“You go.” Dmytro’s tone didn’t leave too much room for an argument. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Then why’d you put on a swimsuit?”
“To blend in.”
That was absurd. “I hate to tell you—”
“Plus, I didn’t want to sweat through my clothes. It feels like Bali in here.”
“It’s not fair to you if you can’t go in.”
“Why should it be?” Dmytro’s amusement wasn’t very flattering. “I’m working. I’ll wait out here.”
“All right.” Ajax slid a glance his way. He hadn’t acted stupid yet. Now if he could only remember how to breathe. “How do I know you won’t lock me in?”
“You don’t.”
“But—”
“Get in or you’ll lose your chance.” Dmytro sat with his towel on his lap. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe, not play stupid pranks.”
Ajax couldn’t resist the joke. “Um, is that a gun in your towel or—”
“Yes.” Dmytro’s face held no humor. “My rule is, if I take it out, I get to use it on the first person who annoys me.”
“That’s not a very rational rule. Or safe.”
“Not for you,” Dmytro agreed.
“Just so you know, I don’t believe even a tenth of your tough-guy act because the little girls in that picture on your phone aren’t being raised by a monster.”
Dmytro turned away, but not before Ajax saw a hint of doubt. Maybe the girls were a sore point, or maybe he simply believed he was a monster. He certainly spent all his time trying to make Ajax think he was.
But no way. For all his sour looks and gruff demeanor, he couldn’t hide the loving expression on his face when he looked at his daughters. He was in their pocket, totally.
And that, more than anything else, more than Dmytro’s skill set or the fact Ajax’s parents believed Iphicles Security was the best, made Ajax decide to trust him.
Chapter 6
AFTER HE watched Ajax disappear into the box, Dmytro’s heart hurt. His girls weren’t being raised by a monster, but they weren’t being raised by their father either. They were at home with his sister-in-law so that he could protect Ajax Fairchild.
He secured his weapon carefully in the towel on his lap before pulling out his phone and staring at it, willing Liv to text another update.
Thank God Ajax gave up and left him alone with his thoughts.
Dmytro didn’t mind being on the road. He was adept at traveling light, wasn’t fussy about food, and he could sleep anywhere. But he’d never realized how painful it could be going weeks without seeing his girls in person. They grew so fast. They had adventures that changed them—trips to the library, events at school, and games he couldn’t be part of.
He’d told Ajax he was there for the cash, and it was sadly true. If it weren’t for money, of course he’d get the first job he could find at a burger place or building store. He’d work construction.
But there was health care for the girls to consider. Insurance. The cost to have a home he could raise them in safely. In any other job, he’d work harder, earning pennies on the dollar, whereas Iphicles paid him gangster-style—his checks had commas before zeros, for God’s sake—and they treated him as a much-valued employee.
Not only that, Iphicles had facilitated his citizenship and helped him navigate the byzantine paperwork involved in bringing his daughters here and procuring his house. He owed them an enormous personal debt.
The advantage of Iphicles was they ran like organized criminals but got higher salaries and worked at a slower pace. No one who had a job with Iphicles surrendered it, except to death.
But that left him on the outside, looking into the windows of his own home, sometimes literally, when he had to make a flight and only had enough time to reassure himself his girls were okay before leaving again.
Once or twice, he’d waited under the eaves in the darkness, rain pouring down his collar, hand poised to call Zhenya and tell him he was out.
He wasn’t a monster. He was only a bad parent.
Since Ajax had experience with remote parenting, maybe Dmytro could glean something from studying him—some way to avoid the most egregious pitfalls, like the “boring family vacations” Ajax’s parents never went on.
He hadn’t missed Ajax’s words or the sound of utter loneliness in them. Ajax had spent his childhood without his parents. The weary resignation in his voice when he talked about them and the accompanying bewildered pride, as if they should belong to everyone but him… hurt more than Dmytro could say.
Maybe that was something he could work on with Pen and Sasha.
