My name in police files. The promise of questions. The end of everything I’ve tried to build. Headlines. My face everywhere.
And Ashley. What would happen to my friend if I betrayed Kirill?
No time to plan, to weigh, to hope for some neat answer. Every heartbeat yanks suspicion closer.
I rake my fingers through my hair and force myself to move. Just before the door swings open, I lock a bright smile on my face and pray it’s enough.
Chapter 19
Kirill
Only the door stands between the cop and us.
Thin wood and cheap hinges. Nothing that would stop me if Jordan lost her grip.
One wrong word, one flicker of fear, and everything goes loud.
Neutralize. Secure. Vanish.
Ninety seconds, no more.
I’ve already measured every step to the elevator and rehearsed the timing in my head. Now I wait.
The door opens. Jordan keeps one hand on the knob. The other smooths the borrowed black dress against her hip, like she’s greeting an unexpected neighbor and not facing down a nosy detective.
I’m angled to see her sideways silhouette in the harsh hallway light and the cop’s long shadow spilling into the room.
“Detective Colvin?” She acknowledges him with the same soft, inviting voice she used for the video I interrupted the day I broke into her apartment and abducted her. “How can I help you?”
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Thorne.” The man is calm and patient, waiting for her to fill the silence rather than forcingcompliance. “As I said, there was a disturbance behind your apartment building about a week ago. We’re following up with the residents. Hoping someone saw something.”
I tense for the tell. The stammer. The mystical smokescreen to buy herself time. Any second now, she’ll panic and freeze.
“A disturbance?” As easily as breathing, Jordan pitches her tone halfway between curiosity and concern. “I’m sorry, I’ve been away. What happened?”
The steadiness knocks me off-balance. This isn’t the same woman who wailed about psychic scars in her living room, who clung to me in a panic and battered her fists against my chest.
She’s practiced and perfect. I don’t even detect a hint of strain.
Well, fuck me. So much for freezing.
The detective shifts, shoe creaking and fabric rustling. “Reports of gunfire. When officers arrived at the scene, they found several pools of blood in the alley. Spatters. Signs of violence. But no bodies. No victims. And no witnesses have come forward.”
Should’ve called Lev, one of our most trusted low-level guys, to clean up that scene. He never leaves a trace of evidence. But in all fairness, the clean-up crew didn’t have much time to work before the cops arrived.
Jordan’s face shifts into a concerned frown. “That’s awful.” The words come out with just the right amount of distress. “I hope everyone’s all right.”
She’s lying, but there’s no way the cop knows. If I hadn’t been in that alley myself, I’d believe her.
She’s one hell of an actress.
Suave as a criminal.
Where the hell did this come from?
The detective tries again, a little more insistent. “Where did you say you’ve been?”
“Visiting family since last Saturday.” The answer is glass-smooth and doesn’t give anything away. “Needed a breather, a new scene for my Sunday livestream. You can check if you want, see that the background doesn’t match my usual because I was traveling. I only got back into town right before I went on stage. You can check that, too, obviously.”
