Predator

“Get out and come over here yourself! The only camera that could catch you out here is one in space,” Honnar called, then turned away.

“Damn you,” Cross grumbled as he climbed out.

As usual, he lit a cigarette and breathed out smoke, which the wind immediately caught and carried into the darkness of the grasslands.

“Remember Lance?” Cross asked.

Devereaux looked at his friend, thought for a moment, then asked, “The one with the earring?”

“Yes, that one.”

“And?”

“He and I made a million-dollar deal.”

“Whoa. What kind?” Honnar asked, putting his hands in his pockets and straightening a little.

“That I, Cross Begovich, will make that million dollars in a year, starting with no money and no connections.”

Devereaux blinked, silently absorbing the information. Cross breathed out smoke and smiled broadly again as he watched his reaction.

“Have you guys really got nothing better to do?” Honnar finally asked, still stunned by what he had heard.

Cross turned away, tapped off the ash, and spoke more calmly.

“Actually, it was a good idea, and I seized on it straight away. A good way to sharpen my skills and test my endurance. That’s why no one around here knows my real name. Just a couple of people, and they’ve given me their word. But there’s one problem between you and me, Honnar, old man.”

Cross turned back, looked him in the eyes, and took a drag on his cigarette.

“I know too much, and now you have to kill me?” Devereaux joked, making Cross laugh again.

“Did the meeting place give it away?”

“Yes. I brought pepper spray, just in case. It’s in my pocket.”

Cross almost doubled over with laughter. Once he had recovered a little, he gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder.

“You’re more likely to kill me with your jokes,” he said through his laughter. Then he sighed again, glanced at Devereaux, and continued, “If it weren’t for that damn agreement… We had it made legally binding, by the way.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I’m perfectly serious, never mind the laughing. It’s exactly as I’m telling you, Honnar.”

“That’s insane!” Honnar pressed a palm to his forehead and half turned away.

“It’s all right, brother. Everything’s under control.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Until January.”

“And how much have you made?”

“I’m only warming up. But you know how it is: you always skim off the cream at the end…”

Devereaux said nothing.

“Everything’s going to plan…”

“Can I help somehow? Give you a couple of hundred, at least? Though I could lend you the whole million. Just say the word.”

Cross clapped him on the shoulder.

Devereaux had never been on Cross’s personal list of close friends. Different cities, different lines of work, and different social circles had kept them apart. But he was a man who was hard not to respect. He was no small businessman, but the owner of a major real estate company in Utah, with branches in other states. Yet he never flaunted his position, could speak to anyone as an equal, and made no distinctions of class or status. Today, he had come to the meeting himself, without an entourage or any fuss. These minutes beneath the open sky had finally swept away all formality between them.

Cross felt that rare, genuine affection for Honnar Devereaux: here was someone he could work with, joke with, and trust.

“Thank you, truly,” he said, “but that would defeat the point of the deal. It isn’t really about Lance. He was just the reason it happened. If I wanted, I could give him the million and never miss it. But he challenged me in front of everyone…” Cross lowered his head and paused briefly. “And now… you see, I want to prove to myself that I can do it.”

When he finished, he looked up at Devereaux, who simply watched him in silence, his jaw clenched.

Cross gave a wry smile, took a deep breath, and looked into the distance. It seemed they were both thinking the same thing.

“Your friend’s a real bastard…” Honnar finally said through his teeth.

Cross shrugged, stepped closer, and leaned back against the hood of Devereaux’s tall SUV.

“We have a lot of memories together. Yes, he can be petty, and sometimes stupidly arrogant, but there were times when he was willing to put his life on the line for me. And I don’t forget the good things.”

“I understand. Then let’s get this business going and make it work. At least I can help you that way,” Devereaux said.

“The thing is, there’s a clause in the agreement: no previous connections or contacts, no dealings with or help from old friends and acquaintances. And I don’t want to break it.”

Honnar turned to face him, looking puzzled.

“So what now? I’ve already sorted out the licence!”

