Hard Limits(54)

"Of course," said the detective.

She had the sense he still wasn't quite satisfied, but she had nothing else to say.

After cutting the call short, she narrowed her eyes at Nico. "Do you happen to know anything about that?"


HE WASN'T GOING to hide from her. "You knew from the very beginning I was an eye-for-an-eye kind of guy. I always will be. Not changing." Paige had needed to take Marc down on her own, and Nico had allowed it. That didn't mean he was going to let anyone who threatened his woman live. "You might be forgiving. I'm not. Besides, I didn't do anything to him he hadn't done to you."

To the millimeter, actually. The same injury to the throat and on Marc's side.

"If you have the guts and strength she did to live, you'll make it," Nico had said before turning away, knowing very well Marc wasn't going to make it.

And not giving two damns about it.

Still didn't.

"How did you get to him? He was in prison."

"I have my ways." Prisons weren't as secure as people liked to believe, and American correctional facilities were no exception. Not to mention rich people had a nasty tendency not to remain incarcerated very long. He wasn't going to risk it.

"I'm sure you have, Escobar. What about Carmela?"

He shrugged. "Told you. An-eye-for-an-eye kind of guy. And it's Nico," he corrected her. "I'm out. For good."

"Really?"

He looked at her. She was so damn beautiful. She was a redhead now, but he'd take her any way he could get her, neon green included. "Yes. I thought about developing the business potential of some miraculous device a certain Goth girl introduced me to."

She lifted her brow. "Customized condoms?"

Minx. "The molecular analyzer. I agree with you its use is underdeveloped. With certain updates, the world of security would benefit greatly from it. I'll need to have a chat with the patent holders."

"Now what?" she asked, her voice unsure for the first time. "About us, I mean."

"Now we start at the beginning. Properly this time. Would you like to go out on a date with me?" he asked.

Paige smiled. "You feel like ordering in, or would you prefer we break into someone else's place? I hear my mom's guesthouse is free."

"Your choice, Goth girl. This time around, though, I want a proper introduction to your parents. And while I'm dressed."

She kissed him. "You got it."

* * * *

Three months later, Russia

Nico handed a bunch of bills to the driver, and, holding the door open for Paige, helped her out of the taxi. First thing tourists did in Saint Petersburg was to take a stroll down Nevsky Prospekt. Visit the Hermitage. Instead, he'd brought Paige to the suburbs. And not the nice ones. She didn't seem to notice. Or mind, for that matter.

His beautiful Goth girl stood out like a sore thumb there, her light shining big and brightly among all the bleakness and despair around them.

"Do you think this look is going to stick?" Nico asked, pointing at her hair.

"Why? Do you have any specific requests?" She fluffed her locks.

Nico shook his head. She was back to being a brunette with pink stripes, like when they'd met. They'd come full circle.

"No. No specific requests. Although that neon green wasn't my favorite."

She laughed. "I figured. I also figured your grandma wouldn't be too crazy about it. My parents sure as hell weren't."

He bet. Since getting the proper introduction he'd demanded, Paige and Nico had had been regular guests at the Erlingtons. Every Sunday, as a matter of fact, per Emily's request. They were growing on him. And he was growing on them. The bottle of Krug Clos that Paige had had at her apartment had come a long way into making that happen.




 

 

"Here we are," he said, opening the door of the old building. "Don't bother pushing at it to close it. It won't."

She tried it nevertheless, but only twice. Good. Progress.

"Told you. Everything is broken around here." He hadn't been home for a very long time, but nothing had changed. Breathing in deeply, he took her hand and climbed to the third floor. Stopped. "This is the flat."

He glanced around, knowing very well what she was seeing. Old, chipped stairs and poorly lit corridors. Paint falling from the walls and reinforced-iron doors keeping intruders out. Foul smells topping it all off.

She looked anxious and closed the lapels of her jacket, burrowing in.

"This is me. The real me. Without the bling of the cartel. This place is what you Americans would call the projects."

He'd sent money to his grandmother. Tried convincing her to move to a better part of the city, but she'd refused.

"Can't blame you for looking nervous," Nico said.