There was no way I could explain. Not without telling them about him hugging me in the graveyard and the secret meeting where he’d given me the tip about the cesium and me warning him about the attempt on his life. Not without explaining that, somehow, my mortal enemy had become…something else.
“I just know,” I said lamely.
Halifax put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re shaken up,” he said softly. “It’s okay.” He squeezed my shoulder, then turned away and went back to his phone call.
I looked around at all the concerned faces, then turned and looked at my apartment building, awash in red and blue lights. Reality set in and it felt like someone had just dropped an ice cube through my soul.Are they…right?Everyone was so sure. Was I just blind to it because I didn’t want it to be true?
Gennadiy was a killer, I knew that. And while a lot of high-up Bratva guys don’t do their killing personally, Gennadiydidget his hands dirty: he’d said as much to me, more than once. Thiscouldhave been him.
I bit my lip. Just because we were attracted to each other didn’t mean he couldn’t just snap and decide I was causing him too muchtrouble. Hell, maybe he decided to end mebecausehe felt something for me.
I started running back through the attack in my mind. The guyhadbeen Gennadiy’s height and build. The ski mask had covered everything except his mouth, and it had been dark. Was Ithatsure he’d walked differently,thatsure he’d smelled differently? Every fact I grabbed at turned to smoke.
What if itwashim?
I walked a little way from my apartment block, where it was quieter, and thought. I thought about the feel of his arms around me in the graveyard. The look in his eyes when I’d said,but you hate me.All the way back to his cold, protective fury at the strip club. The memories were like a river’s current, washing away all the uncertainty and leaving only immovable rock.
Gennadiy was a killer. And that seething, vicious temper of his was scary. But hurt me?
No. He wouldn’t hurt me.
I took a deep breath and looked around me. Dawn was just breaking, the sky turning from deep blue to pink and gold.
Halifax was after the wrong guy. I had to stop him.
But the police still had questions for me, and by the time I was finally allowed to leave and go to work, it was after ten. I met Halifax, Hadderwell, and Fitch on their way out of the FBI building.
“I got the warrant,” Halifax told me, brandishing it. “We’re leaving to pick up Gennadiy now.
I gave him a weak smile and watched him go, my toes nervously dancing inside my biker boots. The irony wasn’t lost on me. A few months ago, I’d been desperate to bring Gennadiy down. I still wanted to bring him down. Just not for something he didn’t do.
Relax, I told myself as I changed out of my biker leathers and into my suit. Halifax could arrest Gennadiy, but they’d have to let him go. There was no evidence it was him in my apartment because itwasn’thim.
I frowned at myself in the bathroom mirror. So why was a sickfear spreading through me? Why did it feel like I was missing something?
I stood there gripping the sink, staring down at its clean whiteness without seeing it. My cop brain started grinding. I felt myself rise up on my toes and slowly sink down.No evidence. No evidence…
I froze, still up on my toes, as everything suddenly reversed in my head.That means there’s no evidence that could prove itwasn’thim, either.The intruder had been super-careful not to leave any. He’d approached my building from a side where there weren’t any security cameras, so there were no pictures of him. He’d worn a ski mask so I didn’t see his face. He’d worn gloves, so there were no prints. He was covered head to toe, so no DNA was left behind. In fact, the only evidence he’d left was…
The bullets that were dug out of my apartment’s walls and ceiling.
And it all snapped into place. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
I ran out of the bathroom and raced downstairs, to the evidence room. I searched through the racks of boxes, looking for one we’d received from Chicago PD, back when I first started the case. Bullets recovered from Radimir Aristov’s wedding, bullets that came from Gennadiy’s gun, when he’d fired in self-defense. They’d been dug out of a wall, too. Seven of them.
Except—I held up the evidence bag—now, there were only four. Three were missing. The same number that the attacker had fired at my apartment.
I felt a cold sweat break out across my back. I’d been scared plenty of times in my life, but I’d never felt so utterly disturbed.
Someone was trying to frame Gennadiy. Someone at the FBI.
I dug out the burner phone Gennadiy had given me and dialed. The line rang two times. Three times.Fuck.It was twenty minutes since Halifax left. He could be arresting Gennadiy any minute.Pick up! Pick up!
“Alison?” It was the first time I’d heard him say my name, and despite everything, the sound of it in his Russian accent sent a silvery tremble straight down to my groin.
“Get rid of your gun!” I told him. “They’re coming to arrest you!”
I could hear the frown in his voice. “My gun is clean.”
