My phone begins ringing again after I missed the call the first time. I grab it hesitantly when I see that it's an unknown caller. Adam has been calling every day and I’ve been hanging up.
"Hello?"
"Miss Dior, it's Detective Scott." I mouth his name to Z and Rodion as they walk into the kitchen. Taking the phone from me, Z hits the loudspeaker button, and places the phone on the counter. "I've tried coming to the house, but you don't seem to be home when I stop by."
"I'm staying with some friends at the moment. It's difficult being there without Jeremiah," I say, shrugging as the twins give me a questioning look. The lie comes easily.
"Understandably. I wanted to inform you that we have notified the next of kin, but I also wanted to make sure you knew that we received confirmation that the remains found in the crashed car were those of Jeremiah Cunningham. And we’re ruling the incident a suicide. If you need any support at this time, I can offer you a few avenues."
It worked.
Thank God.
"I appreciate you letting me know, but I’m fine. Like I said, I'm staying with friends," I reply meekly, ignoring the tensing of both Rodion’s and Z’s jaw muscles at the word “friends.”
They are so much more than “friends.”
They’re everything to me.
"Regarding the Jane Doe discovered in Adam Cunningham's car,” Detective Scott continues on, “we are still working on identifying her. It would be helpful if I could speak with you in person to ask a few more questions."
“I told you everything I know,” I say, my eyes widening at the twins.
“Sometimes it’s the smallest details that can prove most useful,” Detective Scott insists. “If you could come down to the station, that would be ever so helpful.”
“I really don’t have any information that could help you,” I respond, a prickle of apprehension runs up my spine.
He’s fishing and I’m not falling for the bait.
“If you can let me know where you’re staying, perhaps I could pay you a visit.” His tone is trying to remain persuasive, but it’s edged with impatience.
Snatching up the phone, Rodion barks down the line at him. “She already told you she doesn’t know anything else. If you call this number again, I will report you for harassment.” Ending the call, he places my phone back down and frowns at it. “Ameliahas sent you six text messages.” His lip curls up as though it disgusts him to have to say Vika’s fake name.
Blowing out a breath, I get to rinsing the coffee mugs and loading them into the dishwasher. “He’s coming on a bit strong. Do you think he suspects something?”
“I think he suspects you’re not Ally Dior.” Rodion snorts. “But he won’t find proof otherwise, so just stay clear of him.”
Great. Someone else to hide from. I’ll put him on the damn list that’s growing larger by the day.
“Why is Vika insistently texting you?” he demands, glowering down at my phone.
Throwing my hands up, I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “She’s pestering me about the wedding. I need to go try on the maid-of-honor dress she’s picked out.” No doubt it will be fucking hideous so I don’t outshine her.
“You’re going through with being her maid-of-honor?” Rodion asks with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
Roza begins fussing, and Z jumps into action, retrieving her from her highchair and bringing her to the kitchen with us. She clings to him, grabbing a tiny fistful of his sweater, and I cringe, knowing her hands are dirty and that the fabric was probably made using spider-spun gold and weaved by angels. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but it looks expensive, and it's cream. She’s already ruined numerous outfits of theirs this week.
“I know she’s,well,Vika,” I state, scrunching my nose, and then I startle when I turn around and Rodion is a hairbreadth away from me.
I’ve become accustomed to both their presence, thoroughly dissecting me with every look, but it still makes my limbs turn to jelly every time it’s up close like this.
“She’s a viper, Alyona, and would sell you out to save her own ass at the first opportunity,” Rodion snaps. “You can’t trust her.”
“But she never has,” I say, moving out of his space, and begin wiping down the counter to keep my hands busy and not fist them in his shirt, begging him to tell me my confession meant something to him. That he feels this too, that the time apart hasn’t changed the way he thinks about me. Swallowing past the lump forming in my throat for no fucking reason, I walk around the counter and take Roza from Zahkar. “Come on, baby girl, you need a wash and to get dressed.”
“Just don’t forget who she really is, Alyona,” Rodion warns, spreading his hands out on the marble counter, the light from the flickering bulb above casting shadows across his face.
“Doesn’t she deserve a second chance?” I ask, my voice raw with emotion. The question hangs between us, charged and heavy, pressing down on our shoulders like an impending storm cloud, waiting to burst and give way to something new.
