Chapter Seven
Ava accepted another handshake and a murmured thank-you and congratulations from yet another board member. She and her ladies hadn’t been able to even think about heading for the door just yet. Francesca was deep in conversation with Jameson about the scholarship program. Tegan and Kayla were talking to another board member about some of the community-based projects that Kayla had been trying to get off the ground to help the tenants in her buildings in Southie. And that left Ava, unfortunately, unattended when Stedman approached.
Sometimes she was so deeply aware of how much she disliked this man. It wasn’t just because she had been married to him and he was a jerk, either. Being around Stedman caused a gut reaction within her body that was horribly unpleasant. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he approached. Her stomach wound itself into tiny knots, and her heart rate rose exponentially. She knew exactly what it was. Her therapist had told her not long after her marriage ended that the body had a visceral reaction to people who exhibited all the signs of classic and sometimes dangerous personality disorders. And Stedman most certainly fell under the heading of deviously crazy, any day of the week.
“Hello, Ava.” He bared his teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. “I must admit that I’m surprised to see you here. You haven’t shown one iota of interest in this company since our divorce was final.”
“Not true.” She raised her brows. “I vote by proxy in every board election and cast my vote whenever there’s a company policy issue I feel strongly about.”
“I guess we haven’t received your ballots.” Stedman barely managed to gloat.
“I noticed,” she said drily. “Which is why I will be attending all of the meetings from now on to make sure that my interests and the interests of our children are protected.”
“Ralston is fine.” Stedman’s gaze flicked toward Tegan. “And Tegan should have married.”
“You were ever eager to sell her to the highest bidder,” Ava agreed. “Fortunately, my daughter is far too smart for that. And now that she’s stopped worrying about pleasing you, she can focus on the really important things in life.”
He looked annoyed. “Like what?”
“Putting you behind bars,” Ava said sweetly. “After all of this running around and speculating and trying to gather evidence, I think I’ve finally decided what it is that I want.”
“Me in jail?” Stedman scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “That will never happen.”
Ava had the satisfaction of noticing that Stedman’s once good looks and muscular build had gone to fat. His nose was turning red because of his heavy drinking, and the stress was starting to make his hair thin. Perhaps there was justice in the world after all.
“What’s the matter, Stedman,” Ava said mockingly. “Are you starting to get a little worn out with all of this clandestine running about? Murdering Anton, burying the body in your backyard, it’s all a little more activity than you’re used to.”
Oh, she’d made an impression all right. He actually stumbled back a step. “Hush your mouth, you hellion,” he snarled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Throwing accusations around like that will get you nowhere!”
Just then, Ava’s phone trilled in her pocket. She knew it was Nash. She was mad at him, but pulling out the phone was a surefire way to put Stedman very firmly in his place. Then she read the display and could not help but laugh out loud.
“What is your problem?” Stedman started to reach for her and then dropped his hand as she gave it an icy glare. If he touched her, she was going to have him arrested.
“I just got some information that might interest you,” Ava told him in a low voice. “Let’s just say your backyard is about to host a bevy of treasure-hunting Russians.”
The blank expression on Stedman’s face was priceless. So was the way his face paled beneath his fake tan. Yes. He was most definitely on the run. Now, they just had to close the trap and make sure he was in it.
*
“I think we almost died,” Quentin commented quietly as Nash steered his SUV away from the curb.
Nash wasn’t ready to go that far just yet, but there had certainly been more than a few tense moments. “At least we didn’t go in the dark,” Nash observed.
“Oh yeah. Because it’s so much better to see death coming than to have it take you by surprise,” Quentin said sarcastically.
“The question is, what next?” Nash suddenly swerved toward the far right lane.
Quentin grabbed the handles and practically hung from the roof as the vehicle hit a crazy angle. “What are you doing? Trying to kill us?”
“We’re going to the local FBI field office,” Nash decided. “I want to see what those crazy Russians were talking about. Sergei Yurevich. Why does that name seem so familiar?”