He opened the gallery of pictures they had drawn and made a couple comments. His phone jiggled—Sasha responding, although she should have been fast asleep.
“Sasha?”
“Daddy! When are you coming home? I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Soon, I hope. Business is far more tiresome than peewee soccer.”
She snorted. “It’s not even soccer season.”
“I know. How was T-ball?”
And just like that, Sasha was off and running with a play-by-play. Every now and again, Dmytro had to wonder if he’d be less miserable at home or if he’d simply find new things to be miserable about. Liv called him a sad sack, but he and Yulia had laughed often. Yulia made things fun for everyone, and he’d always hoped he could be the same without her.
Maybe without her goodness, her humor and warmth, he had nothing to draw on anymore. He’d stolen those things along with her life when his deadly businesses came calling and found them all at home.
Ajax came out, looking pale. He took several deep breaths before asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? It’s amazing! And you can kill someone just as easily from inside as outside, if you ask me.”
He put his hand over the phone and glared hotly. “Do you mind? I’m on the phone.”
“Who is that? Is that Uncle Bartosz?” Sasha asked.
“No. No one you know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to go to work now. Spokiyno moye anhel. Be good. Kiss Pen for me.”
“Bye, Daddy. Kisses!”
He hung up his phone and dropped it back into his shirt pocket. Ajax didn’t go back in the sauna; instead, he stood in the opening, watching Dmytro, letting the steam out.
“You look so sad when you talk about your girls.”
Dmytro shrugged. “No father can be with his children every minute.”
Even to his own ears, he sounded defensive.
Ajax left the sauna to grab a chair and noisily drag it over the cement floor. Dmytro gave a quick check over his shoulder. This was so stupid; they were sitting ducks there. “If you don’t want to get in the sauna, then why are we—”
“I will. Give me a minute.” He sat and clasped his hands between his knees, expression earnest, if uncertain as hell. God, by this boy’s age, Dmytro had killed a man. The man had put hands on the boss’s daughter, who was only thirteen at the time, and deserved killing, but—
Ajax bit his lip before speaking. “Okay, um. I know we don’t know each other and we come from totally different walks of life.” When Dmytro started to speak, he plunged on. “But I want you to know from my experience, it’s not always the amount of time you spend with your kids but how you act when you’re with them.”
Surprised by Ajax’s insight, Dmytro asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean… oh. How important you make them feel to you? I’ve never doubted my parents’ love, not once.”
“But by your own admission, you spent your childhood alone. You said yourself you’ll do anything for attention. To me, that sounds like you were a very lonely boy. I worry my Sasha and Pen will—”
“Be like me?” Ajax laughed. “Nah. I’m unique, I think.”
Dmytro hid a smile. “No kidding.”
“I was never alone. There were caregivers, bodyguards. Mom says I have an insatiable appetite for attention, but I got it. And remember, yo
ur Sasha and Pen have each other. I never had a brother or sister.”
Dmytro pressed his lips together. “I had brothers.”
“There are more like you? Oh my God.” Ajax’s brows lifted.
“Several older brothers, in fact. I come from an old-school pro-Russian Ukrainian military family, and let’s just say I didn’t fit the mold. My oldest brothers all made my father proud, whereas I refused on principle to do anything he wanted. Mostly we didn’t get along.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I had brothers.”
Lowering his eyes, Dmytro admitted, “I was only close to the second-youngest.”
Ajax asked, “Did you stay in touch?”
Dmytro rubbed his earlobe. “After I married Yulia, we talked some.”
Ajax was silent too long before he asked, “What’s Yulia like?”
“Why do you want to know?” Dmytro lifted his gaze. He should have gone into the sauna with Ajax—it would have been more comfortable. It would have felt more like a confessional, and now he was cold. This was like asking for absolution in front of a glass window—somehow, Ajax could see into his soul.
“I just want to know.” Ajax grinned. “I’m very curious.”
