5. Nik

CHAPTER 5

Nik

The tall brunette caught my attention from the moment she walked in, and I wasn't the only one dazzled. Dressed in shimmering gold with a fringed hem, she was an amusing homage to the flapper era that this place, the Secret Garden, also plays at. But it's only now, as she looks fully at me, that I recognize her. She's wearing a wig and she's done something to her face, made herself up differently, but those unique, jade-green eyes…I stared at them hard enough during the meeting that I'd know them anywhere.

Brie fucking Colombo.

For a moment, we just stare at each other as I watch fear bloom in those eyes, and a flicker of satisfaction courses through me. She's been caught . Whatever she's doing, she knows she's being a naughty girl.

Eva will reward me for this information. But as I try to keep my triumphant smile down, I see something else in the widow's face that gives me pause.

A vulnerability that wasn't present in the meeting room.

Better find out what she's doing here. Perhaps I'm making assumptions. Hell, maybe she's playing me . I make my way toward her slowly, like she's some skittish animal, but she's unable to look away from me.

"I didn't expect to see you in a place like this," I say when I reach her.

Fear flashes full across her face, but she masks it quickly. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses, leaning in close. The scent of her perfume—something smoky and expensive—washes over me. "Did you follow me?"

"I was here before you arrived," I point out. "So did you follow me ?" We regard each other warily for a moment. I'm acutely aware of how close she is, of the warmth emanating from her body, and I find myself thawing slightly. "Mrs. Colombo?—"

"Keep your voice down," she says at once, glancing around uneasily. "And tell me why you're here."

"I came here for a drink," I tell her truthfully. "To relax after work. Ms. Novak suggested this place." Surprise winds its way through her eyes, and then they widen as I offer her my hand. "We haven't been formally introduced. Dominika Kusek. Most people call me Nik."

She takes my hand. "Most people call me a wannabe gangster girl, but you can stick with Brie." Ouch. And then she switches into Russian, just to twist the knife a little more. "So, has your boss sent you to kill me? She seemed to think I needed extra security."

When I reply, it's in slightly less perfect Russian, because I was taught by my father, who in turn learned it from his grandmother. "You should be careful. Playing around with Eva Novak is dangerous." Then, switching back to English, I add, "Enjoy your drink."

I turn to leave, but she grabs my arm. "Wait," she's saying, her fingers hard on my bicep. "This part of my life—I need to keep it secret."

I turn back to study her for another moment before I shrug. "Sure."

She still doesn't let me go. "How do I know you won't tell Eva Novak about this?"

I look down at her hand, then back up to her eyes, intense and captivating. "You don't." I pull my arm away.

I walk back to my seat with my mind whirling. Brie Colombo, here of all places. Is she a lesbian? Bi? Eva told me to take the night off, mentioned this bar simply because she—like me—prefers the company of women, and happened to know of it. I'm sure she never expected me to run into the Widow Colombo.

Or…did she?

Eva Novak is a very successful woman because she knows things that other people don't—and is careful never to let on that she knows.

I order a club soda to clear my head, though it's a poor substitute for the vodka I suddenly crave. My eyes never leave Brie for long. She's flustered, fidgeting with her drink, her disguise doing little to hide her natural grace. A leggy blonde approaches her, all curves. Then a tattooed butch. Brie turns them both away with a polite smile and a shake of the head.

I feel a flicker of…something. Satisfaction? Relief?

Why should I care who she chooses to spend her downtime with?

Across the bar, a cute femme keeps trying to catch my eye. Any other night, I might be interested. Her coy glances would be enough to draw me in. Tonight, my attention is elsewhere, trapped in the orbit of a woman I shouldn't want anything to do with. She's as phony as the city she calls her home.

And she's a client of the Consortium.

Our first rule is: don't get involved. Neutrality is the bedrock on which the Novak Consortium was founded. We sell to anyone who has the money to buy, and we are not swayed by politics or promises.

So even if I wanted to go back over there and flirt with Brie Colombo—which I don't—I couldn't.

Don't. Get. Involved.

Brie throws back her drink and stands. Guilt twinges in my gut. Did I chase her off? Before I think better of it, I'm following her up the stairs and out onto the street.

"Mrs. Colombo," I call out.

She whirls around, the gold fringe of her dress shaking around toned thighs, her eyes flashing. The small side street is deserted, dark, but she responds in a harsh whisper as though we're surrounded by people. "Stop calling me that. Are you following me?"

I'm about to retort when I see it—a motorcycle speeding toward us, too fast for this narrow street, and a telltale glint in the rider's hand.