“That doesn’t put an end to the business, but you and I can’t be partners until next January. We’ll have to wait,” Cross replied, still relaxed and calm.

Honnar bit his lip and thought. A silence stretched between them. Then he said, “I know how to get around that clause and make this work for both of us without putting it off.”

“Mm?”

“Someone else joins as a partner in my place, but with my money and the resources I can provide.”

Cross straightened and held out his hand. Devereaux slapped his palm against it.

“Now you’re talking. And remember, I suggested that right from the start!” Cross said with a grin.

They went back to joking, and by then none of the old distance remained between them.

Chapter 14

Just before seven on Saturday evening, Cross parked outside the entrance to Milena’s building. In the dimness of the back seat lay a bouquet of fresh scarlet roses, heavy with fragrance. He leaned back against the car, slipped his hands into his pockets, and waited, counting every second. He wore a fitted dark blue jacket that outlined his broad shoulders and strong chest. His new wardrobe was gradually filling with clothes he felt at home in. Well-made and comfortable, with no loud branding, yet unmistakably expensive. Cross had always chosen such things himself, carefully, to suit his style without being ornate. Simple and understated, but every stitch said that the man wearing them was accustomed to the best and knew how to wear it.

The evening was quiet. Soft lamplight spilled across the wet asphalt, and the air carried a faint scent of rain and spring. The wind stirred his collar, but Cross did not notice the cold. All his attention was fixed on the doors.

Then they opened. Milena stepped out in a light-coloured coat, her loose hair catching the light. She walked calmly, with an ease and quiet confidence in her movements. Cross straightened, a smile came to his face of its own accord, and the whole world fell silent, leaving only the two of them in that moment.

“Hi,” she said, smiling too as she came closer.

He bent slightly and brushed his lips against her cheek.

“Hi. You look lovely,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on her eyes.

“Thank you. You look very attractive too,” Milena replied.

“If I’ve managed to attract a beauty like you, I must be damn attractive!”

“I suppose we’re both lucky.” Milena laughed.

“Definitely.” He opened the door for her and, gently holding her hand, helped her into the front seat. Then he took out the bouquet and placed it in her arms.

“Make it even prettier with your smile…”

“Oh God… they’re beautiful…” She buried her face in the roses, closed her eyes, and breathed in their intoxicating scent. There was genuine delight in her voice. “I haven’t had flowers in a hundred years, let alone flowers like these… Thank you!”

Cross still stood beside her, watching her with quiet pleasure.

“Your hundred years of happiness are only beginning,” he said, closing the door and walking around the car to get behind the wheel.

Once settled in his seat, he smiled again. His palm touched her hand, and he gently lifted it to his lips.

“Thank you for coming. I’m very happy.”

Milena watched him with green eyes full of curiosity and things left unsaid.

“You know, Chris…”

“What?” He started the engine and eased the car onto the road.

“I have this feeling that we’ve met… as though I knew you before.”

“Really?” He glanced at her briefly, hiding a small stab of tension beneath his calm. “People often tell me that. Perhaps it’s a kinship of souls. In our case, it certainly is, because I felt it too. From the first minute.” His fingers threaded through hers, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Milena glanced at their joined hands but did not withdraw hers. He continued to hold it confidently, looking ahead.

At last, he parked by the restaurant entrance. The warm glow of the streetlamps softly filled the car. He got out first, walked around, opened her door, and offered his hand. His fingers closed around hers with a strength in which she felt a certain care.

“Careful, my lady,” he said quietly, noticing the slippery paving beneath their feet and her beige heels, which matched her coat.

Milena carefully set the bouquet aside and stepped out, adjusting her hair a little. He caught the softness and grace of the movement. His gaze was direct and warm, with a hint of curiosity as he studied her. He was in no hurry to release her hand, and they went inside together.

