Read Body Checked (Center Ice Book 1) for Free Online Page A

dismissed.”
    I follow Frederica back to our wing of the office and slump into my fold-out chair. Fucking wonderful. I had a fling with someone who may or may not be central to a criminal investigation. I’d known what Sergei’s brother was, but I’d never in my wildest dreams imagined Sergei could end up involved in his brother’s business. It hadn’t even crossed my mind—certainly not after talking to Sergei, seeing what he was really like.
    Was that because the Sergei I knew really wouldn’t do those things? Or had I been so desperate and horny that I’d overlooked the signs, just like I’d overlooked so much else about him for one night of delight?
    I unlock my computer and stare at the unfinished reporting form. I had given up while trying to summarize who Sergei really is, both for the form and for myself. He’s a raunchy jock, yes, but he also quotes poetry and speaks softly about his past. He isn’t ignorant or entitled about his wealth—not like I’d initially thought. That huge empty house that he could never possibly fill—my basic profiling instincts tell me that speaks of someone looking to atone. But for past deeds? Or something he has yet to do?
    Well. None of it matters now. Sergei and I had our fun, and I’m as good as a stranger to him now. I should finish filling out my form, and then maybe I can tell the special agents whatever they want to know about him from what little I’ve seen. But afterward, I’ll be back to making coffee runs and steam-cleaning the moldy carpets from the 1970s.
    My phone buzzes inside my purse, so faint I almost miss it. I groan and fish it out, expecting a message chain from Beth and Monique. They probably want to grab lunch before we head to our Monday afternoon Russian classes. But it’s from an unknown number—DC area code.
     
    Upon the brink of a wild stream,  
    He stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.  
     
    My heart leaps up into my throat. Aleksandr Pushkin’s famous epic, The Bronze Horseman. No. This can’t possibly be happening.
    Then a second text appears:
     
    Hope you don’t mind that I tracked you down. Headed to Winnipeg, then Buffalo, but will be back in DC Wed night. Daring to dream a mighty dream that you might have dinner with me then. –s  
     
    What in the actual hell is happening? Is renowned playboy, star athlete, and—let’s not forget, Jael—possible ally of a known mob boss trying to date me ?
    I shut off my phone without responding and practically run toward Frederica’s office. She glances up from her slow, measured typing to stare at me. “May I help you, Miss Pereira?” she asks, a little too carefully—like she thinks I’m a wild animal she might need to calm.
    “Um. Yes. I was . . . wondering if I could talk to you for a minute. About the Drakonov case,” I add hastily, when her eyes narrow. Like she might be allergic to the very thought of discussing something personal with me.
    “Ah. Yes, of course.” She eases her shoulders back and beckons me to sit. I shut her office door behind me and settle into the chair opposite her. “That’s right. You’re a . . . a Russian scholar as well, aren’t you.”
    “Yep, that’s me.” I almost smile at that—most days I feel fortunate that she remembers my name. “So, um . . . here’s the thing . . .”
    Frederica folds her arms across the desk and reaches for her coffee. “Please, Miss Pereira. I’ve been investigating organized crime murders for twenty years. Nothing you can say or do will surprise me.”
    “Right. Sure. Umm, so, I might have had . . . intimate relations with Sergei Drakonov.”
    Frederica nearly chokes on the sip of coffee she’s taking, but recovers quickly. “Might?”
    “Okay. Did. It was this past weekend.”
    “And why haven’t you submitted a foreign persons contact form yet?”
    “I was just starting to, before the meeting,” I say. “I’ll get it finished, promise. But I wanted to talk to you first. Because of . . . the