That’s what Harris had asked me in the bar, when I’d casually suggested we belonged to the same vague financial group. He’d looked sick when he said it, and I’d assumed it was because of the drugs. Patricia didn’t just know Irina Borovkov from Pilates. Their husbands were in business together—mafiabusiness.
Harris had been stealing from the mob.
I cleared the search from the screen with shaking hands, afraid someone might see it. Then I cleared my entire search history, unsteady when I shot to my feet. Andrei Borovkov wasn’t just a bodyguard. Bodyguards protected people. They didn’t get arrested for slashing up businessmen in warehouses. They didn’t leave death threats on people’s back doors when they thought someone had stolen their boss’s money.
I’d been hired to kill an enforcer for the Russian mob.
Suddenly, I wasn’t sure which was scarier—the possibility that I’d be caught by the police for a murder I didn’t commit, or the likelihood I’d be murdered by Andrei Borovkov once he learned what his wife had done.
I slammed the door to the kitchen and fell back against it, my breath racing out of me. The lights in the house were off, and Vero’s car was gone from the garage. I bolted the door and kicked off my shoes, taking the stairs to my office two at a time. I shut myself inside, my fingers clumsy and trembling as I locked the door behind me.
The kids were safe at Steven’s house, I reminded myself. And Andrei Borovkov’s wife had no idea who I was. As long as I didn’t call the number in Irina’s note, Mrs. Borovkov’s very scary husband would never know who his wife had hired, or how to find me.
A pink flash caught my eye. One of Vero’s sticky notes fluttered, taped to my computer screen:HOT DATE. DON’T WAIT UP. I’LL BE HOME IN TIME FOR DELIA’S PARTY.
Crap. Delia’s birthday party was at elevenA.M.tomorrow. In all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten. A loose-leaf sheet of notebook paper lay across my keyboard, titled “My Birthday Wish List” in Delia’s oversize careful letters. Only one wish made the list… a puppy.Under it, I found another certified letter from Steven’s attorney. I didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.
I plucked the sticky note from the monitor. By lunchtime tomorrow, my house would be teeming with kids screaming for pizza and cake. I was nowhere near ready for Delia’s birthday. I hadn’t even bought her a gift yet.
Maybe Steven was right. Maybe I was unfit to mother my own children. Steven had never been the model parent, but the plot of my own life had gone off the rails since he’d left, and I was no closer to knowing what to do about it. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t going to sleep until I was certain no one was looking for me. Somehow, I had to avoid the police and steer clear of Andrei Borovkov.
I crept to the window, eyes peeled for strange cars outside. I caught the flash of Mrs. Haggerty’s kitchen curtains falling closed, and I quickly drew mine shut. I turned, surprised to find my socks had left impressions in the fresh vacuum tracks in the carpet. I touched my fingers together, but they were clean; the slats in the blinds were suspiciously free of dust. I sniffed the room, inhaling the sour smell I’d assumed was my own sweat-laden panic, but it was only the white vinegar Vero used to cut grime when she tidied up.
Something loosened inside me as I trailed a finger over the squeaky-clean surface of my desk. It was a relief, having someone around to balance the load. A comfort to have someone to handle the bills and help me clean up my messes, rather than rubbing my face in them. The house felt too quiet without Vero and the children. Too empty with all of them gone for the night.
I opened the top drawer of my desk, ready to burn Irina Borovkov’s note. But it was gone, too. Vero must have put it in the disposal in her panic last night. The only loose paper in the drawer was the one withJulian’s number on it. I took it out and held it, remembering Vero’s warning. She told me it would be stupid to call him, but then again, she hadn’t tossed his number in the sink.
Julian would know if the police had come snooping around the bar, looking for Harris’s car. And he might have noticed if a black Lincoln Town Car had followed me out of the parking lot that night.
Before I could change my mind, I dialed his number into the new prepaid phone I’d bought at the pharmacy earlier that morning. The call connected on its fourth ring, and my heart did an anxious flip.
“Hello?” The answering voice was deep, rough with sleep. I considered hanging up. “Whoever you are, I’m already awake. You might as well start talking.” Definitely Julian. And definitely not happy. The clock on my computer said it was already past noon, but if he’d worked last night, he probably hadn’t gone to bed before three. “If you don’t say something, I’m hanging up.”
“It’s Theresa.” The name rushed out on a held breath.
“Hey,” he said after a beat of silence. There was a rustling in the background. An image of him in a pair of clingy pajama pants and very little else parked itself front and center in my mind, completely unbidden. “Did you change your number? You came up as ‘unavailable’ on my phone.”
No, I am definitely available. It’s stupid, how available I am.“Yeah,” I said, shaking that thought from my mind. “There was an unfortunate incident involving a garbage disposal.”
“Sorry to hear it.” The words seemed to curl around a sleepy smile. “I’m glad you were able to salvage my number.”
God, I probably sounded desperate. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot you work nights. I shouldn’t have called so early, but…” But what? I hadn’t considered what I would actually say if he answered. I couldn’tcome out and ask him if anyone had come to the bar asking questions about Harris, or if anyone had followed me out of the lot that night. Not without piquing his curiosity. And if I was really being honest with myself, I wasn’t even sure that was the only reason I’d called.
I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the wall. “The truth is, I’ve had a really, really crappy week, and I just needed to talk. Has anyone ever told you you’re really approachable?” His laughter chipped away at some of the tension in my shoulders. I sagged, feeling ridiculous for bothering him. “You know what, that probably sounds crazy, and I should probably just hang up now—”
“No,” he said, “it’s not crazy.” A lazy Saturday morning softness returned to his voice. “I was actually kind of hoping you would call.” In the silence that followed, I pictured him lying on his back, one arm folded behind his head, his honey-blond curls falling over his eyes. “I was worried about you.”
“You were?” I sat up straight, determined to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
“Yeah, I was wondering if you made it home okay. Did you get your alternator checked?”
I blew out a sigh as I remembered the battery. “Not yet,” I confessed. “But I will. Thanks for your help the other day.”
“I was just glad for the chance to see you again.”
A reluctant smile pulled at my cheeks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer.”
“I was hoping you’d stop by the bar last night, but it’s probably for the best that you didn’t. The place was nuts. We wouldn’t have had much time to talk.”
