Three and a Half Weeks(152)
“Did he make any suggestions as to how to deal with them? Legal suggestions, that is?”
Ian shakes his head. “How could he? There are too many of them to get deported right away anyway. There are these three plus her mother and brother. Who knows? There may be even more—my security peeps are looking into that as we speak.”
“Good. We don’t want to leave any stone unturned, Ian. You have decisions you have to make, the biggest one being whether or not we get our hands dirty.”
Ian nods. “I need to make phone calls.”
“Come on. I’ll take you to my house—I can work from there.”
To the casual observer, they are a couple of executive-types sharing a conversation, not friends with brilliant minds deciding the most effective way to eliminate their enemies. Others know differently, however. As the men in suits start down the block, two swarthy brothers and a shifty-eyed blond turn the corner and are coming right at them. Daniel looks at Ian, “Not here, out in the open, in broad daylight. We need some kind of cover.”
Both men begin to cross the street to avoid confrontation but down the block, the three stalkers follow suit.
Ian and Daniel continue strolling casually while the brothers and Natasha travel directly into their path. About fifteen feet away, the Lithuanians slow down, take a long look at Ian and veer off in another direction, leaving Natasha alone, smiling as she closes in. Daniel whispers quickly to Ian.
“You’ve just been made, Ian. They wanted to see what you look like. From here on in, you need to watch your back very carefully.”
His expression grave, Ian nods as they reach the blond woman. She wears a smile that looks joyously triumphant, making Ian’s guts seize up in hot fury. Hatred is not strong enough a label for what he now feels for this treacherous conniver.
She very obviously trails her eyes up and down Daniel, clearly appreciating the cut of his dark coffee-colored suit. “Well, now, Ian. Please introduce: I’m always looking for a new pretty boy with whom to play.”
Sneering his contempt, Ian responds. “Does he look desperate to you?”
Flipping her head back to toss her long hair off to one side, she sneers. “Oh, now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings. Are you jealous perchance?”
He doesn’t dignify her comment with a response, even a nonverbal one. Over the years Ian has honed the practice of ignoring nuisances to an art form. The men continue to walk right past her.
She calls back. “I think you’re a sore loser, Ian… and make no mistake: in any competition with me, you will be the loser. That Alexis woman wasn’t up to the task but I surely am. And my uncles will be a lot more persuasive with your Ella than Lucien ever was, the pathetic creature.”
Spinning around, Ian is about to vent his spleen when Daniel grabs him by the shoulder and whips him back around, using his momentum to advance their progress. “Stop it,” he hisses. “You’re playing right into her hands with your anger. She already knows Ella is your Achilles’ heel—if you really want to piss her off, do not react.”
“Fuck me, I know! But let’s see you do it if someone threatens Olivia.”
“I’d expect the same sage counsel from you if the situation were reversed. I hope I can depend on it if the occasion ever arises.”
Taking a deep breath, Ian manages a small smile for his friend. “You can.”
When they reach Broadway, Daniel hails a cab, tersely gives the driver his address and in eight minutes the taxi pulls in front of the stately brownstone.
As soon as they’re seated in the ground floor office, they begin to confer in hushed tones. “I think I have an idea as to how this thing can go with no blood on our side,” Daniel says.
“That would be good.” Ian pinches the bridge of his nose; he’s really tired of dealing with this crap. Leaving Ella alone and vulnerable is weighing heavily on him, and after reading her book, he wants to play with her more than ever, maybe even again venture into his little dungeon. Instead he’s sitting in a room in New York planning the annihilation of his enemies—enemies he’d done nothing, absolutely nothing to cultivate. What a ridiculous clusterfuck.
Daniel runs his hand through his hair, a sign of his own agitation, and begins to explain. “You need to see this out and get back to your life—you have a wedding to plan and business matters to see to. You don’t need this BS… and don’t deserve it. I imagine you also want to protect your grandfather from further harm, assuming Natasha and company were responsible for his car accident.”
Ian snorts in derision at the circumstances. “And I imagine you’d like to focus on your own upcoming nuptials and not my travails with Russian criminals.”