact or depend on. The girl has a lot of attitude, but under all that has to be some vulnerability, maybe even a little fear of what’s coming.”

  Sasha looked over her shoulder to the empty hall. “I’ll put my money on her being just fine.”

  “Didn’t say she wouldn’t be fine, just that she might be scared.” Had Sasha been scared . . . when she left Richter for the first time and had to join the world without a family? Where did she go? Who helped her out? How had she met Neil . . . and what did he mean when he said Sasha didn’t need Pohl’s money?

  A hundred questions were there to be asked, and growing every hour.

  AJ yawned.

  She moved out of the room. “Get some sleep.”

  “Where’s your room?” he asked, coming to his feet.

  Is that a tired smile on her face?

  Yeah . . . it is.

  “You don’t have to worry about me being afraid,” she told him, and that tired smile grew.

  AJ shook off her comment. “Oh, no, no . . . that’s for me.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s a big place, I need to know where to go for protection.”

  That had her laugh enough to know his charm wasn’t completely lost on her. She took a few steps down the hall and opened the door next to Claire’s. “Satisfied?”

  “No. But I’m getting there.”

  She lifted a hand, showed him her palm. “Good night, Junior.”

  Only after she was securely inside her room did he move back into his room. He started to close the door and decided to leave it open a crack.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t like this. Any of it.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  Linette reached out and placed the palm of her hand on the side of Brigitte’s face. She wanted to smooth away the worry with the pad of her thumb, but the lines of stress were still there when she moved her hand away.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing. If Pohl has his way . . .”

  “He won’t. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for seven years. Now that it’s here, I won’t fail.”

  “I hate this.” The muscles on Brigitte’s arms tensed with unused energy.

  “Go, beat up your assistant. You’ll feel better.” It was a joke, one they used often.

  “Come over tonight,” Brigitte said in a softer voice.

  Linette shook her head. “I can’t, love. Too many people focused on me today. When things calm down . . .”

  There was no way around the disappointment in her eyes.

  Sasha sat across from AJ, a cup of coffee filling her hands. The man looked like he could use a week’s worth of sleep, but he’d gotten up before she had. She gave him points for that.

  The morning fog had yet to lift, and the view outside the windows gave a sense of security, as if the moisture in the air kept out anything bad and kept all the good inside.

  “Your friend Neil has quite the spread.”

  “It’s not his,” she told him. “This house belongs to his brother-in-law.”

  AJ glanced around the dining room. “Be sure and thank him for me.”

  “I will.”

  The Harrison estate had a full staff, even when there wasn’t anyone around to use it. One of the women who worked there brought out a try of scones and an assortment of jams. AJ looked up at the girl and mumbled a thank-you.

  She smiled with a blush. “Mr. Neil likes a full breakfast when he visits. Would you like the cook to make one for you as well?”

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “No bother at all. It’s what we do.”

  AJ glanced at Sasha, his eyes requesting help.

  “I’m sure if the cook prepares it, someone will eat it,” Sasha told her.

  The girl curtseyed. “Very well, mum.” And she was gone.

  AJ glanced over his shoulder as the girl left the room. “I’m used to pouring my own bowl of Froot Loops in the morning.”

  “Froot Loops is not on the English breakfast menu.”

  The coffee started a slow burn in her stomach. Sasha decided a scone was as good a source as any to keep that burn from becoming a hole.

  “How did you and Neil meet?”

  Not used to personal questions, Sasha answered as simply as possible. “Through Reed.”

  While she nibbled on her breakfast bread, AJ slathered cream on his and took a big bite. “So how did you meet Reed?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  He paused, looked at her over the knife in his hand. “I don’t have a hidden agenda, Sasha. It’s called getting to know someone. I ask a question, you answer. You ask a question . . . I answer.” He took another bite, talked around it. “Conversation.”

  She took her time swallowing. “I’m not good at that.”

  A slight gleam hit AJ’s eyes. “Conversation?”

  “Answering questions.”

  “So, we’re just supposed to sit here and watch each other eat?”

  She washed her bite down with her coffee. “You can go in the other room.”