My body moves faster than my mind. I jump at Brie, encircling her with my arms tight so she can't struggle, and take her down, twisting so that I'm the one who hits the hard concrete instead of her.

Three shots ring out.

I roll, drawing my own weapon from the holster at my ankle, but the bike is already speeding away, a black blur in the shadowed street. But then the motor changes, and I know what exactly what that fucker is doing.

He's coming back.

Cursing, I haul Brie to her feet. If it was just me, I'd stand my ground, take my chances. But with her?—

" Run! "

We sprint to the main street, and I find myself impressed by Brie's speed in three-inch heels. There—the parking lot where I left the Consortium SUV I'm driving during our time here. I yank her into it and we watch the bike zoom past. Soon enough he—or she—will turn around, though. We need to get out of here.

"Hurry," I tell Brie, pulling her toward the black SUV. "Which way to the Golden Sands?" I ask as we come speeding out of the lot onto the street, my eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. No sign of the bike yet, or cops, but that doesn't mean we're safe.

"Forget the casino," Brie says, her voice tight. She's looking back out the rear window, scanning for trouble, then turns back to settle low in the seat. "Drive south."

I do as she says and we drive in silence to some moneyed community in the desert, the kind of place where privacy can be bought and no one asks questions. It's surrounded by a large, brushed-bronze wall that would be impossible to scale without a ladder and lends a sci-fi atmosphere to the place. Brie fishes in her clutch bag for a keycard, and hands it to me to wave at the flat, blank security panel set into a bronze pillar by the road.

"Nice place," I grunt, as the gate in front of us slides noiselessly open, and I drive on past a huge sign that announces the community name: SOLARA.

"Nice" doesn't even begin to cover it. This gated community sprawls around the sides of a rising rock crop, each section divided by meticulously-crafted stone riser walls, creating terraced levels that offer sweeping views of both the desert and Las Vegas.

And each tiered level holds a million-dollar-plus house, appropriately separated from each other to maintain privacy. Each is a masterpiece of architecture, blending Santa Fe style with glass and steel, and blending into the landscape.

Brie directs me around the circular streets until we reach the top of the hill, where a low-set house sprawls out across the flat peak. It's single-story, but its vast footprint is palatial. The exterior is a mix of smooth stucco walls and textured stone, with any sharp lines softened by the warm earth tones. The roof is almost flat, slightly sloped to draw the eye into the rocks beyond, lined with terracotta tiles that must blend seamlessly with the desert beyond during the day. Massive dark-mirrored windows line the front, reflecting a noir desert scene on this moonlit night.

So this is where Terry Colombo liked to keep his trophy wife. We knew there must be some offsite property as well as the Golden Sands suite, but we had no idea where it was.

Eva will reward me for this information. Just as she'll reward me for telling her all about tonight—the secret double life of Brie Colombo, the attempt on her life. Yes, I will be rewarded. If I choose to speak of it.

And I will, of course.

I'll tell Eva and the Consortium everything.

I turn off the engine though I don't intend to stay, even when Brie turns to me and flutters her fake lashes. "Come inside for a drink."

For a moment, I'm tempted. To see the inside, to unravel more of the mystery that is Brie Colombo. I squash down the impulse and say flatly, "I don't drink."

She raises an eyebrow at the obvious lie, a challenge in her eyes. "What were you doing at a bar, then?"

"Looking for company." For a moment, the air feels charged. Her perfume is stuffing itself into my nose again. I have a sudden, vivid image of pushing her back in her seat, of tasting that perfume where it nestles between her breasts. I clear my throat, breaking the spell. "Go get some rest."

"You can't tell anyone about this. About tonight. Swear to me."

I say nothing.

"Why did you protect me back there?" Brie asks suddenly, voice soft. "You don't even like me."

I look away, not bothering to deny what she said. I don't like her. I don't like that she plays a part, that she's a goddamn rattlesnake under all that makeup, that she uses her looks to get ahead. "It was instinct."

But that's not the whole truth. There's something intriguing about her, something that's gotten under my skin, something that made me want to protect her.

Even as another part of me wants to unravel her completely. Open her up for my own pleasure…

Brie gets out of the car, but she waits and watches as I drive away. And her question echoes in my mind. Why did I risk my life for Brie Colombo, some gold-digging Mob widow who fakes her way through her life?

But there's more to her than meets the eye. The Russian. The way she handled herself tonight, the intelligent eyes behind those false lashes.

She's a puzzle.

I grip the steering wheel, pushing the car faster. The desert night blurs around me, as if I could outdrive my own thoughts. I must report all of this to Eva. It's valuable information.

Eva will reward me for it.