Soft lighting and muted voices greeted them in the restaurant, where the scents of wine and fine food lingered in the air. The host recognised Cross, who had arranged the reservation beforehand, and quietly led them toward their table. They left their coats with the cloakroom attendant and headed farther into the dining room, but Cross stopped for a moment, looking her figure over from the bottom up with open admiration. Milena smiled broadly. Her dress, a rich lilac shade and falling just below her knees, flattered her silhouette, fitting closely over her curves and showing off her long, slender legs. His gaze reached her eyes, and he said softly:

“What I see is even better than I imagined.”

Their table by the window, overlooking the lights of the city at night, was perfectly laid. Cross pulled out her chair, waited until she was settled, and only then sat down himself. A chilled bottle of white wine already stood on the table. A minute later, the waiter graciously poured it into their glasses.

“You know, I thought this evening would be good. Now I’m sure it’ll be special,” Cross said.

All his attention was on her. He did not study the menu, glance at his phone, or search the room for anyone. All the space, all the time, and the entire mood belonged to her alone. To Milena.

“Do you prefer red or white?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“White. Light, but… with some character.” She smiled a little.

“Then I guessed right. It’s just like you,” he replied, almost in a whisper. “You look gentle, but there’s a whole storm inside.”

Milena lowered her eyes, though a smile played on her lips.

“And you? What do you taste like?”

“Dangerous question, Milena.” Cross leaned forward a little, holding her gaze. “Honestly, you’d be better off trying than listening.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“And you call this a safe dinner?”

“Safety’s boring.” He moved his glass slightly, as though clearing the space between them. “Tell me what you’re afraid of instead.”

“Afraid of?..” She thought for a moment. “Probably spending my life on the wrong person.”

“Then we have that in common,” he answered at once. “I’m afraid of making the wrong choice too. But tonight…” His gaze moved over her face, slowly committing every detail to memory. “I have a feeling… that I’m on the right path.”

“You’re very convincing,” she remarked.

“I simply don’t waste words. Especially on a woman who’s touched something in me.”

They fell silent for a second, but there was a particular fullness to that silence.

“What shall we drink to?” she asked, changing the subject.

“To both of us having a chance tonight. And to it becoming a beginning, rather than just an episode.”

They clinked glasses, and he took his first sip without looking away.

Cross eased into a casual conversation, asking questions in a way that turned her answers into stories rather than bare facts. He listened so closely that she felt like the center of his universe. His compliments sounded like observations from someone who saw more in her than she had ever thought to notice herself.

“Tell me about yourself.” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes watched him closely.

Cross leaned back a little, considering his options. For a second, he said nothing, deciding which side of himself to reveal.

“I came over from the Balkans in the early two thousands,” he said at last. “Studied, trained in banking… then life swept me along. I’m a partner in several businesses, some small, some not so small. Life’s hectic. You can’t fit it all into a few words. It’s a tough world, mostly a man’s world. But…” He paused. “I get the feeling life has toughened you up, too.”

Milena tilted her head with interest.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because there’s nothing naïve about you. Which means you’ve had your share of joys and blows.” He touched the stem of his wineglass, turning it slowly. “Once, in a meeting room, I watched a young woman, just as calm as you are now, turn an entire negotiation around with a single sentence. There were eight men sitting there, and every one of them was stunned. She stood up, took her folder of documents, and said, ‘When you’re ready to talk seriously, you’ll know where to find me.’ The door closed, and the room went so quiet you could hear the clock on the wall ticking away the seconds. Three days later, they signed the contract on her terms.”

He smiled, watching Milena’s reaction.

“Ever since then, I’ve known that silence can sometimes carry more strength than any words.”

She smiled, too, but a question flickered in her eyes: What is he leaving out? That suited him perfectly.

Milena looked away for a moment, as though searching her memory for something she was willing to share.

“When I was a teenager,” she began quietly, “we went through… let’s call it a difficult time at home. People we’d helped turned their backs on us. That was when I realized other people’s promises are worth nothing unless they’re backed up by actions. Since then, I’ve tried to rely on myself and a couple of people I trust completely.”

She gave a faint, wry smile, though sadness showed through it.

“And yes, sometimes it makes me too cautious. But I’d rather err on the side of distrust than lose everything again for someone else’s gain.”