 
His grin had the corners of her lips pulling up. There was light in his eyes that seemed to sparkle even brighter off the damp edges of his hair. His casual charm and patient questions might not have been her method of interrogation, but they seemed to be working on her.

  He placed both his elbows on the table and stared at her as he took another bite. His mouth was overly animated as he chewed. He repeated the action in complete silence, eyes glued to hers.

  Sasha gave up. “I met Reed while he was spying on my sister-in-law and her friends.”

  AJ stopped midchew. He quickly swallowed and wiped the cream from his lips. “I thought you said you were an orphan, that you didn’t have any family.”

  “I am and I don’t.”

  “Both your parents are gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have a brother?”

  She took a bite. “He’s dead.”

  Her short answers were killing him . . . she could see the frustration in his face. “I’ll give you the condensed version, and then we’re talking about something else.”

  AJ put his food down and rested his hands on the sides of his plate, offering his full attention.

  “My mother whored herself out to my father. After she had me, she attempted to blackmail him for money, so he murdered her.”

  AJ’s smile faded.

  “I grew up in a series of foster homes until I was old enough to be enrolled in Richter. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father’s wife, Alice . . . my half brother’s mother, knew about me the whole time. She kept me hidden at Richter, and Richter taught me how to defend and protect myself once I graduated. Once out, Alice was there, offering me employment to watch over her son, Fedor, and eventually his wife. Keep them safe from Alice’s then ex-husband, whom she didn’t trust. I had no idea Fedor was my half brother. But like all secrets, eventually things came to light. Alice died of cancer the same week my father murdered his own son.”

  AJ’s jaw had dropped open. “Jesus.”

  “No, I don’t think Jesus was there. I failed at keeping my brother alive, but I took Alice’s request to the grave and kept watch over Trina. Where I met Reed . . . and eventually Neil.”

  “And your father?”

  “He went after Trina through her second husband. I intervened. Now he’s dead.”

  AJ’s jaw dropped. “You killed him.”

  “I didn’t have the pleasure.” She rubbed her neck as if she still felt the man’s hands squeezing the life out of her. “Reed saved my life and the authorities took my father’s.”

  AJ blew out a breath. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

  “The night you and I met, you asked me what I would do if my sibling ended up dead.”

  “I remember that.”

  “I stopped at nothing to find the truth behind my brother’s death and didn’t even learn he was my brother until halfway through my investigation.”

  “That’s why you’re helping me.”

  Sasha sat back, willed her pulse to slow down. “That is why I started to help you. Now it’s personal.”

  He dropped his hands to the table. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He appeared genuinely concerned for her. Not that she knew what to do with that emotion. “Your turn.”

  “What?”

  “I told you my story. What’s yours?”

  A puff of breath came from his mouth. “Nothing like yours.”

  “Few are.”

  He sat back in his chair, picked up his coffee. “My father is guilty of many things, but murder isn’t one of them. He loves his career more than his family. He chased his political life all the way to Germany, as you know. Bounced around every time the White House changed hands. He expected all of us to bounce right along with him. My mother has stuck with him, for the most part. I head butted authority, as you found out. Guilty of theft because I could, not because I needed what I stole.”

  “Breaking and entering? Grand theft?” she asked, knowing that’s what she had read about him.

  “Yeah. All to gain attention from Daddy. Which I did. He was six months from taking the position in Germany and he gave me an ultimatum. Richter, with my sister . . . or the military.”

  “You didn’t do either.”

  “No. I told him to screw off. Finished high school and went to community college for a couple of years.” He finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. He grabbed the pot warming on the sideboard and refreshed his cup and then hers as he talked. “I straightened up my shit.”

  “You wanna start over with that comment?” Sasha asked, her question a warning.

  “I got better at what I did,” he confessed. “Had a close call a couple years ago.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  AJ met her stare. “Same reason you put on wigs and flee the country with fake passports. Adrenaline. It’s never boring.”

  “Stealing cars is nothing more than an adrenaline rush?”

  He didn’t even attempt to look embarrassed about his choice of extracurricular activities.

  “I’ve considered giving it up.”

  She shook her head. “No, you haven’t.”

  “I have. I just need something else to take its place and a good reason to find something else to do with my time.”

