Predator

“Excuse me,” she said softly, and the sound of her voice reached unexpectedly deep into his awareness.

Cross nodded, but still did not move. She turned away and went inside. He remained outside, still catching the scent of her perfume: warm, with a hint of jasmine woven into the cold evening air, somehow familiar and close to his heart. It drifted from her as she moved, from her thick, slightly wavy hair with its copper sheen. Behind him, the light of a streetlamp caught it, casting a soft, mysterious shimmer.

He stood without moving until the door closed with a quiet jingle of the bell. A few seconds passed, and, scarcely aware of what he was doing, Cross pulled the handle again. He went back inside.

The stranger stood at the counter, talking to Mr. Jobson. Her voice was calm and even, slightly low, gently drawing out the vowels. Cross stopped behind her and simply listened, his eyes fixed on the back of her head.

Jobson noticed him first, brightened, and smiled.

“Miss Davison, allow me to introduce Mr. Back.”

She turned around, and Cross held out his hand. She placed her warm, soft hand delicately in his. But he held on to it, not letting go at once. She looked at their joined hands, then into his eyes, and was the first to pull away.

“I haven’t seen you in Greyfield before,” he said slowly, tilting his head a little.

“Nor have I seen you,” she replied, with a slight, almost imperceptible pause. As though she had remembered something but decided not to mention it.

“Perhaps a cup of coffee?” the shopkeeper offered, neatly seizing the moment.

Cross kept his eyes on her, then made a small gesture inviting her to the table by the window. She raised her eyebrows slightly, glanced at Jobson, who was already pouring the coffee, and walked to the table with a quiet smile.

Cross pulled out her chair.

“You don’t often meet a gentleman in our little town,” Miss Davison remarked as she sat down.

“It’s not gallantry. It’s simply how a man should behave in the company of a lady he respects,” he answered quietly, with a note of confidence.

Two cups of coffee and a slice of pie each were set before them.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was already studying her intently.

“Chris,” he introduced himself.

“Milena,” she replied, saying her name softly.

“Such a beautiful name… just like you. Why have I never seen you before?” he asked in a velvet voice.

“Thank you.” She smiled and lowered her eyes for a second. “Have you been here long?”

“Three months,” Cross replied briefly, taking a sip of coffee.

“I’m only home on weekends. I work and live in Salt Lake City. I come to Greyfield to stay at my father’s house. He died last year.”

“Please accept my condolences,” he said seriously.

“Thank you.” She looked away, and for a second a silence settled between them.

“What do you do?” Cross asked, leaning on the table.

“I’m an assistant at an architecture firm. It’s a long story, but essentially, I’m always busy with projects.”

“That must be interesting work. I came from New York to visit a friend. We started a new business, opened a store. Looks as though I’ll stay here for a little while.” He let the pause linger before adding, “And today I found another reason.”

He allowed himself a look that said more than words could. Milena caught it and grew shy for a moment, lowering her lashes as though trying to hide a slight flutter of excitement.

“It’s unusual, leaving New York and moving here,” she remarked.

“I’m rather unusual myself,” Cross replied quietly, without looking away. He did not seem fully aware of his own behaviour. “I’d like to invite you to dinner at a restaurant in Salt Lake City. Whenever it suits you.”

She was silent for a moment, then smiled slightly and shrugged.

“All right.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her.

They sat there for almost an hour, talking and joking, after which Cross walked her home. Outside the entrance, they spent another twenty minutes talking about everything and nothing, until she admitted she was cold.

Back home, he settled into his armchair and sat in the dark for a long time. Every word, every look, her voice, the warm, fragrant scent of her body… it all kept turning over in his mind as he tried to understand what had just happened to him.

Chapter 11

Cross sat at his workstation in the dim office, like a captain on the bridge of a ship. An entire wall of monitors glowed in front of him: live market charts moved across the central screens, while news feeds, analytical reports, and pop-up notifications of closed trades flashed on either side. A chat with his broker blinked on a monitor in the corner, above a panel showing his current positions. The faint hum of fans and the soft whir of cooling systems filled the silence, drawing him completely into the market.

