The Siren's Touch by Amber Belldene

Author:Amber Belldene [Belldene, Amber]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Gregor wanted to pace. When his legs had worked fine, he hadn’t had much interest—it was Dmitri or Elena who had required perpetual motion, not him. But now, it seemed like the answer to all his problems. Probably because he couldn’t actually do it without looking like the cripple he was.

When the Energy Minister appeared for their meeting, Gregor fantasized. His gaze traced the pattern he’d have liked to walk around his office from behind his desk, following the burgundy border of his immense Turkish rug—each colorful peacock woven into the carpet would be a steppingstone for his once-agile feet.

By the time his next appointment arrived, he found himself too restless to simply sit and imagine walking. Perched on the front of his desk, he greeted a new customer, a Black Sea shipping magnate. The man’s furry caterpillar of a mustache showed plenty of grey, but his eyes still flashed wide when he saw Gregor’s cane resting alongside him at the desk.

Perhaps the man assumed weakness, because his highly reputed negotiating skills fell flat, and Gregor almost had his signature on an over-priced security contract. He poured the man a glass of brandy—the harsh stuff made from mulberries that those Georgian barbarians liked to drink.

Lifting his glass, he said, “You know, Gelashvili, I like you. I’d like to provide your security for a long time. Let me sweeten this deal for you.” He scribbled a number on to a scrap of paper, a hundred thousand euros less than the offer Gelashvili had agreed to. That way, if Dmitri did come back, he wouldn’t have to re-negotiate this contract for a long time.

Although a gentle surge of regret nearly erupted in a laugh—the Georgian would take one look at Dmitri and assume the boy was nothing but a muscle-bound enforcer. Dima would have him over a barrel in half the time Gregor had.

Red faced and laughing jovially, Gelashvili shook Gregor’s hand far higher and lower than was usual for a polite handshake. His friendliness was infectious, and Gregor found himself patting the man’s back when he turned to leave, suddenly aware it was the last time he’d ever see him.

The door clicked shut, and Gregor slid onto the floor, fatigued by his effort to stand, even with the desk to lean against. He ran his fingers through the thick pile of the carpet and hoped his nephew would be back very soon to wear a deep path into it, muddying the colors.

His phone signaled an incoming message. He reached overhead and patted on the desk until he found the buzzing device and examined the photo texted to him.

He dropped the phone and it bounced on the rug.

Her?

How could it be her?

Had she lived? She would be as old as him.

He collapsed onto the rug, trembling. Impossible. He’d pulled her lifeless body from the river and laid it by her sister himself. Two pretty girls in wet shifts. Idly, he’d wondered whether the water or the gunshot had killed her, and

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