“Fast. Clean. No theatrics.”
Lev grunts. “Fine. But one of these days, you’re gonna let me get creative.”
“Not tonight.”
He cracks his neck. “Didn’t think so.”
An hour later, Lev slams the back of the SUV shut and wipes his gloves on a rag that looks older than his last relationship. He tosses it in the bin behind the restaurant and claps once.
“Done. Dima’s doing his whole ‘silent night, deadly night’ thing back there. Probably leaving zero trace while mentally recitingWar and Peace.”
“Good.”
Lev leans against the bumper, eyes narrowing. “So when are we getting the grand tour, boss? Where’s this top-secret hideout you’ve been nesting in? Don’t tell me it’s another one of youranonymous motel specialsor some creepy-ass bunker you only admit to after we’ve burned the evidence.”I unlock the car and slide in.
“You’ll get the address tonight,” I mutter. “Don’t show up early.”
Lev wipes his hands on his jeans, already turning back toward the alley. “Trust me, I’m not dying to see whatever hellhole you picked this time.”
I start the engine. “It’s secure.”
He lifts a hand without turning. “So was the last one. Until it wasn’t.”
13
Anton
11:47 PM. Desert Palms.
Iease the key in, careful not to snap the lock off its hinges.
Three grown men in a sad excuse for an apartment. We look like hired muscle squatting in a dollhouse.
Lev ducks under the ceiling fan as we step in. Dima shuts the door behind us without a sound.
I flick the light switch near the kitchen. One bulb hums, then pops to life; yellow, tired, flickering like it might give up any second.
“Jesus,” Lev mutters, stepping over a carpet stain that might be blood, might be wine, might be both. He scans the place like it’sa crime scene, which, in fairness, it probably will be by the end of the week. “You pick this dump on purpose, or were all the crawlspaces booked?”
I don’t answer. I head for the sliding door. It sticks. I shove harder, and the rusted track groans in protest.
Desert wind pushes through. Dry. Warm. It carries the scent of dust and fryer grease from the Denny’s half a mile away.
Lev walks deeper in, toeing the edge of a loose tile. “Be honest. Did this place come with a bonus corpse under the floorboards? Or just the mice?”
He wanders toward the couch, presses a hand into the cushion, then drops onto it with a grunt. The springs wheeze like they’re in pain. One boot hooks over the other, elbows spread, casual in that way that’s never actually casual with him.
“Can I ask you something?”
I ignore him. Step out onto the balcony and grip the rail. The rusted iron bites into my palm.
Across the way—first floor, third unit from the right—Mary’s window is still dark.
She’s not home yet.
My stomach twists.
Tight. Irrational. Just enough of a pull to make me shift on my feet and check the street again.