Everything was going to plan. The charts behaved predictably, trades closed at a profit, and his capital grew. Yet instead of his usual predatory focus, he increasingly caught himself staring into space, his thoughts drifting… to Milena. Her eyes, her gentle smile, the quiet voice that still echoed in his memory. Damn it, this was dangerous.

Roy’s call pulled him out of that meditative state, as though someone had tapped on the glass of the bridge.

“Listen, Chris, I’ve got news…” Roy sounded excited, the words tumbling out almost in a single breath. “Remember I told you about Steward Darsen? The guy I helped with his car a while back. Well, he turned up and said he had a surprise for me. And damn, did he deliver!”

“What kind of surprise?” Cross was already sitting up in his chair.

“A garage, Chris. A huge garage in Salt Lake City! Rent-free for a whole three months while we get on our feet. Steward heard I was looking for a place and took me straight over. We’ve just had a look. Listen, the place is fantastic! Great location, no other garages nearby, hardly any competition.”

Roy spoke quickly, almost choking on his excitement, as though he feared someone would snatch his idea if he fell silent for even a second.

“The garage itself is on one side, and there’s a spacious room with glass walls on the other. We thought we could make it an office, or even an auto parts store.”

“Are the ceilings high?” Cross asked, mentally fitting equipment into the space.

“Really high. It’s a two-storey building. The ground floor’s wide, divided into two sections, each about… well, probably twenty metres long and at least ten wide.”

“And how many cars will fit in the workshop?”

“Four easily, with room left over for the lifts.”

Cross fell silent for a second, letting the picture take shape in his mind: the smell of fresh paint, the gleam of glass partitions, the hum of machinery at work. It was like a set already built for his plans.

“All right, Roy,” he said at last. “We’ll talk when I have news.”

He said a brief goodbye and laid the phone on the desk. He took a couple of steps across the room, and his eyes drifted to the other phone, where her name was blinking in the messenger app. Just one message: How are you? But he stopped himself in time, as though catching himself by the collar, and put the phone back on the desk.

“Business, Cross. Business first,” he muttered, though he smiled anyway.

A couple of minutes later, he stepped into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and held his face beneath the stream. The icy drops burned his skin, carrying away the thick haze of his thoughts. He needed to clear his head. The rush of water drowned out everything: the noise of the market and Milena’s voice in his mind.

An hour later, Cross was sitting in Kacper Mazur’s office at the bank. The tall windows caught the spring sunlight and cast it across the polished desk. A leather folder lay on it, and Mazur leafed through the documents inside, occasionally looking at Cross over his glasses.

“Yes, we can arrange that,” he said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair after Cross had shared his ideas.

“I haven’t spoken to Hart yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree to my terms,” Cross replied, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his pressed trousers. As usual, he had settled comfortably on the sofa beside the desk. “All I need is for you to act personally as my representative, Mr. Mazur.”

“And confidentially, of course?”

“Of course. You understand why I need to keep this quiet. If my name comes out, there’ll be chaos.” He gave a bitter smile. “When I return to New York, which won’t be before January next year, I think you can show your hand if you wish. But not now.”

Kacper nodded, though an almost warm, personal smile flickered in his eyes.

“Honestly? I’d rather never have to say goodbye to you.”

“You won’t have to,” Cross replied quietly but firmly. “I’ll simply be somewhere else. Our friendship and partnership will continue. I promise you that.”

Mazur rose, came around the desk, and held out his hand. Cross stood too, and their firm handshake sealed the agreement better than any document.

With the elder Mazur’s support secured, Cross was on his way to Hart’s within minutes, having called ahead to arrange an urgent meeting. The car was quiet except for the steady rumble of the engine. This was the moment to work out exactly how to present Hart with an offer he could not refuse, but his fingers found the phone almost of their own accord. Milena’s name lit up the screen, an invitation to abandon his fighting spirit. He pressed call.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft, with a note of surprise.

“Hi. I wanted to hear your voice.” He caught himself smiling.

“Thank you. That’s lovely to hear. How are you?”

“Great. Better every day. How are things with you?”

“Everything’s good here too.”

“Did you get any sleep after yesterday’s WhatsApp marathon?” he asked with a smile, remembering their conversation that had lasted until five in the morning.

