A reasonable response.
“What happened to her mother?”
If he’s surprised at the question, he hides it well, but it didn’t escape me that he chose the moment I tried to ask Sophia that question to intervene.
“You should direct all your personal questions to Mr Balabanov.”
“I will but is there a reason you don’t want to answer?”
We’re inside my room now and a pile of boxes sits on the bed. A mountain of gifts. A flutter hits my stomach as I think of Baxter earlier. The warning that wasn’t really a warning so much as a promise.
I want to take him up on that challenge. See where it takes me. Takes us.
But I can’t while this question marks hangs in my head.
“She’s not here,” Yuri finally says, as opaque as a slab of concrete.
“Obviously.”
“We don’t talk about her.”
“I’m not asking you to spread gossip. Just the bare facts.”
This time, my answer is silence.
“Do you not talk about her because her leaving hurt Sophia and Baxter, or do you not talk about it because it makes you feel uncomfortable?”
He shrugs and I decide to take one last stab at it.
“Do you not talk about it the same way you won’t talk about Emmaline?”
Yuri waves me back from the door, then gently pulls it closed. Him on the outside. Me and my multitude of questions on the inside.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
BAXTER
Micah strides out of the terminal and takes just a second to get his bearings before heading my way.
“Two visits in as many days,” I quip as he gets into the back seat beside me. “People’ll think we’re in love.”
His gaze rolls over me slowly enough to feel what it would be like to be prey to Micah’s predator. Hm. No thanks.
“Get over yourself.” The phrase is good natured enough, but there’s an undercurrent of frustration beneath his words.
“Problems?”
“Father dearest has lost the plot. He’s just ceded one of his trunk routes to the blood caste gang.”
There are so many things wrong with that statement, I barely know where to start. “They don’t have a foothold down here.”
“Correction. They didn’t until Thaddius decided to drink his earnings for the last six months. Now, I’ve had a polite suggestion from Pavle that perhaps Dad would like to retire, and not only do I have to foot the bill, but I also have to get his signature on the new contract.”
“I can lend you a few men if you need window dressing.”
Micah laughs at the statement, running a hand over his face. “No worries. I’m gathering background for the next few days, then I’ll corner him at some shindig all the families are going to on Monday. Petrovic’s daughter’s eighteenth.”
“Crimson?” I sit back, my mind whirling. “Jeez. The last time I saw her, she was still knee-high.”