  “Like searching for your sister’s murderer?”

  Some of AJ’s smirk left his lips. “I haven’t stolen one car since her death.”

  “How do you stay under the radar?” she asked. Because while they assumed AJ still had sticky fingers, she and Reed weren’t finding any concrete proof he was actively stealing anything.

  He paused, his lips pressed together.

  “It’s called getting to know you, AJ.” She used his words against him.

  He smiled. “I work alone.”

  “You have to have some contacts when off-loading . . .”

  He shook his head. “Where is the fun if I tell you all my secrets?”

  He had a point.

  Sasha leaned back. “So Amelia went to Germany and studied at Richter, and you moved to Florida.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did Amelia go to Richter?”

  AJ sat back down. “Dad said it was to keep her safe. As if the US ambassador to Germany was some great target,” he said with doubt. “He wanted Amelia contained in a boarding school so he didn’t feel guilty about being an absentee dad. When he moved on from his job in Germany, Amelia stayed her final year.”

  “Did she ever tell you why she stayed?”

  “No. We didn’t spend a lot of time together after she graduated. Holidays, that kind of thing. I should have gone to Richter with her.” He sighed when he said the last part of his thought. Guilt hovered in his eyes.

  “It wouldn’t change the facts now.”

  AJ locked eyes with her. “If you could go back and spend time with your brother, would you?”

  A strange knot in her throat made her swallow. “You can’t go back.”

  “Doesn’t make me stop wishing I could.”

  “Waste of energy.”

  “You’re right. So I do the next best thing. Make sure whoever is responsible for her death pays.”

  Footsteps in the hall outside of the dining room interrupted them.

  Neil appeared in the doorway, a laptop in his hands. “We have a new development.”

  That’s never good.

  He placed the computer on the table and brought up a news channel.

  “The missing student from Richter, a private boarding school known for its program to help troubled teens.”

  A picture of Claire in her school uniform flashed on the screen.

  “The girl was ordered by the court to attend Richter until she came of age or face possible criminal charges, which leads authorities to believe she didn’t leave on her own will. A person of interest in the case is Sasha Budanov-Petrov. Daughter of Ruslan Petrov, a man who escaped the criminal justice system many times before his death two years ago. It is said his daughter w
as responsible for his death.”

  “Lies.” Sasha watched the fabrication on the screen and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from slamming a fist on the table.

  “Miss Petrov is no stranger to disappearing and never being seen again. The German authorities would like to bring this woman in for questioning before she can disappear with the missing teenage girl.”

  The cameras moved to the walls outside Richter, and in front of a half a dozen microphones, Geoff Pohl stood in his perfectly pressed suit and fake concern. “I’m the longtime benefactor for young Claire and students like her. Kids that have taken a detour and simply need the discipline to find the right path here at Richter. We’re unsure why Miss Petrov would abduct poor Claire, but we want her back.”

  “Abduct?” AJ asked the screen.

  “Once again, here are the most recent pictures of the missing seventeen-year-old and the woman of interest in her disappearance.”

  AJ reached out and placed a hand over Sasha’s.

  “Slimy media calling you Petrov,” Neil muttered.

  She would just as soon die than use her biological father’s last name.

  “Because a minor is involved, authorities have been notified throughout Europe to be on the alert.”

  Neil turned off the computer and closed the lid. “We need to get you out of Europe.”

  “Creepazoid was my benefactor?”

  Claire stood in the doorway, her face a sheet of white.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “He was the one waiting for me to graduate to give me a job?”

  Sasha could imagine what kind of job that would be.

  “You don’t have to worry about that now,” Sasha told her.

  Neil crossed his arms over his chest. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Eighteen.”

  “Pohl said you were seventeen,” AJ said.

  “He’s lying. Ask my roommates. We celebrated my eighteenth birthday with liquor we stole from Checkpoint Charlie’s stash.”

  AJ turned to Sasha. “Wouldn’t the authorities check those facts before going through all this?”

  Sasha thought of the room in the subterranean levels of Richter, of the time Linette showed her the many copies of her birth certificates. “We’re not the only ones who can obtain a fake passport . . . or birth certificates.”