“It was in Analise’s report,” Quentin said tersely. “The one she emailed after she supposedly switched sides.”
Nash shot Quentin a dirty look. “I don’t want to hear all of your conspiracy theories about how Analise and Ralston are really selling us down the river and going independent.”
Quentin grunted. He had been telling Nash since Analise first approached them with her scheme to pretend to switch loyalties because of her love for Ralston. Quentin believed that Ralston was actually trying to play Stedman and Ava against each other and Analise was too infatuated with Ralston to see the truth. Nash kept telling himself that he could trust Analise, but there were days he was afraid that Quentin was right.
“I don’t need that kind of dissention right now, okay?” Nash pointed at Quentin. “What do you remember about the report?”
“Analise claimed that Stedman tried to bring in this New York Bratva contact named Sergei Yurevich. Analise sniffed him out for a federal informant.”
“Wasn’t Anton there when that happened?” Nash demanded. He vaguely remembered reading about this, but Quentin was the one with the quiet mind for details.
Nash steered the SUV down the street and headed deeper into the city of Boston. The buildings stretched high on both sides of the narrow street, and the traffic grew thick. Finally, Nash swerved out to the right and then executed a highly illegal U-turn that had horns blaring and tires squealing. He gunned the engine and put the SUV into a spot on the curb. It went without saying that none of the surrounding motorists appreciated the move.
“Fuck!” Quentin snarled. “Where did you learn to drive? NASCAR?”
Nash laughed. “You would think you’d grown up in a town with one stoplight and a Piggly Wiggly.”
“I did!” Quentin sounded disgruntled. “Just because you grew up in Saint Louis where the drivers are hostile and too plentiful for the roads to handle does not mean the rest of us like your style of dealing with traffic.”
Nash shoved his door open and got out. “Quit moaning like a baby, and get out of the car. You know we’re not going to be exactly welcome in there.”
In fact, it would have been correct to say that Nash and Quentin were hated on sight as soon as they pushed open the front door of that field office. It wasn’t a big place. The building was square, and the FBI office occupied the first three floors. As soon as Nash stepped inside and his feet hit the big FBI seal on the tile entry, he could feel the instant animosity.
Oh well. Screw them. Nash marched up to the front desk. “I need to speak to the agent in charge of the Bratva here in Boston.”
The young man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a woman in a tight pencil skirt. “That’s all right, Jonah. I’ll deal with this.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. Behind him, he could feel Quentin bristling from the implied insult. Nash put out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
She stared at the hand but didn’t offer her own. “Let’s just say that you and your company’s reputation are well established within our ranks, Jason Nash.”
The obvious effort to “put him in his place” fell flat with Nash. He closed his hand and gave th
e woman a hard look. “And you are? Because, I’m sorry, but apparently, you’re not well enough known to be a blip on my radar.”
Her lips thinned into a tight line. “I’m Special Agent Miranda Brookes.”
“And, Special Agent Brookes,” Nash began silkily, “what is it that you think you know about me and my associates?”
“You are brash, ham-handed, and completely out of your jurisdiction, Mr. Nash.” Brookes’s tone grew hard.
She put her hands on her hips for emphasis. Since she didn’t really have much in the way of curves, it didn’t really make an impact. Nash didn’t figure she would appreciate his mental inventory of her assets, or lack thereof. Besides, poking at her wouldn’t get him anywhere.
“Ham-handed,” Nash mused. “There’s a new one.”
“What do you want?” she demanded.
From the corner of his eye, Nash saw the little guy behind the front desk flinch. Apparently, Miranda Brookes was well known here but not universally liked. Nash kept that in the back of his mind. “What do you know about Sergei Yurevich?”
Her expression was all ugliness and aggression. “I know he was well placed to bring the entire Bratva down until your agent ratted him out!” Miranda snarled.
