“Because if the ledger and its key were real and the only thing keeping the SVR in check, Adrik wouldn’t be fool enough to let anyone know they were no longer in his hands.” That made sense, and as much as he hadn’t really believed in the book before, well, he believed in Ana, so . . .
“Then rumors began floating around that a redheaded female Volkov agent and her husband were the ones who somehow stole the ledger and key from Adrik. Porter’s source offered multiple stories as to how the couple actually stole the items, but all that mattered was the items were out of Adrik’s hands.” She grimaced, and he knew where her mind was going.
Visions of what Ana’s mother may have looked like came to mind. The golden-red hair. Same green eyes, too, he imagined.
He couldn’t stomach the idea of anything or anyone ever coming between him and his family. He hated Ana had to handle all of this, and without ever feeling as though she could share with the man she’d married . . .
He forced his focus back to her. “You think your parents are the ones who stole the ledger and key from Adrik?”
“It fits with the timeline. Our trip to Hungary over my birthday wasn’t my first time there. We’d also attended another party at the labyrinth around the time the ledger and key went missing,” Ana responded. “And my mother had distinctively red hair.”
“Okay, let’s say they did. The more important question is, why?”
“Best guess? Greed.” She let the admission hang in the air, clearly frustrated for not being able to solve the puzzle.
“So, how’d they do it?” A.J. mused.
“Think about what the Feds told me my parents did before they were activated to spy for the Volkovs.”
“Con artists. Thieves.” He wished they could go back to her licking ice cream from the spoon and his dick stirring—no, saluting her—in his pants.
She nodded, her brows scrunched tight. “My dad was practically an illusionist. Made things appear and disappear literally before my eyes all the time. His magic tricks were my favorite memories of him.” She closed her eyes for a second as if scolding herself for allowing any happy thoughts to remain in her mind.
“Both the Volkovs and the SVR would have reason to kill your parents if they discovered they stole them.”
She sat taller, her spine going straight, outwardly relieved to be sharing everything even if it was a painful subject matter. “While my parents and I were at the theater, our house was ransacked. Porter told me when the team showed up to my home, the place was already destroyed.”
And damn did he admire her strength. She was opening up to him in a way that, only yesterday, he hadn’t been sure was possible. “Would your parents have kept the ledger and key at their house?” That didn’t seem all that smart to do with such valuable items. Not even in a safe, well, unless someone wanted them found.
“Maybe not the originals, but I think whoever tore apart our home believed they’d found them. Or at least one of them,” she answered, a mirror to his thoughts.
She tucked her lips inward for a moment, and for the briefest of guilty seconds, he wanted to suck that lip. Tease it between his teeth. If only he could make all her pain and suffering go away with a kiss. If only life were so easy.
“My parents had no qualms about stealing, so they certainly wouldn’t hesitate about making copies of the ledger and key. The Feds said my parents used to counterfeit everything. Obviously, I didn’t know the paintings I saw come and go from our house over the years were fakes, but thinking back, they couldn’t have been real. Van Goghs. Picassos.” Her tight, nervous expression loosened a touch. “What if my parents stole the ledger and key while we were in Hungary, three months before their death, just like Porter’s source had claimed? They could have hired the forger they always worked with to create copies of both. And before you ask, at the time, I didn’t know he was a forger, but it makes sense that they would have one given their line of work.”
“You know, you reading my mind is kind of unnerving,” he said, going for a sip of wine because this really was like the plot of a Tom Cruise Mission Impossible movie.
“Occupational hazard,” she smirked. “Knowing my dad, he planted the forgeries in our home, but hid the real ones. Probably in two separate locations. An insurance policy perhaps? So, while the FBI were busy killing my parents, Russian agents probably stole one or both of the forged copies. And since no one came forward with another copy of either after that night, the SVR felt it safe to target the Volkovs.”
His eyes fell to the ice cream as the chocolate liquified. “And if the real ones were hidden by your parents, they became lost forever with their deaths.”
“Well, lost for fifteen years, at least. Grigory claimed to have found the ledger and key to keep the SVR at bay, but I know he doesn’t have both. And as to whether he has the original ledger or another forged copy, I have no idea.”
A.J.’s gaze whipped back to her face, first to her full lips before meeting her hunter green eyes. “Yeah, no way does Grigory Volkov also have the key, or he wouldn’t be so willing to cooperate with you. He needs the key to protect himself from the SVR.” A.J. paused for a moment because something wasn’t adding up. “How can you be sure Grigory found the ledger? It could be another rumor.”
“Because I’ve spoken to Grigory Volkov.” Her admission sounded more like a plea of “guilty” in a courtroom. What did she mean she spoke to Grigory Freaking Volkov? Was she already in that deep?
“What?” He retracted his hand from her leg on reflex, but he didn’t want to be that guy again. That guy back in the office whose shocked reaction had her fleeing the room in shame.
A lifetime of betrayal flashed in her green eyes, but he refused to hurt her. He set his hand back on her thigh and looked into her eyes. He offered her a tight nod he hoped conveyed, I won’t let you down. Her lashes were wet, but there weren’t any more tears. She was a stunningly beautiful woman who’d been put through the Russian wringer of life.
“After Porter came to me with my new assignment—to infiltrate the Volkovs—he presented a few possible Volkov sources to look into to help me gain access to the organization.”
“Katya was one of them?”
“Yeah, I tracked her every move for about a month. She was dating Dominick Volkov, and I caught him having an affair.” A soft blush crawled over her cheeks as if embarrassed she caught Dominick having sex. “I used that as my chance to turn her to work with the Bureau. She admitted she never really wanted to be a spy for the Volkovs, but Dominick had pressured her into it.”
“Katya helped you make contact with Dominick, then?” But what about Grigory? He’d do his best to let her unravel the “complicated” story, now understanding why she’d opted for part two of their talk down by the pond.
“No, not officially. It’d be too risky for her since she was going to work with the FBI. But from my surveillance of her, I was able to track Dominick to an apartment in Newark, New Jersey. I made first contact, but he was hesitant to trust me.”
A.J. removed his hat, swiping the slight sheen of sweat from his brow before setting it back on. “You had to offer him Katya?”