“Cognac,” Armand said tersely.
“Jameson.” Etienne nodded to Alexei. After Alexei poured the whiskey, he handed the glass to Etienne who took a sip. He handed Rémy a double shot of rum. “Rémy is the farthest away, he’s in Brooklyn, and Armand is in the Village.”
“But none of Armand’s household, except Armand, speak Russian, and Russian isn’t one of the languages that Rémy speaks. My whole household speaks Russian, and I’m the farthest from Henri in Manhattan.”
“You make sense, Alexei, if they think we caught her. Chernof doesn’t know we did. If he thinks we caught her and she’s still working at Alexei’s, they’ll know we turned her. If she works for me, they’ll figure that we f****d up and she’s still in play.” Henri poured himself some scotch.
Upon reflection, Armand spoke. “What Henri
