by Leslie North
"Really?" The receptionist paused as Savannah continued to look around, eyes hunting the room for any sign of life. "He didn't mention he was expecting a visitor."
"I doubt he knew I was coming by today."
The door to the back of the shop pulled open, and in walked Maxim Karev in all his glory. He looked like he hadn't shaved since their interview a few days earlier. He was in the company of another man; they laughed as they traded a water bottle between them, evidently just coming back from a break they had taken outside.
Maxim looked completely at ease, and completely in his element here—it was a marked contrast to the restrained, dangerous man Savannah had first met behind bars a few days previous. Then he had been like a caged predator, lightning in a bottle just waiting to go off. It was obvious that captivity not only fit him like an ill-tailored suit, but stood as a bruise to his ego. She supposed she couldn't blame him for feeling that way, not when he had done the admirable thing and cut ties with his criminal roots years earlier.
Or so he claimed.
Maxim's gaze landed on the two women, and he paused. The other man didn’t notice them as quickly; he continued gabbing as Savannah felt the world of the garage close in around her.
Maxim Karev looked so good it almost hurt. Today he was clad in black denim and a work-stained white T-shirt, wearing the thick, worn boots she remembered from the last time they’d met. The dark stubble on his chiseled jaw had worked its way into a full-blown beard. Savannah, who was never one to exactly go in for the clean-shaven look of her male coworkers, was having a hard time not noticing, or privately appreciating, just how well his lapsed hygiene suited him. She was having an even more difficult time reconciling the man standing before her with the one she had read about in the bureau's expansive file on the Karev family.
"This woman is here to see you, Max," the receptionist explained, sharing a conspicuous look with the other man. Savannah didn't understand the meaning of their silent exchange, but she was certain she would learn soon enough.
"Yes? Can I help you?" Maxim asked her. He was being overly formal, likely just using a tactic to throw her off, but she knew the look he was giving her was appreciative. Today she had traded in her usual pant suit for a loose-fitting T-shirt with a wide, oblong collar. She knew she had a good neck for it, and Maxim's eyes on her exposed clavicle told her he knew as well.
"Hey, Max!" Savannah parroted the nickname she had heard the receptionist use and waved eagerly at him, smiling so widely her jaw hurt. "I know you didn't want to wait for that next date, so I figured I'd save you the trouble of tracking me down! Are you on a break?"
"Sure he is," answered the man who had entered beside Maxim. He exchanged another significant look with the receptionist, this time more amused than astonished. "Couldn't wait for another date, huh? Can't say I blame him." The man strode forward and extended his hand, and Savannah noticed the wedding ring on his finger. "Travis Hammersmith. Maybe Maxim told you differently when you guys first met, but I actually own Slick Cycles."
Savannah shook his hand, firm but not too firm. "He mentioned he was in a managerial position on his dating profile," she lied, widening her eyes as Maxim's conspicuously narrowed over Travis' shoulder. "I guess I did assume he was the owner."
"Dating profile?" The receptionist burst out laughing, before quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know relationships are much more… digital these days. I'm Rebecca, by the way. Travis is my husband." This time, the woman offered Savannah a beatific smile, genuine in its warmth, and for a moment she looked nothing like the competent professional Savannah had first met seated behind the desk. She looked almost as if she considered the two of them friends already.
"Gonna take you up on that break extension now." Maxim interrupted the three of them by shouldering past Travis and wrapping his hand around Savannah's bicep. Normally she would have Judo-thrown him any number of ways for grabbing hold of her so aggressively, but she was the only one who knew just how much pressure he was exerting, and she wouldn't be the one to outwardly give the game away. Without another word, he led her out the backdoor, then half-flung her away from him again as soon as they were out sight of the others. If Savannah stumbled, she was easily able to regain her balance and turn, wearing a slightly bemused look at his rough treatment.
"What was that bullshit about a dating profile?" Maxim growled at her. "If you want to convincingly pull this off to the people who know me best, at least do your research first."
