“Agent Sykes, I swear — I’ve told you everything I remember. I don’t know what Paul is up to or what the hell those men are after.”
“Noted.” Her eyes narrow. “And you claim you’d never seen them before yesterday?”
I tense. “Claim? I don’tclaimanything. That’s the truth.”
Her thin-lipped smile reappears. “I see.”
“I don’t think you dosee,” I say, feeling my hackles rise. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be treating me like a common criminal. Last I checked, you usually investigate the bad guys who commit crimes, not the victims who suffer them!”
Sykes is suspiciously silent.
“Oh my god,” I say, finally putting the pieces together. “You think I have something to do with this.”
Her brows lift as if to say,Well, do you?
“Wow.” I shake my head. “You honestly believe I’m behind this?”
“Mrs. Hunt, we have to explore all avenues,” Sykes says placatingly. “Once we rule you out as a suspect—”
A suspect!
I’m actually a suspect!
I’d laugh, if I could summon even the slightest sense of humor about this situation. I find myself glancing at Conor. For what, I’m not sure.
Help? Absolution? Explanation?
His eyes give nothing away — they’re dark and shuttered as ever. And his expression is stone cold.
He’s not going to jump in and save you, idiot,I remind myself, feeling my heart pang.He’s the one who dragged you in here. He thinks you’re guilty, too.
For some reason, betrayal blazes through me, hot as a wildfire. Realizing my so-called savior isn’t actually on my side at all burns more than it should. I tear my eyes from him, ignoring the pain in my chest. Agent Sykes is still watching me guardedly.
“Honestly… Do I look like a criminal mastermind to you?”
Her eyes flicker up and down.
I snort. “I’m a freaking yoga instructor!”
“A yoga instructor who married a man with known ties to the Petrov family.”
My brows lift. “The who?”
“The Petrov family.” When I continue to stare at her blankly, she elaborates. “The Russian Bratva.”
Still drawing a blank.
She sighs. “The mafia, Mrs. Hunt.”
“WHAT?”
“I take from your rather overenthusiastic response, you were not aware of your husbands connections.”
My heart is pounding twice its normal speed. “Agent Sykes, I don’t know where you’re getting your intel, but it’s way off base. There’s no way Paul has ties to the Russian mob.”
“I assure you, our intel is quite accurate. Your husband has conducted extensive business on behalf of the Petrovs, from equity trading to reallocating family finances. He’s traveled to Russia at least five times in the past year on the Petrov private jet. And the East Boston apartment in which he currently resides is owned by a shell corporation the Petrov family uses for real estate dealings.”
“But…No. He works as a portfolio manager for a hedge fund. He trades stocks and bonds. I’ve met his co-workers. They’re all average, boring investment banker types. I promise you, they’re not members of the Russian mafia.” I force out a strangled laugh. “And Paul may be a total asshole, but he’s not a criminal.”