“Like sunflowers.” Dmytro glanced down at his empty hands. “She was like armfuls of sunflowers. She delighted the eye, the heart. Everyone she met felt better after they spent time with her.”
“She was?” Ajax startled. “Past tense?”
“I’m a widower.” Dmytro expelled a breath.
“I’m so sorry.” Ajax covered his mouth with both hands. “I didn’t know. Oh my God. That’s awful.”
Dmytro couldn’t bear it—opening his mouth, his wounds, for this boy who had never known a day of trouble in his life. Why had he done it? It had been so long since he’d confided anything about his life in someone. Why, oh, why had he poured his thoughts into the vacuum created by Ajax Fairchild’s empty words?
Ajax’s eyes had misted in a show of empathy, and now Ajax reached a tentative hand out to cover his. At his touch, old feelings—shadows he’d turned away from when he’d married Yulia—rushed over him.
He’d mostly fled from those urges at home and planned to keep running in America, but Ajax was a perfect storm of good looks and sex appeal and provocation. In any other circumstances, it would be impossible to resist him.
For seconds that felt like eons, he watched Ajax’s pupils blossom. They swallowed the brilliant green of his eyes until there was hardly any color left.
“It is what it is.” Dmytro pulled his hand back, palms suddenly sweaty. He wiped them on his shirt and ordered, “Get back in the sauna. I didn’t come down here with you to chitchat.”
“You lost someone you loved.” Ajax blinked back tears. “It’s okay to have emotions.”
“I have emotions.” Dmytro spoke tersely. “I simply don’t play ‘show and tell’ with them at work. Get back in the sauna or we return to the room. Your choice, Mr. Fairchild.”
Shit, shit, shit. If Bartosz had seen what transpired between them, he might call Zhenya and have Dmytro reassigned. Or worse, Bartosz might take Ajax up on what he seemed to be offering. Dmytro needed to find solid ground again. He had to fight this dangerous attraction to his client. He had to run from the appealing empathy on Ajax’s face.
This is your job. Ajax Fairchild is your job.
Best to remember that, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter 7
Ajax Freedom. When you think you’re safe, I will tear you apart and look upon your insides, where the rot and filth reside.
AJAX SAID stiffly, “Sorry,” and jerked the door to the sauna closed behind him. It felt like Denver inside—hot and dry and relentless. He was still thinking about Dmytro, about his losses. How had he survived losing his wife? Sounded like she was the love of his life. She was like an armful of sunflowers.
Ajax gave her a moment of silence, much like he did for Anton every now and again. He wished for better things, a better future for Dmytro and his little girls. But he’d never been good with long silences or tight places, and this was no exception.
“You ever been to Denver?” he called through the door.
Dmytro’s one-syllable answer might have been yes, or it might have been no. Maybe he was on the phone again.
Despite Dmytro’s physical strength and toughness, Ajax had a hard time picturing him trail hiking or rock climbing in the environs around Denver. It was too friendly. Too amiable and open for a guy like Dmytro.
He could picture Dmytro in Budapest, or perhaps Prague. They seemed like a natural fit for him. Highly romantic, exotic places with immense history seemed perfect for a dangerous, repressed man like the one sitting outside the sauna doors in a skimpy swimsuit, holding a gun in a towel.
He stepped out only to find Dmytro had moved one of the heavy cast metal chairs next to the entrance where he could block anyone coming in. Also, from there he could avoid conversation. It was as far away from Ajax as he could get. Ajax didn’t need subtitles to read the man’s mood. He put his phone away.
“Was that your daughter?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“That’s so subtle.”
“Do I appear to be a subtle man?”
Ajax toweled sweat off his body. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
Dmytro glanced away, presumably to give Ajax some privacy while he rinsed off under the shower before getting into the hot tub. Why did Dmytro worry about Ajax’s privacy when his own Lycra suit showed every vein on what appeared to be a long, thick cock?