Cross listened closely, without interrupting. Then he tilted his head a little and spoke.

“That isn’t caution, Milena. It’s experience. And, honestly, it suits you.”

She flushed ever so slightly. Catching that moment, he let the pause linger, holding her gaze until the world beyond their table ceased to exist. He laid his hand over hers and lowered his voice, each word still clear.

“You know, I don’t like making promises unless I’m sure I can keep them. Actually, I avoid putting myself in that position at all. But when I say something, it’s already a plan, not just words. I know very well what it means to be left alone, and I know what it feels like to have someone beside you who stays to the end. And yes… I don’t like losing people who matter to me.”

He fell silent again, gauging how deeply those words would sink in.

“So if you let me take even one step closer, I won’t disappoint you,” he said after a little while.

Milena lowered her eyes to her glass, but a barely perceptible smile appeared on her face. He understood that she was torn between caution and the desire to believe him. To ease the seriousness of the moment, he raised his eyebrows slightly and added with a hint of humor:

“And don’t worry, I’m not dangerous… except perhaps to your conviction that perfect men don’t exist.”

Milena laughed softly, and that laugh sounded like a small surrender.

At the end of dinner, when the waiter discreetly brought the bill, Cross didn’t even look at it. He simply slipped his card inside and continued their conversation, as though the moment didn’t warrant so much as a pause.

“If you’d like to go for a walk, there’s a place I want to show you. It’s a little like the two of us: it seems simple, but it has a secret,” he said, rising and offering her his hand.

And by then, she already knew: he had got what he wanted.

Half an hour’s drive brought them to a turnoff from the main highway running along the foot of the mountains. Cross turned, and the car began a gentle climb up the winding road. With every minute, the city below grew smaller, and the air fresher and cleaner.

At the overlook, the dark, still surface of the lake greeted them, golden trails of reflected waterfront lights trembling on the water. To their right, the mountains stood in clear silhouette through a faint evening mist, while below, the city lay like a scattering of sparks on black velvet. Cross switched off the engine and lingered for a few seconds, simply looking ahead and committing the moment to memory.

He got out, walked around the car, and opened her door. The damp scent of spring mingled with the smell of pine from the scattered trees clinging to the slopes.

“Look,” he said quietly, leading her to the edge of the overlook, where sturdy metal railings ran around the perimeter. Below the slope, a little stream murmured, catching glimmers of lamplight. “I like coming here when I need to breathe. Every man should have a place where he can leave behind everything he doesn’t need.” He spoke as he looked into the distance, then turned to her, his voice growing softer and warmer. “I brought you here tonight. That means you’re what matters most to me, what I always want to feel close by.”

He said it quietly, then fell silent, keeping his eyes on hers. That was why his words went straight to their mark. There was no wish to impress in his gaze, only honesty and an inner certainty.

Without thinking, Milena stepped closer, until her shoulder barely brushed his chest. Cross swept a stray lock of hair away from her face and let his fingers linger. Their breath mingled in the cold air, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Milena…” His voice grew quieter still. “I like you more than I’d planned.”

She lifted her face a little, searching for words, about to say something, but just then he asked:

“May I…?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, leaving only the briefest pause for her to choose. When she stayed where she was, he leaned down and kissed her, slowly and gently, but with growing passion. And that moment was only the beginning of something that could no longer be stopped.

Chapter 15

By July, Cross’s ventures had moved beyond their first tentative steps and become a stable system. Everything he put his hand to came to life and began turning a profit. The stores were expanding, and the car dealership was running at full capacity.

The morning chill still lingered in the small warehouse behind the store. A damp cold rose from the crates of ice as Cross arrived and walked between the rows at his usual pace. He never hurried, but he never wasted a second either. Everyone knew him: someone nodded from behind bunches of greens; someone else raised a hand in greeting beside a barrel of honey.

“How’s the shrimp looking today?” he asked Beatrice, looking into her eyes rather than at the price tag.

“Keeping us on our toes,” she said. “One refrigerated truck broke down near Lewiston, but I’ve already arranged another. We’ll have it here by this evening. Same price we agreed on.”