“If you can call it sleep.” She laughed. “I’ve been running on coffee all day.”

“Sorry.” He turned into the narrow lane leading to the gates of Hart’s garage.

“What for? You didn’t make me stay up.”

“Really?” He deliberately drew out the word.

“Really.”

He stopped at the gates, set the parking brake, and leaned back in his seat.

“All right, I promise to let you get some sleep tonight… so I can keep you awake again tomorrow.” He paused, and they both laughed softly.

A pleasant ache stirred in his chest. Damn it, he wanted to see her right now.

“Talk to you tomorrow, Chris,” she said.

“Tomorrow, sweetheart. And remember, we’re seeing each other on Saturday.”

“We’ve already agreed on that!” she teased.

“Yes, but it’s only Thursday… two more days. All right, I’ll wait.”

He ended the call and took a deep breath, putting his business face back on before he stepped out of the car.

Inside the garage, Hart was already waiting, wiping his hands on a rag.

“I thought you weren’t coming in.” He held out his hand, genuine warmth in his smile. “Good to see you, buddy.”

Cross shook his hand firmly.

“Good to see you too. Let’s sit down. We have things to discuss.”

Chapter 12

Hart led him past the workshop toward the office. The peeling sofa and oil stains on the walls were gone, replaced by a bright new interior: smooth grey panels, a neatly finished ceiling, a new desk, and two deep leather armchairs. A cup of hot coffee and a stack of recent car magazines stood on the windowsill. The faint smell of polish mingled with the aroma of roasted coffee beans, giving the room a more serious air than before.

“Tea, coffee, water?” Hart offered, gesturing for him to sit.

“Thank you, nothing for me,” Cross replied calmly, settling into the chair opposite. He crossed one leg over the other, leaned back a little, and looked around the room before turning his eyes to Hart.

A low table stood between them, with a notepad and pen on it. Hart sat down too and leaned forward, waiting to hear what this was about. Cross was in no hurry. He often let pauses stretch, bringing the weight of silence to bear. Sometimes it worked far better than any argument.

“I have a proposal,” he finally said quietly. “A place worth looking at, where we could plan a business together in Salt Lake City. A garage with space for a showroom.”

Hart’s eyes lit up, but he restrained himself, merely sitting a little straighter.

“And Roy and I thought,” Cross continued, “that before bringing in someone from outside, it made sense to approach people who have already proved they keep their word. People we know.”

Hart straightened his shoulders.

“Thanks for not counting me out.”

Cross gave a brief nod.

“We have offers from partners we know. We’re taking our time… and for now, all our resources are going into the store. Though that’s temporary. I’m sure we’ll be able to handle everything ourselves later.”

“So you need an investor?”

“You could say that. But less an investor than a partner on particular terms.”

“What terms?”

“Equipment, plus the ability to provide additional funding if needed. We put a monetary value on everything, including materials, and calculate the ownership shares accordingly. Later, and this is important, those shares will change depending on further contributions from all partners, both current and future. We start as the founders: Roy Mazur is the founder of the company, I’m the lead partner and the person actually running it, and the third place is open. It could be yours.”

Hart narrowed his eyes.

“How many partners will there be altogether?”

“That depends on how well we do. If we grow into a corporation with shareholders, which I’m more than confident we will, there could be many. But for now, there are three of us: the elder Mazur acting as my representative, since I have other business to attend to; his son Roy; and either you or someone else. And yes, I came to you first, as promised.”

“And you won’t regret it,” Hart said with a grin.

Cross tilted his head slightly.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Why?”

“Because my business and my success in this town began with you. You didn’t turn me away.”

Hart looked slightly embarrassed, but his smile showed that the words had struck home.

“Thanks for remembering.”

“And thank you. But there’s another reason.”

“What’s that?”

“Shall we be honest?”

“Of course!”

“You’re not young anymore, Tom. One day, you’ll want to live off dividends and relax by the ocean with a beer in your hand. Am I right?”

Hart lowered his head a little and pressed his lips together. At first he sighed, then laughed and slapped his knee.

“I like you! Knew from the first minute you weren’t just some ordinary guy passing through. Sharp, clever… Where are you from, anyway?”

