“Any updates on the SUV? It was around again today.”
Ethan Carter is the private investigator I hired a while ago. Shortly after the night Nikolai died, I was going through a prolonged stage of denial, unable to process his death. I turned to Ethan for information about the body, but after a week, he said he couldn’t find anything, that Bratva business is way above his pay grade. Since then, I kept him on file anyway, just in case. And I’m glad I did, because a few days ago when the black SUV appeared, I asked him to look into it. His previous clients have all rated him five stars, so he clearly knows what he’s doing.
His text comes a few minutes after mine. I suppose he often works late into the night, given his career of choice.
“Hey, Lauren, thanks for letting me know. You’re not going to like this, but I haven’t been able to trace the plates. I’ll continue looking for information elsewhere.”
“Shit,” I curse under my breath. What does that mean? Shouldn’t an investigator like him be able to trace any car in the country?
I shoot back a text, my fingers tapping away on the phone screen.“What do you mean by that? Should I be worried?”
I stare at the screen, anticipating his next response. It takes about three minutes for his next text to appear.
“I’m going to ask around to see if anyone can help find that plate. But whoever is driving that car, they don’t wanttheir identity known. That’s all I have for now. Let me know if you see the car again.”
I blink, staring at the message. Not exactly what I wanted to read. Could someone really be watching me? Could it be Ronan Aslanov himself?
I drop the phone on my bed, my mind scrambling for reasons Aslanov could be watching me. Why would he be interested in me of all people? He took out the competition, didn’t he? He’s probably out there somewhere living his best life in the underbelly of Atlanta, far away from the eyes of law enforcement. What business could he possibly have with a working single mom and her four-year-old daughter?
No.
It can’t be him.
He has no reason to bother us.
Still, I find myself reaching for my phone again, typing out another text to Ethan.
“What are the chances of this being connected to organized crime? The Bratva, for instance?”
I stare at the screen, trying to anticipate his response. The three dots ripple as he types out his answer, then disappear. The same thing continues for two minutes. He’s hesitant, choosing his words carefully.
Why is he hesitating?
His response finally appears on my screen.
“Sorry, Lauren. Bratva affairs are above my pay grade as you know. I’ll try to get back to you on those plates in the next few days.”
Dammit!
So much for those five-star reviews. So far, it’s zero stars from me. The frustration pulls at me even more now. Dropping my phone on the nightstand, I snap off the light and slide underneath the covers, praying for a dreamless sleep tonight.But I can’t help but look at the pillow beside me before closing my eyes.
Empty.
It’s been empty for four years and it will probably stay that way. I only shared this bed with Nikolai once, but I still find myself imagining him here. There are nights when all I want to do is mute the world and crawl into his arms, forgetting all of my worries. Until reality hits and I realize I’m only hurting myself with these thoughts.
Gone are the days of me falling asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat, my head resting on his impossibly broad, rock-hard chest.
I turn away from the pillow and bring my legs up to my chest, forcing my mind to let go.
He is gone, Lauren.
And he will never come back.
Chapter Two
Nikolai
I jump out of the car and shut the door behind me.