“Keep the volume up. We’ll fill out the selection with chilled shrimp. Leave the margin alone; we’ll make it up in turnover,” Cross replied, stepping back to let a worker pass with a cart full of strawberries. “Roy will come by with the paperwork around three.”

He picked up a box of strawberries to take home, though home that morning wasn’t his own address. He liked the way they smelled: of June and someone in particular.

Mazur & Sons was buzzing at that hour. A line had already formed at the fish counter. Roy was checking stock levels. Two girls from Greyfield helping out moved with almost measured precision: one smile, two quick steps.

“Look.” Roy turned his tablet toward him. “Yesterday’s cream sales beat the forecast. It’s moving better than we expected. Fruit’s up eighteen percent. Fish slowed down around noon, but we made it up by evening.”

“Then give the fish a stronger display first thing in the morning. Move the ice ‘island’ closer to the entrance. Let the cold greet the heat,” Cross said briskly. “And find another person to help with the morning deliveries. You’re worn out by the afternoon.”

“Will do. By the way…” Roy lowered his voice and grinned. “People are talking about you. In a good way.”

“Let them talk,” Cross replied with a slight smile. “As long as they have something worthwhile to say.”

He left the sales floor and went to the staff entrance, where a crumpled delivery map hung on the wall. Studying it, he worked through the routes, then took out a marker and drew three quick lines, changing the delivery order. Logistics was chess on wheels: sending the right truck out first saved three phone calls that would never need to be made.

His phone vibrated. A message from Milena appeared: “Woke up and remembered the way you laughed last night. I miss you.”

He caught himself smiling and sent a brief reply: “I miss you too. Good morning. Eight tonight? I’ll pick you up.” Then he put his phone aside.

The store’s little administrative office occupied a former storeroom that had been hastily converted. It served as a temporary headquarters. The manager and accountant worked side by side at two desks, and urgent meetings were held there too. A separate building for the corporation’s future head office was still only a plan, so for now they had to put up with the spartan conditions. A bookcase reaching the ceiling, a heavy safe, a couple of shelves on the walls: everything was already buried under folders, delivery notes, formal records, estimates, and piles of other paperwork.

Bett, the accountant, was practically drowning in it and often didn’t leave for home until after midnight. The newly hired managers, Clyde in purchasing and Beatrice in logistics, each shouldered their own share of the chaos. Roy Mazur was learning to cope with his growing responsibilities. Besides the store, he now had the dealership too. The elder Mazur still hadn’t found a capable assistant and, despite his age, took an active part in managing things himself. Whenever he couldn’t, Cross picked up the threads. Brian Mercer, Honnar’s man, had taken on a substantial share of the work at the dealership; without him, it would simply have ground to a halt. Hart had changed too. He had put a manager in charge of his garage and now traveled back and forth between Greyfield and the city. He had so much energy that he seemed to have shed ten years.

The changes in them were impossible to miss. Kacper Mazur looked noticeably younger too: his step had acquired a spring, his smile had grown broader, and instead of giving his secretary a curt nod, he now showered her with compliments. Roy had become a different man altogether. More and more often, he wore suits with neatly pressed shirts, a stylish, tidy haircut, and a watch on his wrist, in place of his grubby overalls and old boots. Even Tom Hart, forever the mechanic in oil-stained shirts, had bought himself a couple of jackets and ties.

Cross watched it all with a barely perceptible smile. To him, they were like stones in a sauna stove. He poured on water and watched the heated bodies give off steam. People were changing, and that meant the business was more than work: it was a school, a forge of character. In that transformation, he saw the surest promise for the future. Even if one day he was no longer there, the corporation would stand.

Partnership offers were pouring in. Suppliers from neighboring counties offered access to their distribution networks, banks were already considering lines of credit, and several farms wanted to sign long-term contracts with them. They had to sit down, work through the figures, and discuss what came next.

They were beginning to understand something simple: the little shop was no longer just a store. It had become an organization ready to grow into a real corporation.