“I’ll tell you what I know.”
My body relaxes out of the tense position I have unknowingly been in since I walked into the room, and I sit further back on the couch and get comfortable.
“I don’t have many leads, but I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered. His cell phone is registered to a private dummy corporation and is disconnected, so it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to do a proper trace. I couldn’t even find out the last time it was used. There are no houses or rental properties in his name, so wherever he lived, he must have used an alias. And finally, I couldn’t find any other records for him. Is there a chance that he lived under a different name other than Lev Moore? I just find it highly unlikely that someone could live in this country for over twenty-one years and not have any public records.”
I’m disappointed with Bronx’s progress in finding Lev, but I’m also really confused. How could Lev work for the government and live so completely off the grid? Is anonymity part of his job?
“I don’t think so.”
“You both share your mother’s maiden name, Moore, but what about Lev’s biological dad? What’s his last name?”
“I believe it’s Volkov.”
“Okay, I’ll continue the search there. I’ll look for Lev Volkov instead of Moore.”
I’m quiet for a moment as I consider the information that Bronx has shared. It would be odd for my brother to have taken the surname Volkov, and not tell me about it, but I’m learning that maybe my brother is not exactly the person I think he is. Perhaps I just need to see where Bronx’s leads take him and be open to whatever new information he may unearth. As long as we find Lev, I don’t care how we get there.
A pleasant chime rings, signaling that there’s someone in the elevator at Bronx’s front door. I stay seated in my curled position in the corner of the plush, modular couch and wait for him to answer it. I don’t even know if I could get up if I wanted to. The cushions of this couch must be filled with down feathers and the seat cradles me like a fragile egg.
The bell goes off again and I give Bronx a questioning look, wondering when he’s going to bother to walk over and answer the door. It’s a penthouse apartment in an office building with twenty-four-hour security downstairs, so I highly doubt that there would be a random stranger just dropping by. He had to have known that this person was coming, but he still doesn’t move an inch. He just sits back in what I think is his “special” leather club chair, his ankle crossed over his knee, with the remote still in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“I think that’s for you,” he says casually as he flicks through various channels over and over, never stopping long enough at one to make any sort of decision about what to watch. “Give him access by pressing that button over there for the elevator doors to open to the apartment.”
“What do you mean?” I ask nervously.
The person knocks heavily this time.
“Seriously, it’s for you,” he says again. “You better get it before they leave.”
19
Karma
I reluctantly get up, wondering who it could possibly be on the other side of the door. The only thing that makes me slightly comfortable about opening it is that I don’t think that Bronx wouldn’t put me in harm’s way, at least not in his own house. I don’t have to know everything about the deliciously handsome stranger I’m beholden to, to know that he isn’t a monster.
I press the button by the metal doors, which gives the person on the elevator access to enter.
“Hello,” I greet the stranger.
There’s a grocery delivery man inside the elevator. His hands are holding three bags from a popular neighborhood supermarket and he hands them to me with a slight grunt.
“Here you go, miss. Next time you can choose contactless delivery if you don’t want to answer the door. I can leave the bags downstairs with the doorman.”
“Thank you,” I say with a smile, liking how he assumes that I’m the owner of such a beautiful apartment as this.
I carry the three bags to Bronx’s amazing kitchen and set them down on the granite countertop. He watches me closely as I pull the contents out and line them up. I’m taken aback by what’s inside.
“These are baking ingredients,” I say with confusion.
“I know.”
“You bought this?”
“You like to bake, right?”
“Yes, but I never told you that,” I counter suspiciously.
He chuckles softly. “Relax, you already have one stalker in your life. I don’t plan on being another.”
