I could barely get the question out. “Do you trust me?”
He paused.
Oh, no. Slowly his expression melted into his cold, emotionless mask. He’d seen right through my attempt to ask for freedom. The phone call from Dimitrije had reminded me of my true goal. Luka’s family were criminals, and I needed to escape.
“I trust you . . . enough,” he said. “Not enough to let you go yet, if that’s where you’re heading.”
I took a sip of my wine and glanced away. He could always tell what I was thinking. I was determined not to let my failed attempt ruin my night. Eventually he’d have to let me go. Johns Hopkins was in Maryland, not Chicago.
Our food was excellent, and I liked the cozy ambiance of the restaurant. Even though the tables were close to each other and the place was busy, it seemed like we were secluded near the back. It felt . . . intimate. It was the closest thing to a real date we’d ever been on.
“Order dessert,” he said, when he noticed me eyeing the cart loaded with all sorts of pastries. “The chocolate torte’s like my mother used to make—”
Commotion near the front drew our attention. In fact, it seemed to draw everyone’s attention in the restaurant. Two men lurked at the host’s stand, and the host turned to Luka, giving us a good look at his angry face.
Luka motioned to bring the men back to us. He straightened in his seat and didn’t look at me as the men hurried through the aisle, grabbed the two empty chairs at our square table, and sat down.
“Luka.” It came from the smaller of the two men. “We heard a Markovic popped by. Wasn’t expecting it to be you.”
There was an undercurrent of tension to the man’s words. He’d been trying for a friendly, casual tone, but there was malice buried there. The larger man was perched on his chair, and his eyes scanned around the room like he expected it to burst into flames at any moment. Was he security?
Luka smiled as much as he typically did, only this one didn’t even reach his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, Ivan.”
Ivan leaned back in his chair like he was getting comfortable, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been hearing things about you.”
Luka raised an eyebrow. “What things?”
“You’ve had several meetings with Goran. What’s going on?”
“Nothing you’d be interested in. Family stuff.”
Ivan’s scrutinizing gaze swung toward me. “Who’s this? You going to introduce your friend?”
“No.” Luka’s tone was clipped.
Ivan uncrossed his arms, and the change in posture was a signal to the man beside him, who shifted as if going on alert. Ivan’s expression screamed he’d been offended. “I thought we were friends. You won’t tell me her name? That’s rude.”
Luka didn’t hesitate. “You’re right. Her name is Avery.”
Chapter
Twenty-three
Ice crept along my spine. Whoever this Ivan was, he wasn’t a friend. The entire restaurant had gone quiet at the two men’s appearance.
“Avery,” Ivan repeated. His eyes were beady and his face unattractive. “I’m sorry for interrupting your date.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Luka said. He refused to look at me, and his focus rested squarely on the silent man beside Ivan. “If anything, you’re saving me from it. She’s dumber than a box of rocks.”
I sat still, unsure of what type of reaction to display. The real Avery would lose her mind being called that. Even though it didn’t apply to me, it still kind of stung.
“Ouch!” Ivan chuckled and stared at me incredulously.
“See what I mean?” Luka said. “I just insulted her and she’s still just sitting here.”
He wants you to go. I shot to my feet and channeled Avery as best I could. “You know what? Go fuck yourself.”
I hurried out of the restaurant and into the cold night, striding past the shops decorated for Christmas. What now? I didn’t have a phone. Should I use this opportunity to run?
No. There was no running. They’d come after Jonathon or perhaps all of my family, and I didn’t know the first thing about how to disappear. And . . . Johns Hopkins. I wasn’t ready to give up now that I was closer than ever.
What if Luka’s in danger?
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself as the winter wind lashed at my bare legs, and I made my way toward the BMW in the parking garage. Not that I had a key. When I reached the car, I leaned on the front end and huddled for warmth. At least here I was out of the wind.
How long should I wait for him beside the car carrying the terrifying stuff in the trunk? Ten minutes? I considered my options. I could go back to the restaurant and act like I’d forgotten my purse. Or maybe I could return and say I wanted to give Luka another piece of my mind. I hated the worry that balled in my stomach and weighed me down like a stone.