Bad enough Ajax’s godfather Zhenya was such a beautiful man. Zhenya’s partner, Anton, had been something of a cherished ideal while Ajax was growing up—a manly statue come to life who played with him and later made his nights a torment of inexplicable longing. He’d died before Ajax was old enough to realize what his yearnings really meant, but Ajax had never forgotten his first love.
Dmytro had the look of Anton—a similarly hewn jaw and an equally narrow, sharp nose. But Anton’s hair had been lighter, and where Anton’s eyes had been darker blue, the color of Ajax’s mother’s Wedgewood bric-a-brac, Dmytro’s eyes were like looking through the windows from their penthouse on a winter day.
He slipped into the hot water with a gasp of pleasure. “Why aren’t you coming in again?”
“Because I can’t shoot from under water?”
“You’re off your game,” Ajax teased. “That wasn’t a question.”
“I phrased it as one, so it counts.”
“Neither was that.” Ajax swam the short distance from one side of the hot tub to the other and back. “How long have you worked for Iphicles?”
“Long time.” Dmytro didn’t relax one iota.
Ajax sat on the bench in front of a jet and let his arms fall on the deck to either side. Nice to feel the water pulse against his stiff muscles. “Zhenya is my godfather. Did you know? He and his partner, Anton, used to trade off going with my family whenever we had to leave the country. But Anton was killed in a plane crash.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever meet Anton?”
There seemed to be some hesitation on Dmytro’s part. Ajax caught a fleeting look of unhappiness. “Yes.”
“You look like him.”
“He was”—Dmytro frowned—“from Ukraine. Like me.”
“I loved Anton, for real.” The heat on Ajax’s face had nothing to do with the spa. “His death was devastating for everyone in my family, but especially for me.”
“Me too.”
“His eyes were darker blue than yours, but other than that, you could be brothers.”
“Our mother used to call his ultramarine. She painted, you see, and”—an unwary smile appeared on Dmytro’s lips—“she called mine cerulean.”
“You were brothers?” Ajax couldn’t help the burst of shock and sorrow. “God, I’m sorry I even mentioned him. Nobody told me. You lost two people you were close to. You must be so—�
��
“We are brothers,” Dmytro said quietly. “There’s nothing death can take away from us.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Ajax wanted to drown. “I just saw the resemblance—”
“There were four of us, but the other three were years older.” Dmytro shrugged. “I was a surprise, as you can imagine. Anton and I didn’t see one another often. Didn’t have a lot in common since he moved to America when I was ten. But I miss him.”
Me too, thought Ajax. Of all their bodyguards, he’d liked Anton best. “What does that make you? Thirty-five?”
“Thirty-six.” Dmytro seemed far away. “Just last week.”
“Happy birthday.” Ajax swam to the other side of the hot tub and back again.
“Thank you.”
The surface of the floor was gritty and would sand the skin off his feet if he walked on it too much. He knew he should get out. He was hungry and dehydrated, but he didn’t want to leave the magical no-man’s-land he’d created here—the ceasefire—where he could ask questions and Dmytro answered.
“Did your daughters throw you a birthday party?”
“My sister-in-law helped them make me breakfast in bed.” Even though Ajax had brought up his dead brother, the idea of those girls made Dmytro smile.
“That’s cool. I cook for my mom when she visits. I make her diner food like patty melts and Monte Cristo sandwiches. She never eats stuff like that when I’m not around.”
“Maybe there’s a reason she doesn’t order those. Does she even like them?”
“Nah, she likes it. It’s just a special thing between us.”
“I haven’t met your parents yet.” Dmytro deflected away from himself, more was the pity. “Tell me all about them.”
“I really can’t.” They valued their privacy. The fact he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life was a sore point between them.
The problem was, Ajax actually liked his parents as people. He was proud of them. They did interesting, important things, even if they mostly put him in a comfy box somewhere safe while they did them. That was why the whole misguided Ajax Freedom adventure was so painful for everyone. He’d been playing the part of entitled, privileged asshat—which wasn’t his story. Well. Not his whole story, anyway.
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