"Hey, you started it by pretending not to know me," Savannah pointed out. "I figured we were improvising here. I came here to talk to you about our cover story, and however you want to come up with one is fine."
It was another lie, of course. Savannah hated being out of control, and she hated the fact that Maxim already seemed to guess as much about her. Better to play it off now so he felt less inclined to use it against her in the future. "And I did do my research, hotshot." She stepped closer and thrust her finger into his chest. Maxim glanced down past his bristly chin as if he couldn't believe she would risk it. "Surveillance tells me you do go out with women. A lot of women. So, it makes sense that we would have met online."
"I never, and will never, have a profile on a fucking date site," Maxim said as he grasped her finger and drew it away from him.
"You do now, actually," Savannah stated. "On several websites."
"What?"
She shrugged, trying not to betray just how much she was enjoying watching him squirm. "Andrews set it up for me. He's the kind of guy who knows all about that sort of thing, you know? Anyway, I figured it might come up, but I couldn't be sure. Just know that you're dealing with professionals, and we've got every angle of a potential backstory covered."
"Unbelievable." Maxim turned away from her, running the flat of his palm down the full length of his face.
"Hey, if I knew it would distress you this much… well, I probably wouldn't have changed anything," Savannah admitted. "But that's what I came by to talk to you about today. Since you're onboard with going undercover together—"
"Not like I had a choice—" Maxim interjected.
"Then we need to take this team-up on a test run," Savannah finished, folding her lean arms across her chest in a show of patience. He could continue to resist the terms of their arrangement as much as he wanted, so long as he only groused about it in private. "Protocol demands that we go on a date together, Karev. Not only will this give us the opportunity to see how well we can work with one another under public scrutiny, but one or more sightings of us together will add credence to our relationship once we get you back inside the mob."
Maxim made no response to this, opting instead to stare off across the back lot in stormy silence. Savannah softened her stance—only by a few degrees—and maneuvered around to face him once more.
"So what do you think?" she asked. "How about we get that taillight fixed and ride over to that five-star Russian restaurant? What's it called? Mari Vanna?"
She knew full well what the name of the restaurant was, and may or may not have already called in a favor to ensure they could get a reservation there. It was the same place Madison had allowed herself to be taken on her first date with Maxim's younger brother, Vlad.
To her surprise, Maxim shook his head. "No. We are too likely to get noticed there by those who would report back to the Bratva, if not by active members of the mafia themselves. You want to start small on our first outing together, then you need to think of someplace else."
"Fine. I can see that you don't feel like suggesting anything… not that it matters," Savannah concluded. "What about the art museum? I know someone who can get us in for free."
"I suggest you reread your dossier on me," Maxim returned flatly. "That is not a place I would take you."
"Who says you're the one taking me?" Savannah asked, trying to keep her mounting impatience from bleeding through.
Maxim shrugged. "It's what would be expected." Before Savannah
could ask for clarity on whose expectations they would be living up to, the Russian lifted his arm to check the face of his watch. "Break's over. You'll have to come back some other time to discuss, but right now I need to get back to work."
"Fine. Just know that Sergey's murderer probably doesn't give a shit about your work schedule," Savannah whispered fiercely as she followed him back inside the garage. "And the longer this takes, the better chance he or she has of escaping scot-free. The trail's already gone cold on our investigation, and that's why we need to inject someone like you into the proceedings to relight the fire. If I wanted to spend time pulling teeth, I would have become a fucking dentist."
Maxim's face remained a steely, impassioned mask throughout her heated diatribe; she had no way of knowing if she had hit a nerve, not until they both reentered the receptionist's office and found Travis and Rebecca poring over a datebook together.
"Savannah and I were just discussing the possibility of… a double date," Maxim said without segue, as if he hadn't quite remembered the name for it until the last minute.
Rebecca exchanged a delighted look with Travis. "Perfect timing!" she said cheerily. "The two of us just came available tonight."
