Chapter 74
Evelyn's POV
"He wants to hire you to help determine who orchestrated the attempt and why," Webb corrected smoothly. "The official story is that you're consulting based on your academic background in Russian-American relations and your social connections to the Winthrop family. Unofficially..." He paused, meeting my eyes directly. "Mr. Russell believes someone tried to use you as a weapon against Adrian Winthrop. He wants to find out who and make them pay for it."
The words hit me harder than they should have. Because Julian was right—someone had used me. Had sent me after Caldwell knowing the Senator would point to Adrian, knowing I'd be caught between completing my mission and protecting the only family I had left. Had turned me into a pawn in someone else's game.
And Julian wanted to help me find them.
"What's in it for him?" I asked, because men like Julian Russell didn't do favors without expecting something in return.
"Beyond the obvious benefit of preventing future attempts on his client's life?" Webb's expression remained carefully neutral. "Mr. Russell believes that whoever orchestrated this has resources and connections that make them a potential threat to Titan's operations. He wants them neutralized before they can cause more problems."
It was a reasonable explanation. Practical. The kind of cold business calculation that made sense for a man who ran a private military empire.
But I'd seen the way Julian had looked at me this morning when I'd told him to leave. Had heard his voice crack on the word private. Had felt the way his hands shook when he'd fastened my mother's cross around my neck.
This wasn't just business for him.
"The position comes with full access to Titan's investigative resources," Webb continued, pulling out additional documents. "Database access, surveillance technology, personnel support if needed. Mr. Russell was quite clear that you should have whatever tools you require to conduct your investigation effectively."
I thought about the folder hidden under the kitchen towel. About seven years of dead ends and closed doors, of knowing who'd killed my mother but being powerless to do anything about it. About the skills I'd learned in Vorkuta that I'd never been able to use for anything except the organization's missions.
Julian was offering me an army. Access to resources I could never obtain on my own. The legitimacy to ask questions and dig into places that would have gotten me killed if I'd tried it alone.
All wrapped up in the cover story of investigating Caldwell's case.
He was giving me exactly what I needed without even knowing I needed it.
Or maybe he did know. Maybe those gray eyes saw more than I'd given him credit for. Maybe he'd looked at me and understood that I was carrying more than just Kholod's missions—that I had my own ghosts to hunt, my own debts to settle.
"There's one more thing," Webb said, and pulled out what looked like a handwritten note. "Mr. Russell wanted me to pass along a message."
I tensed, waiting for whatever emotional manipulation Julian had decided to deploy. Some reminder of what we'd shared. Some guilt trip about how I'd hurt him. Some ultimatum designed to force my hand.
But Webb's voice remained carefully neutral as he read. "He said: 'If you think you don't have the credentials to investigate the case, then I'll arrange credentials for you.'"
The words settled over me like a blanket, warm and suffocating at the same time. Because that was pure Julian—seeing a problem and bulldozing through it, creating solutions where none existed, refusing to accept that anything was impossible if you had enough money and resources and sheer stubborn will.
He'd looked at me this morning and seen someone who needed help but was too scared to ask for it. Someone who'd spent her entire life learning that accepting help meant giving up control, that trusting people with your vulnerabilities just gave them another way to hurt you.
And instead of walking away, instead of deciding I was too much trouble, he'd found a way to help me anyway. Had wrapped it up in professional distance and business arrangements so I could pretend this was just a transaction instead of what it actually was.
Someone caring enough to stay even after I'd pushed them away.
"Mr. Russell also wanted me to clarify," Webb continued, "that if you accept this position, he'd like to meet with you personally to discuss the scope of work. Tomorrow morning, if you're available. His office at Titan Tower, nine AM."
Tomorrow morning. Less than twenty-four hours after I'd kicked him out of my apartment and told him last night was a mistake. After I'd watched him walk away with his shoulders rigid and his jaw clenched and his eyes carefully empty of everything I'd seen there in the bathtub this morning.
I should say no. Should insist on handling everything through Webb, on keeping that professional distance I'd demanded. Should protect both of us from whatever happened when we were in the same room again.
But I thought about the Caldwell case. About someone powerful enough to manipulate Kholod, to set me up as a weapon against Adrian, to orchestrate an assassination attempt that would have destroyed everything I cared about. About the fact that I had no idea who they were or how to find them.
And I thought about my mother's case file, hidden under a kitchen towel like a shameful secret. About seven years of waiting for the courage and resources to do what needed to be done.
Julian was offering me both. The cover to investigate Caldwell without raising suspicion. The resources to finally hunt the men who'd killed my mother.
All I had to do was walk into his office tomorrow and look him in the eye after everything that had happened between us.
"I'll need to review the contract," I said finally.
Webb nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need. When you're ready to discuss terms, just give me a call."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone in my apartment with a consulting contract and my mother's case file and the growing realization that I'd severely underestimated exactly how stubborn Julian Russell could be when he wanted something.
Or someone.
I pulled the folder out from under the towel and set it next to the consulting contract, staring at both of them like they might spontaneously combust. Years ago, Arthur had promised to help me find justice and then sent me away instead. Had taught me that trusting powerful men with your pain just gave them another way to control you.
But Julian wasn't Arthur. He'd seen me at my worst—holding a gun to a Senator's head, every mask stripped away—and he hadn't run. Hadn't tried to fix me or save me or turn me into something more palatable.
He'd just looked at me like I was exactly what he'd been searching for his entire life.
Like I was worth the trouble.
I opened the consulting contract and started reading. Because if I was going to walk into Titan Tower tomorrow and face Julian Russell after everything that had happened between us, I needed to be prepared.
Needed to know exactly what I was agreeing to.
And maybe—just maybe—I needed to start accepting that I didn't have to hunt alone anymore.