“Yes,” I tell her.
She nods. “So your brother’s trying to kill you.”
“It’s possible, but this would also be a good time for anybody in the organization to make a move. Hendrix could be in as much danger as am I right now.”
Thunder sounds again, and she rubs her shoulders. “I think if somebody is trying to kill you that we should at least alert the police. Don’t you?”
“No, and that’s my final word on it,” I say softly.
She looks down at her hands, and her shoulders visibly tense. “I have blood all over me.” Leaping off the table, she stomps toward the creek, her little heels sticking in the soft ground as she goes.
I watch her bend down and remove all the blood from her hands and one of her wrists, taking note of her position the entire time. Finally, she stands after having scrubbed her hands a deep pink.
Irritation clocks through me, and I ignore it.
She walks slower this time, back to the table to sit. I wait until she has settled herself and then stride over to the water and kick any rock she may have touched to the middle of the creek. I learned a long time ago that being paranoid isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Returning, I note that color has returned to her pretty face, yet she’s still rubbing her arms. “Would you like to put the jacket on until Garik brings us clothing?” The jacket is marred deep red, which is why I had her remove it.
“No,” she says. “I don’t.”
The woman reminds me of a cranky kitten. Cute with claws. I lope her way and then also sit on top of the rough wooden table.
“I’m sure you at least knew one of those men,” she says quietly.
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
Her nostrils flare as she visibly fights her temper. I like that about her. I shouldn’t, but I do.
Her hair flies into her face, and she pushes it away. “I’m an attorney, Alexei. As such, I’m uncomfortable with even the thought of working for the, well, the mob.”
I understand that concern. “The mob has always existed, and getting rid of it is impossible since the organization is woven into society. Somebody has to lead it.”
“But you break laws.”
“That’s true, but I’m trying to fix some of that.” The life isn’t an easy one, but having protection in place is mandatory for my peace of mind. “Where are we on getting my funds released?” I change the subject.
She took several calls while we studied my case file. In fact, she partially dictated a brief in favor of her motion to release my funds while also organizing files at the same time. The woman is impressive.
“The hearing’s set for tomorrow morning,” she says. “I believe your stepmother is going to contest the motion. Otherwise, we wouldn’t even need a hearing.”
“Is my presence required?” I keep my senses tuned to our surroundings.
She glances over at my jeans and shirt. “Yes, but only if you can find something nicer to wear. I need the charming Alexei and not the killer. Can you manage that?” Her sarcasm is amusing.
I expect her to be angry and in shock after the violence at the warehouse. This spunk and the obvious intelligence she’s shown all day have been a surprise. I underestimated her when she visited me in the jail, a fact for which I am actually grateful. I require a smart mate.
I hear an engine first and then the crunch of tires on gravel, so I push myself away from the table and withdraw the gun from the back of my waist. Garik’s battered truck soon comes into view, and I relax, dropping my arm but still keeping a grip on the weapon.
He pulls to a stop near the firepit and jumps out of the old Ford with a backpack slung over one shoulder that he tosses to me. I catch it easily with one hand as he reaches back into the vehicle and emerges again with a long box of matches and an impressive can of accelerant.
I reach into the backpack and draw out sweats and a sweatshirt to toss at Rosalie. “All your clothes. I mean everything.”
She glares at me, gives Garik a look for good measure, and then pushes off the table to stomp toward the tree line. Amusement takes me again. Damn, she is likable, whether I appreciate that fact or not.
I yank off my shirt and kick out of my boots, jeans, and boxers before pulling on a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of ripped and worn jeans.
“You have to get rid of the boots?” Garik asks. “Those are fine.”
