"Casillero. Agent Savannah Casillero," she enunciated for him.
"I'd offer you my hand to shake, but I'm guessing you'd break it."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Maxim."
He let a beat pass between them while he processed the way she said his name. No trace of an accent, though he could clearly see she was of Hispanic heritage. She made even a pant suit look exotic, but he couldn't let himself forget what it really was: armor. A symbol of her station. They were at war, and he was behind enemy lines.
"I'd rather you break my wrist than my bike," he said finally as he drew back from the bars. "So when can I expect that taillight to be replaced, Savannah? And can I expect an apology for getting picked up under false pretenses?"
"Hm." Her eyes flickered down the hall in the direction Agent Andrews had disappeared. "I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Not sure if I believe you."
"Then believe me when I say I'm just here to talk." She crossed her arms and settled them comfortably beneath her breasts. Maxim noted the way her cleavage deepened when she did so, but thought it wasn't an interrogation tactic. Savannah Casillero seemed too professional to stoop to using her sexuality to benefit her negotiations-at least, he didn't think she would stoop to it here.
He would file that fantasy away for another, less pressing time.
"I know what you're here to talk about," Maxim stated.
It had been several months since his father's murder. Sergey Karev had been discovered lying face down in his office with an ice pick buried between his shoulder blades. In life, Maxim's father had enjoyed one of the highest positions in the Russian mafia. Maxim doubted if this was news to the FBI. Dancing around the subject now would only prolong his stay behind bars, but he couldn't be too careful when it came to revealing his cards … even if it felt like he had been dealt a low hand in a game where the rules were decidedly not in his favor.
There were those who thought he was responsible for his father's murder-some of whom he suspected could be numbered among his own family. While his youngest brother, Vlad, hadn't made the accusation outright, Maxim knew his brother thought he was involved somehow. Judging by the measuring quality of Agent Casillero's look, she might think so, too.
"Then let's talk," she stated. She surprised Maxim by pulling her lanyard from beneath her shirt and flashing it before a sensor set into the wall; apparently, she had the proper clearance, because the cell door slid open, swift and noiseless on its track.
Maxim concealed his surprise and followed the agent into an interrogation room across the hall. Savannah closed the door behind them. "Coffee?" she offered him as Maxim took a seat.
"Sure," he said. He wasn't going to turn down an overture. If the agent was trying to get prints off him to run later, then she was in for a disappointing lab result-he had burned them off caustically when he became head of security for the mob. "I take it black."
"Of course you do."
Savannah exited through a door adjacent to the first and came back with two steaming Styrofoam cups. Maxim noted she took her own coffee as warm and caramel-colored as her skin. She set his in front of him, dropped down into the chair across from him, and sighed.
"I know you didn't murder your father."
This time, Maxim was unable to master his surprise. Some of the coffee splashed out of his cup, and he hissed and drew his hand back. "What?" He shot her a suspicious look. "Explain."
"Let's just say that speaking to … people with your resume … isn't a part of my usual job description. I'm involved with the Blood Diamond Task Force." Savannah leaned in a little, and Maxim found himself about to unconsciously mirror her. She was good: intelligent, approachable, charismatic. She was the sort of woman you wanted to impart your secrets to late at night when you were alone together between the sheets, just you and her.
Maxim leaned back in his chair, propping his arm casually atop the sloped metal frame.
"I believe that whoever perpetrated your father's murder is linked to a smuggling operation we've been tracking," Savannah continued. "Can you offer any insight into this?"
"Not without a lawyer I can't."
"I'd prefer it if we kept things just between us." Savannah's mouth twisted in a little confidential smile, and her dark eyes sparked. Oh, she was very good. But Maxim wasn't just some muscle the mob hired to flex for them once upon a time. He knew how to play the game.