“Your fiancé wished me to apologize on his behalf. Some urgent issues forced him to leave last night. He hopes to return as soon as possible to speak with you.”
Nodding, I look down into my coffee mug as if it holds the secrets to the universe. It’s hard to find the energy to even be sad right now. Apathy and numbness are my new best friends.
“Would you like to go shopping?” he asks, “We could visit some of the other Christmas markets.”
Rubbing my forehead, I say, “No. Thank you.” I flinch as something heavy drops above us and there’s shouting. “I’ll just…”
There’s nothing else to say and I drift back down the hall. I can’t go into our -his- bedroom without crying and I would rather throw myself off the roof before I spend one more second in the guest room/prison. Pytor’s in the living room, so I take a book and sit in the little hall alcove by a window that looks out onto the water.
In a minute, I’ll pull myself back together. I’ll get angry. I’ll be strong again. But right now, I’m just going to sit with the book closed on my lap and watch the waves in the harbor.
Chapter Twenty-One
In which Alexi redeems himself. Big time.
Alexi…
“How is she?”
I’m watching my men clean up the ruin of three firebombed trucks that had been delivering very expensive weaponry to a client before someone ambushed the convoy.
“Miss Dubrovina is…” Pytor hesitates, “very quiet.”
“Did she eat?” Samuil and David are gently putting one of the dead drivers in a body bag.
“Yes, a little at least,” he says.
“How is construction proceeding on the rooftop?”
He chuckles, “There’s a lot of fussing and complaining, but they know better than to not have it done in time.”
“Good.” I walk around one of the smoldering trucks, looking for clues, any sign.
“How is your project going?” Pytor asks in a calm voice, as if we’re discussing the weather.
“We’re still in the discovery stage,” I reply, “but I think we both know who’s responsible.”
The insistent beep of an incoming call is irritating me. “I have to go. Please let my wife know I will be home this evening.”
“Yes, Sir.”
When I see the number of the incoming call, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
“Da.”
“Greetings, brother! Not much of a welcome for yourSovietnik.”Dmitri’s voice is too pleased, too smug. He must already know. “How is the progress on establishing our home base in the States?”
“Three of our trucks carrying the new product were firebombed last night,” I say flatly. “It’s a complete loss.”
“That’s millions of dollars of high-quality hardware,” his voice, if possible, sounds even more pleased.
“I’m aware,” I say calmly. Nothing pleases Dmitri more than knowing he’s gotten to me. “I know who’s responsible, and I will take care of it. I’ve already re-routed the new shipment to another port. The buyer will have the product less than forty-eight hours past the originally scheduled date.”
“Good, good,” he says approvingly. “I’d hate to have the Pakhan lose confidence in you.”
He would love that above all things,I think.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to my investigation,” I say.