“A long way away. And thank you for the compliment. But back to business. I’ll walk you through the details, and you can think it over. I’d like an answer by morning. If you’re in, we’ll go and see the premises, then take care of the paperwork and get started.”

Hart held out his hand.

“I’m in.”

“Wait, I haven’t explained all the finer points yet…”

“I trust you, Chris. You’ve already proved yourself. What you pulled off in three days would have taken me three months! So my instinct for the right people works pretty damn well!”

Cross smiled faintly and nodded in agreement.

“Can’t argue with that…” he added, rising and holding out his hand to Hart. “Tomorrow, Tom, I won’t just show you a building. I’ll show you your future.”

After dinner, the table in the Mazurs’ house once again became an improvised headquarters. Sheets of sketches, pencils, and mugs of cooling tea lay scattered amid a lively discussion of the new business they were planning. Kacper, Roy, and Cross drew lines on the layout, argued about the entrance, worked out spaces for the lifts, and discussed likely expenses, along with how many workers they would need and in which trades.

“I can’t manage two businesses at once,” Roy admitted, excited about the new project. “The store needs someone there all the time, and if the car dealership gets going, we’ll have to find a manager for that too.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Cross looked at Kacper. “Mr. Mazur, think about who you know and trust. We still have time, but we need to start looking.”

Mazur considered this, gave something like a hum, and nodded.

“I can’t say I have anyone in mind just yet, but I’ll give it some thought…”

“Excellent,” Cross replied. After a moment’s thought, he added, “Hart and I will go over there tomorrow morning and look into the details too. He may have some suggestions of his own.”

“Let’s not wait,” Roy decided, reaching for his phone. “I’ll call Steward. We can take a look ourselves. Well, you can. I’ve already seen it, and I really liked it.”

The call was brief, and within minutes they were on their way.

They arrived at the building’s darkened porch almost at the same time. Cross and the Mazurs pulled up a little to one side, while Steward was already waiting nearby. The owner was due any minute. They stood in a semicircle by the entrance, exchanging remarks about business, when a silver SUV glided under the canopy.

Cross recognised him instantly. Honnar Devereaux, an old acquaintance. Although he was not among Cross’s close friends, he knew him well enough to blow his entire cover the moment he stepped out.

The decision came automatically.

“I’ll speak to him myself,” he said briefly over his shoulder, and went to meet him.

Kacper immediately realised something was wrong. He stepped in at once, drawing Roy’s and Steward’s attention to himself.

“Tell me, Steward, what exactly did my son do that made you willing to get involved in this venture?”

Steward glanced toward Cross walking away and Devereaux’s car, gave a chuckle, and put an arm around Roy’s shoulders.

“I was flat broke back then, on the verge of a divorce… remember?” he said to Roy. “My wife caught me in the car with my mistress.”

“And smashed up the car too!” Roy added with a nod, and they both burst out laughing.

While they laughed, Kacper slowly and unobtrusively drew them aside, leaving Cross and the newly arrived owner behind them.

Meanwhile, Devereaux approached with a broad smile and exclaimed in astonishment:

“Mr. Begovich?!”

Chapter 13

“Mr. Back. Chris Back,” Cross corrected him, shaking his hand firmly. Then he added more quietly, “Don’t use my name. I’ll explain later.”

Devereaux frowned and asked with concern, “Do you need rescuing?”

Cross gave him an ironic look and nodded. Honnar laughed softly.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m game for anything except a hunger strike.”

“Actually, it would’ve been better if you’d sent someone who doesn’t know me,” Cross said resignedly, more to himself than to him. But the answer came at once.

“I don’t have anyone like that.”

Devereaux gave another short laugh.

“Bro, have you taken up extreme sports or something?”

“Something like that. Let’s leave the details for later, buddy,” Cross asked.

“All right, all right. But fair warning: I’ll expect a full account of what you’re doing here and since when you’ve been Chris Back.”

“Deal,” Cross replied just as quietly.

“Well then, Mr. Back,” Honnar said in a louder, formal voice, “pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Devereaux. We’re looking at the building for an auto repair shop and showroom,” Cross said, lighting a cigarette. The lighter clicked, and smoke drifted toward the parking lot.

Honnar looked over the building.

