I lowered my head, letting the hair that had come loose from my ponytail fall over my face. GMU was only a few miles away. And like an idiot, I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I might run into him here. Or what might happen if I did.
I shifted sideways away from the fountain as he moved to let me by. We accidentally stepped on each other’s feet.
“Sorry,” I muttered as he steadied me.
“No, don’t apologize, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” His hand was gentle on my upper arm. I averted my gaze as he tipped his head, trying to make eye contact. Turning tail and running would be suspicious… and rude. But if he figured out who I was—if he could place me here, in the same class with Irina Borovkov—then his next conversation with Detective Anthony could be (as Irina would say) very, very bad for both of us. Maybe he hadn’t noticed which room I’d come out of. If I walked away right now, maybe he wouldn’t recognize me.
“Spinning, huh? Killer class,” he said between ragged breaths, gesturing loosely toward the room I’d just come out of with the tip of his racquet.
“You’re not kidding.” I turned away, my face angled down and sideways as I rushed toward the locker rooms.
“Wait,” he called after me, jogging to catch up. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.” I wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. I was hot and blotchy and probably beet-red, my limp brown hair and the sleepless bags under my eyes on full, hopeless display.
“Are you sure?” he asked, following a few steps behind me.
I paused, torn between stealing one last look at him and running away. His smile was soft and his face was kind, and he was sweaty enough for me to see the outline of every muscle through his clothes. “Pretty sure I’d remember you.”
“It’s just… You look kind of familiar.” His voice was close behind me as I reached for the locker room door. Close enough that I could smell the clean sweat coming off his skin, his breath still a little heavy with exertion.
I should not turn around. I shoulddefinitelynot turn around. Vero was right. Communicating with Julian was dangerous and foolish. Especially now that Nick had been to The Lush asking questions. Julian was the one person who could positively identify me if he figured out who I really was. And yet, part of me wanted to turn around and confide everything to him.
I peered around the curtain of my hair, just enough to see his eyes narrow as they struggled to put the pieces of me together.
“I should go.” I clutched my backpack to my chest as I pushed through the door into the locker room. “I’m probably late for… something.”
I ducked inside and leaned back against the door. But when I looked around the locker room, Irina was already long gone.
CHAPTER 27
“I can’t believe Patricia Mickler is dead.” Vero hunched low in the driver’s seat of the Charger, watching the door to Theresa’s real estate office from the far side of the parking lot where we’d strategically positioned her car. Zach babbled to himself behind us, munching on Goldfish crackers while he watched cartoons on Vero’s phone. “I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“How could that possibly be a good thing?”
“Because now if they find her, she can’t rat you out.”
“No, but Irina can.” And if I didn’t kill her husband, I was sure she’d have no problem rolling me under whatever bus she’d used to squash Patricia.
“Do you think she got her husband to kill Patricia?”
I shuddered at the memory of the knife in her back door. “Probably.” Irina had managed to put me in an impossible situation, forcing me to deal with Andrei before she gave Andrei a reason to deal with me. But I didn’t have time to think about that now. First,I had to ferret out Theresa’s alibi, so that in the likely event of my untimely demise, my children had someone to live with.
I squirmed in my seat as I checked the time, regretting the second cup of coffee I’d had at breakfast. Delia was only in preschool until lunch, and nothing exciting had happened since we got here an hour ago.
“I have to pee,” I said.
“You can’t pee. We’re on a stakeout.”
“This is not a stakeout.”
“Yes, it is. Andthisis a stakeout vehicle.”
“My bladder doesn’t care.”
“If you pee in my new car, I will kill you on principle.” Easy for her to say. She was twenty-two and had never had children. She could probably hold it until menopause.
“We don’t even know what we’re looking for,” I grumbled.