Now he understood where all of the hostility was coming from. “I’m sorry. Did you put all of your eggs in one proverbial basket?” Nash made a tsking noise. “Don’t they teach you not to do that in FBI school?”
“You know what?” Miranda held up her hand. “Screw you. Just get out of here. You’re obviously going to do what you want, and you have friends in high enough places that I can’t drag you down and kick you out of my town, but I don’t have to help you.”
Nash sighed. “Well, since I know how to be a grown-up, I’ll keep you informed if I ever have anything that might be useful.” Nash kept his gaze locked on her as she walked away. “You know. Helpful information, like where Anton’s body is buried and who killed him. Oh. And also information about the Russians going to dig up Anton’s body sometime today and how they’re probably going to try and take Stedman down for the murder.”
Miranda Brookes spun around so fast that she almost toppled over in her stiletto heels. “What?” she yelped.
“You heard me.” Nash turned. “But I’m nothing but a thorn in your side, so I’ll just go.”
“Get your ass back over here.” Brookes had certainly changed her tune. “I want to hear this story you’re trying to sell.”
Chapter Eight
The ladies decided to hit Chotzky’s for dinner to celebrate their boardroom victory. The restaurant was the official favorite of the Boston social elite, at least the female half. Men were rarely found inside and only when they’d been dragged there to meet a prospective mother-in-law, or if they were attempting to smooth things over with a significant other.
The restaurant had once belonged to Ava’s family. Through a host of bad investments, and a good deal of Stedman Hyde-Pierson’s influence, Ava’s family had to sell. The staff had never seemed to get over it. The manager and most of the wait staff had been working at Chotzky’s for years, and Ava had always been treated like family.
“Ava!” Noelle was standing at the hostess booth, looking over a seating chart. She was the current owner’s daughter and a childhood acquaintance of Ava’s. “It’s so good to see you. Let me take you to your usual table.”
Ava glanced around at the people waiting in the foyer to be seated. “If you’re busy, we can wait.”
Noelle picked up four menus. “Nonsense! You ladies come right this way.”
“I love coming here with Ava,” Francesca sighed. “It’s like being a celebrity.”
Tegan grunted. “Yeah. Mom really has her way at this place.”
“Would you stop being so critical?” Kayla poked Tegan in the shoulder. “You’re such a bitch sometimes.”
They took their seats, and within a few minutes, they had glasses of iced tea and a basket of scrumptious bread to munch on while the waitress took their order to the kitchen. Ava glanced around the table and realized that the other three women were just staring at each other. The strange expressions flying back and forth gave Ava a bad feeling.
“So.” It was Francesca who finally spoke. “Let’s talk about Jason Nash.”
Ava should have known this was coming, dammit. It felt like an intervention. “What do you want to talk about? He’s a condescending jerk with serious control issues.”
“Yes.” Kayla nodded her head emphatically. “I would totally agree, but you love him anyway, and that’s what we need to talk about.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” Ava wasn’t about to drag her personal problems out onto the table for them to pick at.
Tegan cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Mom? You were the one who butted into all of our lives and played matchmaker. It’s your turn.”
“I’m too old for that,” Ava said quickly. She needed to turn the conversation.
“Ha!” Tegan pointed at Ava and bounced in her seat. “Francesca is your age, and she’s a freaking cougar! Nash is your age too. So, don’t even try to use that for an excuse.”
Francesca looked miffed. “Hey! Don’t make me sound like one of those creepy older women that stalks younger men.”
“It’s not like that anymore,” Kayla assured her. “It’s a real thing. I promise. Besides, you and Quentin are amazing together.”
Fortunately for Ava, they all started off on a tangent about how cute and perfect Quentin and Francesca were for each other. It bought Ava some time, but they really had her, and there was no way of getting around it. Ava had most certainly intervened in their lives when she’d found it appropriate to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid to screw up the possibility of finding love. The fact that they’d all latched onto men—or a woman in Ralston’s case—who were also employees of Nash Security Solutions had not been intentional. It was more convenience than anything else.
