Chapter 54
Evelyn's POV
Julian Russell stood in my doorway like he owned the place. He'd changed out of the expensive suit. Now he wore dark jeans and a charcoal sweater. A leather jacket hung over one shoulder.
He looked relaxed. Almost lazy. But his pale gray eyes tracked every movement I made with predator precision.
"You going to invite me in?" He tilted his head. That infuriating half-smile played at his lips. "Or do we talk in the hallway where your neighbors can enjoy the show? Though if Kholod's cleanup team shows up while I'm standing out here, it would save them the trouble of breaking down your door."
I stepped back without answering. The Glock was still in my hand, barrel pointed at the floor. Julian moved past me with that deceptive casualness that hid years of combat training. I caught the scent of expensive cologne mixed with gunpowder as he crossed into my apartment.
The door closed with a soft click. I engaged all three locks. When I turned around, Julian had already made himself comfortable on the leather sofa. His legs stretched out in front of him. Arms spread across the back cushions.
He looked like he belonged here. Like this was his apartment, not mine. The casual presumption made something hot and dangerous coil in my stomach.
"Nice place." His sharp eyes cataloged every detail. The reinforced window frames. The extra deadbolts. The furniture positioned for clear sightlines to all entry points. "Adrian has good taste in real estate. Though I notice you've made some modifications. Very professional. Almost like you're expecting trouble."
"I'm always expecting trouble." I moved to the kitchen and set the Glock on the granite counter within easy reach. My hands stayed steady as I filled a glass with water. "It's kept me alive this long. What do you want, Russell?"
He watched me drink with an intensity that made the simple act feel strangely intimate. Like he was cataloging the movement of my throat. The way my fingers curled around the glass. The barely visible tremor I couldn't quite hide.
"I came to return your property." He reached into his jacket pocket. Something silver caught the light. "And to make sure you understand what you got yourself into tonight when you didn't pull that trigger."
The cross necklace dangled from his fingers. The delicate chain swayed gently in the air between us. My mother's cross. The only thing I had left of her besides fragmented memories and her ice-blue eyes.
The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment I couldn't breathe.
"You son of a bitch." The words came out raw. "You kept it."
"Of course I kept it." He stood and crossed the distance between us in three long strides. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. Close enough to see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes. "I'd get it fixed."
He held it out. The chain pooled in his palm like liquid silver. I stared at it without moving. Part of me wanted to snatch it back immediately. But another part—the part trained in Vorkuta to recognize traps—hesitated.
"What's the catch?" I kept my hands at my sides. "You don't strike me as the type who returns stolen property out of the goodness of his heart."
Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or approval. "You really don't trust anyone, do you?" He paused. The necklace still dangled from his fingers. "Though after tonight's revelations about Viktor's plans, that's probably smart. Trust gets you killed in our line of work."
Viktor's name sent fresh tension through my shoulders. I forced myself to relax. I'd been trying not to think about what would happen when the organization discovered Caldwell still lived. About the hunters who would come for me. About whether Julian's presence would actually help or just add his name to the kill list.
"So you fixed it." I gestured toward the necklace with my chin. "The clasp. That's what you're claiming?"
"I had it repaired because it was broken." His voice took on that maddening reasonableness. "Consider it an apology."
"An apology." I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice. "You stole my mother's necklace, used it as leverage, and now you're apologizing."
"I prefer to think of it as establishing the terms of our association." His tone turned almost playful. "But yes, if you want to be reductive about it."
I stared at him. Trying to understand what game he was playing. The problem with Julian Russell was that he existed in a moral gray zone. He told the truth when it suited him. Lied with equal ease when it didn't. Parsing the difference required insight I wasn't sure I had.
"Fine." I decided debating his motivations wouldn't change anything. "Give it back."
But instead of handing it over, Julian took another step closer. Near enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Near enough to see the faint stubble on his jaw and smell the gunpowder on his clothes.
"Turn around," he said quietly.
"What?" The question came out sharp. Defensive.
"Turn around." This time there was something almost gentle in his voice. "Let me put it on you. The clasp is tricky—I had it reinforced so it won't fall off again. That means it's harder to manage one-handed. You'll need help."
I should have refused. Every tactical instinct screamed at me to keep distance. To avoid giving him access to my back where he could snap my neck before I could react. But something in his expression made me hesitate. Something that looked almost like sincerity.
And beneath all the paranoia and trained suspicion, there was still a part of me that remembered being simply Evelyn. A woman who could accept a kindness without calculating its cost.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the strange calm that came from accepting my probable death. Maybe it was the same reckless impulse that had made me aim for Caldwell's watch instead of his heart.
Whatever the reason, I turned slowly.