Meridian File by CB Samet

Author:CB Samet [SAMET, CB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-5439-1333-0
Publisher: CB Samet

16

Mason drove to a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of London and checked Aurora and himself into a room under a fake name with cash. He led Aurora into the dimly lit accommodations and kept her close as he inspected the room.

She hadn’t said anything on the drive, and he started to worry she was in shock. Once he secured the room, noting windows that didn’t open and bolting the door, he turned to her.

She trembled, hugging her knees to her chest, as she sat on the bed and stared blankly at the opposite wall.

His heart lurched seeing her look so fragile. He preferred the rock solid tennis athlete.

“Aurora.” His voice cracked.

He sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms, hoping to warm her with his body heat and give her some measure of comfort.

“When I’m faced with something frightening, it’s helpful if I dissect it.”

“Something frightens you?” she asked in disbelief.

The thought of anything happening to you.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“You dissected those men.”

He smiled, tucking her head under his chin and ignoring the throbbing of his swelling knuckles.

“What about them do you remember?”

“Russian. Lots of tattoos. Big guns.”

She curled in a tight ball against him. He knew he shouldn’t be holding her so close.

“How long are we here for?” she asked.

“I need to know from Dorian things are safe. Maybe a few hours. Maybe all night.”

He felt her nod.

“I’m sorry if this throws a wrench in your game tomorrow.”

“Living is the one thing I prioritize above tennis.”

He stroked her hair.

Shouldn’t do that either, but I am.

“So let’s continue our dissection. Three armed Russians smart enough to try to lure us into an alley to help a friend—”

“Underestimated you, though.”

“Yes. So, three Russian amateurs sent to hurt you before your next Wimbledon match. Someone hired them to intimidate you or keep you from playing.”

She shook her head. “There aren’t any Russians I would be scheduled to play.”

He noted with relief she stopped shaking.

“Exactly. So who would have access to hire armed Russian goons and would want to hurt you and see you fail?”

A long silence settled between them. He felt the warmth of her breath and gentle rise and fall of her chest against him.

“Is there someone who might be threatened by your success? Someone who might be jealous?” he prodded.

“Natasha Bodrov?” Her voice held a mix of skepticism and awe of revelation. “She’s psychotic and self-absorbed enough to have written those demonic letters. But her attack would only make sense if she thought my tennis success would bring Jimmy back to me. That’s absurd!”

Mason rubbed a hand up and down her arm before stopping himself.

“She doesn’t know how you feel. She knows you’re single. She might even know Jimmy talked to you in Paris. All it would take is one paparazzi or social media photo circulating.”

She sat up and looked at him. “How does a Russian supermodel know how to hire Russian thugs?”

How does she not?

“Natasha has access to the Russian mafia.”

“She does?”

“Her uncle is Vladimir Pronin.”

“Who is a Russian mobster?”

The Russian mobster.

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