“Not a bad idea. The guys have already given me the outline… but there’s some red tape with the paperwork here. This county doesn’t always look favourably on auto repairs and sales.”

“Is that a serious problem?” Cross asked.

“Serious, but it depends on how you approach it. And, more importantly, what you bring to the table,” he added meaningfully, glancing at Cross. Cross nodded, tapping the ash off his cigarette. Devereaux continued, “But if you’re handling it yourself, I’m sure it’ll work out. Your idea’s got me interested, actually. If the business plan looks promising, I could come in as a partner. Then I’ll handle the bureaucracy, and we’ll split the expenses among us.”

“We’ll discuss it once we have the details,” Cross said with a nod.

Devereaux gave a brief grin.

“I’ll be waiting. And no hunger strikes.”

They stepped toward the door together, and the group went inside the building, where the air smelled of dust, fresh paint, and the very opportunities they had come for.

The next day, Roy went to meet Hart on his own. Hart liked the premises so much that he lit up like a bulb in a short circuit. His excitement showed in the heat rising to his cheeks and the sweat on his temples.

“Chris said the final word was mine,” he breathed. “So we’re getting started?! I’m ready!”

“Slow down,” Roy said, stopping him. “There’s a snag with the licence. Chris is working on it right now. And the owner, Mr. Devereaux, has hinted that he wants a stake.”

The news pricked Hart like a needle. What if there was no room for him after all? He frowned.

“Why do we need anyone else? We can manage ourselves. I gave my word.”

“You see,” Roy replied calmly, “more investment means more profit. And we don’t have the connections Devereaux has.”

“You can buy connections.” Hart rubbed his fingers together as though counting banknotes.

“Not necessarily. Chris has a sharp nose for this sort of thing,” Roy said firmly.

Hart let out a heavy sigh and gave in, realising that the wall he was up against was stronger than his arguments.

That evening, after a couple of hours’ sleep, Cross returned to his charts and immersed himself in work. Lines, numbers, candlesticks on the screen: he pushed everything else aside. But half an hour later, his phone rang.

“Buddy, I’ve sorted it out. We’re opening,” Devereaux said.

“What?” Cross kept his eyes on the chart.

“We’ll get the licences. When are we meeting?”

“Honnar, I’m up to my neck in work right now, brother. I’ll call you back.”

“Understood. Call me when you’re free,” came the voice on the phone.

Cross put the phone on the desk, his gaze still fixed on the screen. The candlestick was moving in the right direction. Now… stop… Something clicked in his head like a gun’s bolt, and the whole world narrowed once again to the trend line.

It was only toward nightfall that Cross set off. He and Honnar had agreed to meet on neutral ground, far from town and prying eyes. At Cross’s insistence, they had chosen somewhere well away from their usual routes.

The highway stretched west toward the Nevada border, cutting the empty plain in two. The mountains were behind him now, and ahead lay nothing but dark grassland and the wind roaming endlessly over it. Cross drove his SUV almost blindly until two white beams of headlights appeared in the distance.

Devereaux was utterly bewildered, but knowing Cross Begovich, he saw no reason to distrust him. He had agreed without question to drive all that way for a conversation. Above all, curiosity was eating at him: what was actually going on?!

Close to midnight, the two men finally parked their cars by the roadside. Cross stepped out and breathed in the freezing air so deeply that his lungs rang, then climbed into Devereaux’s car. He sank heavily against the seat back and closed his eyes. Honnar turned his whole body toward him, almost holding his breath, as though he were about to hear the most intriguing story of his life.

His theatrical air amused Cross so much that he burst out laughing in his friend’s face. Thoroughly confused, Honnar laughed too, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Buddy, tell me what’s going on with you,” Devereaux finally said. “I might have thought someone was blackmailing you, or the FBI was on your tail, but the way you’re acting… it makes no damn sense!”

Cross looked at him and dissolved into laughter again, throwing his head back. Honnar watched him for half a minute, then waved a hand and simply got out of the car.

Cross laughed alone for another couple of minutes before gradually calming down and, with a theatrical flourish, striking the centre of the steering wheel with his palm. The sharp blast of the horn nearly made Devereaux jump as he leaned against the hood. Cross laughed again and nodded for him to come back.