“Come on, Aunt Ava,” Kayla coaxed. “Let’s just talk about why you won’t give Nash a chance.”
“Won’t give Nash a chance?” The words burst out of Ava’s mouth as though she could not contain them. “Are you kidding me? It isn’t me! He’s the pigheaded idiot who keeps saying that he can’t be with me because it compromises his integrity!” She couldn’t help the mocking tone that popped out with that last sentence. It was so irritating that she could not think even about it without getting pissed off.
“Yeah, that’s lame,” Kayla agreed. Then she looked at Francesca. “What did Quentin tell you?”
“You discuss this with your boyfriends?” Ava looked at each one of them. “Not. Cool.”
“They know Nash better than we do,” Tegan argued. “It’s logical for us to ask their opinions.”
Ava snorted. “I’m sure they’re thrilled.”
“Actually, we’ve been told to butt out several times,” Kayla admitted. “But we’re determined to see you happy like we are.”
It was a sweet sentiment, even if it was a little misplaced. Ava sighed. “Look. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but the problem is that Nash and I are both a little too stubborn and set in our ways to make a go of a relationship. All right? We would be horrible together. We fight every second, and that’s probably only going to get worse as time goes on.”
“Oh, why?” Tegan rolled her eyes. “Because you’re both getting more crotchety as time passes? Seriously, Mom, you would think you were eighty instead of forty.”
“I’m almost fifty,” Ava said drily. “You keep thinking that I’m a lot younger than I am.”
“I suppose it’s because you don’t look fifty,” Tegan argued. “So, why don’t you stop acting like your life is over and take a chance that there could still be something really great out there for you?”
It was a valid question. Ava just wasn’t sure she was ready to find out the answer.
*
“Tell me again why I should share any kind of information with you?�
�� Nash would have been lying if he had tried to say he didn’t like this, having one up on snooty FBI Special Agent Brookes. “You just told me in no uncertain terms that not only do you not need my help, but that you would have me arrested if you could.”
FBI SSA Miranda Brookes’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Just say what you need to say, and don’t be an ass about it.”
“What can you give me?” Nash was through playing games. “I want information on the Sokolovs. If you can give me something worthwhile, I’ll tell you what I know.”
“We already know that Stedman Hyde-Pierson has been using his position at the bank to empty bank accounts belonging to rival organizations.” Brookes crossed her arms over her chest and glared down her nose at Nash. Thanks to the heels, she was just about his height. It was disconcerting although he had a feeling that was her intent.
“All right.” Nash shrugged. “We knew that as well. Ralston Hyde-Pierson has been feeding us information from inside his father’s operation. What he can’t seem to figure out is who actually runs the Bratva here in Boston.”
Brookes’s lips quirked into a smug smile. “You haven’t figured that out yet? Gee. I don’t know why the investigative techniques you employ, like chasing down shooters and beating the crap out of them, don’t seem to work.”
“Enough posturing.” Nash was getting annoyed.
“Fine.” She straightened. “Sokolov is dead and has been for nearly a year.”
“What?” Nash gaped. “So, those men are really guarding an empty house.”
“It would seem so.”
“Does Stedman know…” Nash stopped talking. Somehow, he managed to keep himself from cursing out loud. It was suddenly so obvious.
Of course Stedman Hyde-Pierson knew that the Sokolov Pekhan was dead. It was obvious! Anton had also known, but Nash was willing to bet money that nobody else did. Anton and Stedman had been working together to pretend that they were taking orders from Sokolov.
“What we can’t figure out is why the Bratva leadership—the head of the Russian mafia in Moscow—hasn’t appointed a new Pekhan. Usually, they’re pretty quick to take care of organizational stuff like this. They’re shockingly rigid when it comes to that sort of thing. It’s about the money and nothing else. Leadership is usually hereditary but can be appointed. And it has to be approved by a council.”
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