Page 69 of Backlash

“But be that as it may, you don’t belong six feet under,” he says.

My eyebrows shoot up and I stare at him, waiting for a punchline that doesn’t come. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

“Someone flipped on the Koltsovs,” he explains, “and your name came up.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Not about the Koltsovs. That was just a matter of time. “Wait a minute, are you actually warning me?”

“I’m giving you a chance. You can still do the right thing here,” he says. “Clear your name. Be the guy I used to know.”

Does he think it will be this easy to reform me? Maybe I’ll buy a few bad suits and join the FBI with him? The trouble with Noah is his American Pie earnestness. He always saw the world through red, white, and blue glasses. He joined up to serve his country. I don’t think he ever really believed the rest of us when we told them it was our only option. Jack wanted to get out of town. Luca needed to dodge the family business for a few years to get his head on straight. I—well—I was running from a girl. Noah was a believer, an idealist. Black and white. Right and wrong. There was no in between to Noah Porter.

“And you think that’s what I want?”

“You came home,” he says, like this clears matters up. “You came looking for your girl. Do you really think she fits into your life? We both knew the Koltsovs were going to come looking for you.”

“They’ve got no beef with me.” I mean it. I delivered on every job they ever sent me. We left everything just fine.

“It’s not that simple. They’re cleaning house. Half the list—courtesy of our friendly informant—is dead already.”

“And you think I’m next?”

“You’re not hearing me. They know you’ve been named by someone who flipped—”

“Which means your office fucked up,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down enough it won’t be overhead. “And now you’re talking to me, which will only make me more of a target. So leave off pretending you’re here to do me any favors.”

Noah’s expression sours, but he doesn’t give up. “Now I’m to blame for the Koltsovs trying to clean house? Look, I don’t know if they’re working through their list in fucking chronological order, but they’ll get to you, eventually.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I toss a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

Noah reaches for it and tosses it back at me.

“Can’t let someone like me buy you a cup coffee?” I ask.

“I try to keep my ledger clean.”

“You did me a favor. Told me what to expect. Consider this making us even,” I say and drop the bill back on the table. “I’ll see you around. Thanks for the warning.”

“You have a chance to do what’s right here, Sterling. Don’t waste it,” he advises me.

“I can always make new chances,” I tell him, as I button my suit jacket. “What you’re talking about is closing doors.”

“And this is the door you really want to keep open?” He gestures to the city outside the café’s windows.

“For now.” I’m not giving him the satisfaction of any more of my time, even if he’s given me a lot to consider. It’s one thing to have the FBI sniffing around town. If I keep my nose clean, he can’t touch me. The Koltsovs? That’s another story. If he’s right, then I’ll be hearing from them soon enough. “See you around.”

He tips his head in acknowledgment before tapping the corner of his eye. “I’ll be watching.”

“I bet you will.” As soon as I’m outside, I dial Luca’s phone. There’s no time to waste.

“Bail Money Are Us,” Luca says when he answers. “Did you punch him again?”

“Shut up. This is important.” I fill him in on what Noah said.

He lets out a low whistle before he responds. “Looks like Nashville is getting more interesting.”

“Tell Jack,” I say, ignoring his misplaced humor.

“Will do,” he says.