At the Pleasure of the President (The Perfect Gentlemen 5)

God, that sounded sweet.

He hit the button that connected him to the driver.

“You can pull out, Bill. Let’s head home.” He wouldn’t sleep. He’d probably call Gus and pray she wasn’t on a date with some skanky too-young dude with abs of steel because he wanted to go over tomorrow night’s plan again. Everything had to be perfect.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Crawford.” Bill’s voice shook over the intercom. “I didn’t want to do this, but I, um…owe some people. You’re actually a pretty nice boss, and I’m…I’m sorry.”

The comm went dead, and the door suddenly opened. What the hell?

Then Mad found himself looking up into dark eyes that held the promise of violence.

“Mr. Crawford, my name is Ivan Krylov.” The big man shoved his way into his limo and sat squarely across from him.

A chill dashed through Mad. He forced himself to sit back since he had the definite feeling that if he tried to escape, he wouldn’t be allowed.

This had to be about the investigation into the foundation. He’d discovered a connection between Tavia, the head of his charitable foundation, and the Russian mob. It was obvious he was going to get a stern talking to about looking into things he shouldn’t.

Maybe he wouldn’t be firing Tavia after all. Maybe he would be bringing in the police instead.

For now, he swallowed and tried to play cool. “I’m afraid I don’t do business anymore by partying with perspective clients, Mr. Krylov. If you have a proposal, schedule a meeting with my assistant. I’ll get back to you.”

When he risked reaching for the door on his left, it opened. Another large man blocked his exit, slid in, and shut it solidly behind him.

Bill was so fired. And he, unfortunately, was trapped.

“I will be giving you my proposal in person now, Mr. Crawford,” Krylov said, his Russian accent thick. “Because I cannot wait. I must return to my friends in Moscow, you see.”

“You need a ride?” He reached for the bottle of Scotch he kept in the limo as his heart raced. But he couldn’t let these men see him sweat or smell his fear. “I’ll be happy to drop you off. I’m friendly that way.”

Thank god Sara was up in her apartment.

“We are here to…talk. Let’s go somewhere quiet so I can discuss a situation with you. I think you have some misconceptions about one of your employees. I will fix this now. Unless you think it’s better for us to go upstairs to your girlfriend’s home. We could speak there.”

His heart threatened to stop. “Girlfriend? Are you talking about Sara? She’s my best friend’s sister. I did her brother a favor by letting her intern at my company. I was just giving her a ride home from work.” Thank god he and Sara had been beyond circumspect. For months, she’d insisted he keep her out of the tabloids, so no one had seen them together. “Trust me. She’s not my type. I’m into one-night stands. That one is practically a virgin, and I don’t have any use for a woman like that. The only one in my life right now is my housekeeper, and she’s gone home for the day.”

“This is good for her,” Krylov said. “Unfortunate for you, though. Since no one is at your home, we will go there and have a nice, long chat.”

He put on his best devil-may-care grin and held up his Scotch glass. “Whatever you say, buddy. I like an adventure.”

He forced himself not to fight as the limo rolled away. He focused on finding some way out of this mess. There had to be one, right? He just had to find it.

But nothing mattered as long as Sara and the baby were safe.

Nothing.

* * * *

Three hours later, Mad clutched his stomach as he rolled to his side and spit blood. Every muscle in his body ached. He thought he’d known pain, but what Krylov and his associate had given him was next level. The men had laid into him with a long, agonizing “speech” about how Mad should stay out of their business. Every word had been punctuated by violence.

Then, finally, the mobsters had left, certain they’d made their point. Mad had to admit Krylov’s message was crystal clear. Butt out of the Crawford Foundation’s irregularities.

God, he wanted Sara. He wished like hell he could call her and beg her to come over and hold him. She would take him to the hospital and baby him. For a few hours, the world might feel safe again.

Except he knew it wasn’t. And it might never be again.

Tonight had changed everything.

Mad closed his eyes, hissing as he rolled to his back again. The marble felt cold as fuck against his clammy skin. He didn’t usually spend much time in his kitchen, but Krylov was a thoughtful torturer. Just before he’d taken the first punch, he explained that he’d chosen this room because blood could be mopped up more easily here.

Wincing, he tried—and failed—to get up. In a weird way, his pain was good news. If he could feel it, that meant he was still alive.

“They got you good, huh?”

Panic flaring, Mad opened his eyes and tried to inch away from the red-haired intruder. “Who are you?”

Shit, had Krylov changed his mind and sent someone to finish him off after all? Maybe, but this guy didn’t sound Russian.

“Hey, I’m not here to hurt you. I hoped I could stay underground a little longer, but things are moving now, so I can’t wait.” He sighed. “God, I never expected you would be the one out of the bunch I’d have to work with. I’m not even sure this is a good idea.” The lanky man paced the floor, stepping around the blood. “You could be in on it, after all.”

Mad shoved himself up, managing to sit, despite the agony screaming through his system. Grimacing, he forced his back to the ridiculously expensive gray cabinets a designer had told him Sara would love. He’d remodeled his place to trick her into thinking he was a good catch.

If Krylov had any idea how much he loved her, that she was having their child, or the lengths he would go to keep them safe, the Russian would have far better methods of controlling him than mere pain.

Of course if what he’d said was true….

“In on what?” Righteous anger was rapidly replacing his fear. Did everyone think they could waltz in and out of his fucking house tonight?

The intruder glowered. Despite his russet hair swept around his ears haphazardly and his Howdy Doody face, the tall man managed to convey a very real sense of danger, especially when he propped his hands on his hips, revealing his lean strength—and the holster at his shoulder.

“The conspiracy.” His hands twitched slightly as he stared down at Mad.

Krylov hadn’t used that word, but the big Russian’s mission had been to give him fear, not information. Even so, Mad had grasped enough to understand.

“Zack Hayes isn’t a Russian plant.”

He couldn’t be. Mad had known Zack for the vast majority of his life. Zack was an all-American hero. Krylov had only suggested otherwise to keep him from calling in the biggest gun he could.

“Which is exactly what you would say if you were in on it.”

Mad did not appreciate the irony. “Look, asshole, I don’t get—or believe—half what that Russian fucker said to me, and I have no idea who you are but I need to get to a hospital.”

The man shook his head and dropped to one knee to more closely inspect the damage. “You can’t, but you’ll be fine. I’ve got a friend who can help you.”

“A friend? I could be bleeding internally. What the—”

“They’re too careful for that. You’re more useful to them alive than dead or you’d already be fish bait. Besides, I want you to think about what happens if Maddox Crawford goes to a hospital and the press finds out.”

Then Sara rushes to his side, and their relationship is outed. And that wasn’t all. “The police get involved.”

“Yep, and once the police get involved, everything gets exposed. That’s something they want to avoid at all costs. But if that happens, they’ll be looking for a scapegoat…and they won’t care about collateral damage.”

The str

anger was right. As much as it burned him, he had to stop looking into what was going on at the Crawford Foundation. But once he did, Krylov would know he had a weak spot, a button that could be pushed again and again to make him do whatever the syndicate wanted. Mad wasn’t foolish enough to think this mess was over simply because he’d promised to stop his investigation.

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. So as much as that sucks, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, they’ll have no choice but to get rid of you, like they got rid of Constance Hayes.”

“What?” They’d offed Zack’s mother? Sure, she’d died suddenly and under somewhat mysterious circumstances, but… “How do you know?”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Pull your head out of your party-boy ass and follow the trail of bodies. Who else shoved his nose in, got too close, and paid the ultimate price? Admiral Spencer.”