"It wouldn't hurt business for the three of us to close up shop on Saturday," Travis mused as he leaned over his wife's shoulder. "Sorry, four," he amended quickly, as if afraid he might have insulted Savannah by already excluding her.
"He's not used to counting that high," Rebecca apologized. "It's always just been the three of us. Oh, this will be so much fun!"
Savannah was feeling quite differently about things on the inside. In one fell swoop, Maxim had both managed to submit to her demands and completely upend them by inviting two others along. Are you testing me? She fixed her eyes on the tall Russian without trying to appear too much like she was glaring. Not that she cared about being graded, but it would certainly make things difficult moving forward if the Hammersmiths didn't approve of Maxim's new "relationship." The Karev was a loner since he had broken with his family, and it was clear his circle of friendships didn't extend far—and that was the way he liked it. At the same time, it made getting to know and endear herself to those closest to him all the more imperative.
"Where should we go?" Rebecca wondered out loud as she revolved in her chair to face her computer screen. She poised her hand over the mouse, ready to employ her behind-the-desk powers for the greater good. "Any happenin' happy hours tonight? Or did you guys already have an idea?"
"How about Paint and Pint?" Savannah interjected suddenly. Rebecca's eyes lit up instantly as the men exchanged uncertain glances.
"What?" Maxim asked the two of them.
"Paint and Pint," Rebecca stressed. "It's like one of those adult painting classes where they serve wine, only this place caters more toward mixed-sex company by offering beer as well. I think it's a great idea," she added, shooting a quick look Savannah's way. Clearly she understood who her ally was in that moment.
"I'm down," Travis offered. "Sounds like a blast."
"I would say we have ourselves a date, then!" Savannah confirmed. She grinned and looped her arms around Maxim's bicep, going for instinctive and informal, and was mildly surprised when he didn't pull away from her. Her surprise was compounded when she felt her heartbeat speed a little in her chest, its arrhythmic pounding drumming against the trunk of the Russian's arm, which she had nestled between her breasts. He glanced down at her, disguising his own surprise with a veiled look of amusement… or so Savannah suspected.
He couldn't feel the racing of her pulse like she could, right? Maybe she was only imagining or misattributing the look. This was their first outward display of affection, after all, and she personally thought they totally nailed it—especially when she heard Rebecca's little lamentation of, "Aw."
"I'd pick you up, but my taillight's still broken," Maxim said, effectively killing the moment between them. "You don't mind calling a cab, do you?"
"Not at all," Savannah replied, coolly extracting herself from around his arm. "You don't mind showering up first, do you? Looks like you've been working hard today."
Maxim snorted at the underhanded dig, and Savannah had to fight very hard to conceal the smile that threatened to give the game away when the others didn't appear to notice the subtext of their conversation.
"If a little sweat bothers you, Savannah, then you better hope things don't go as well as I think they will tonight," Maxim murmured, loud enough for everyone else to hear.
"I take back the 'aw,'" Rebecca said. "You guys keep it to yourselves."
"No promises," Maxim said as Savannah turned to depart Slick Cycles with a little wave. She would have liked to have gotten the last word in, but she didn't want any of the others to see what was surely an odd expression on her face, considering how hot her cheeks suddenly felt at the mental image of Maxim sweating… and naked. Better to duck out now while she still had a chance of appearing in control.
Even she could plan a retreat when she felt compromised.
Maxim appeared to favor this new line of attack, because he was all over her that evening at Paint and Pint.
She and Maxim arrived separately, with the Hammersmiths arriving together shortly afterward. Rebecca had her long red-brown hair piled up more loosely than the secretarial style she had worn that afternoon and immediately offered Savannah a hair tie to borrow. "Cute sundress," Rebecca complimented as the two women plucked aprons from the pile on the back counter. "I've never done this before. I was hoping I hadn't overdressed.”
Savannah smiled. She could dress femininely when the need for it arose, and she could certainly bond with Rebecca in all the same ways she had first bonded with her roommate in college.
There was really no telling what Madison O'Conner, former roommate-turned-best-friend, would think about all this, so she had refrained from mentioning during their daily phone call that she had a date tonight. She hated keeping details of her life in the FBI from Maddie, but they both understood the necessity for it. Explaining to her at a later date that she had been forced to fabricate an entire relationship with Maxim Karev, the soon-to-be uncle of Maddie's unborn child, might prove a little harder for her friend to swallow… but she couldn't risk Vlad finding out that Maxim's impending return to the mafia fold was all a setup. Maddie had told Savannah about Vlad's own investigation into his father’s murder, but she couldn't discount him from the suspect list… not yet. And if that meant keeping Madison out of the loop, then Savannah was prepared to deal with the consequences when they came.
The two couples settled at the far back of the room; everyone was in unanimous agreement that they were interested in doing more drinking than painting. Savannah was careful to post herself up in the center beside Rebecca, with the two men flanking them on either side.
While Maxim had no compliment of his own to dispense on how she looked, he made his own appreciation abundantly clear by engaging in warfare from the outset. The moment his coworkers arrived, he kept a hand almost constantly connected to her shoulder, her arm—all, she was certain, to throw her off her game in front of the Hammersmiths.
You're reading too much into this, Savannah, she chastised herself, even as she continued to keep up cheerful conversation with Rebecca. This is good for the mission. Hell, it's great for the mission. The more intimately he touches you in full view of outside eyes, the better.
She gave a little jump, then, when Maxim came up behind her and grasped her elbow from behind. "You push too hard," he murmured, loud enough for the other couple to hear, as he manipulated the arm that held her paintbrush. "You have to learn to be more gentle, sweetheart… at least in some areas."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, please remind me what qualifies you to tell me how to hold a paintbrush?" she whispered through teeth clenched in a happy smile. Rebecca had turned back to Travis to converse, so there was no real risk of them being overheard for the moment.
"Well, I'm a man who’s good with his hands, to start," Ma
xim said infuriatingly. He was so obviously trying to bait her with that one that Savannah refused to respond. "And I'm also a mechanic."
"You have a lot of experience holding pencil-thin shafts in your hand, huh?" Savannah remarked. "Maybe alone in your bedroom at home?" I'm not enjoying this, she reminded herself, even as she tallied another mark on her side of the mental scoreboard. And if my skin feels hot where he's touching me, it's an allergic reaction to his bullshit. Or the lead in the paint. But probably his bullshit.
"Also, can you not patronize me in front of your friends?" she asked as he pressed his chest closer in against her back. "I don't want them to think I'm just some insipid hookup you met online. I want them to respect and like me, and my odds of getting there aren't good if you don't pave the way."
"Travis and Becky don't need me to make up their mind for them about someone. And they do like you. It's obvious," Maxim muttered, surprising her. "That's the problem."
"I'm sorry? The problem? Why is that a…?"
"Pint and Pitchers!" Travis broke in as he rejoined them. Savannah had been so preoccupied with Maxim that she hadn't even noticed the other man leave. That was Task Force 101: keeping an eye on every actor and variable. So much for checking her premises.
"Woohoo!" Rebecca cheered. Savannah summoned her concentration, and from the cage of Maxim's arms managed to offer a grin as well.
"How the hell did you manage that?" Maxim asked approvingly as Travis topped them all off from their personal pitcher.
"I may have told the owner I can get ahold of an old Ural for him," Travis confided, aiming a wink Savannah's way as he handed her a refreshed pint.
These people were likeable. Worst of all, Maxim was likeable, although she would never admit to the fact out loud. That was a dangerous character trait conspicuously missing from his file. He certainly knew how to turn the charm on when it served him—the only question was… how did a flirtation serve him now? Was it a means to her end, the one they were meant to be collaborating on, or did he have some more primitive purpose for letting his hands fall to her continuously that evening?
