The words are neutral. Polite. Like he’s dropping off a colleague after a meeting.
That does not improve my mood.
“Yes,” I say.
The driver pulls to the curb. For a second I think Aleksei might get out. He doesn’t.
I reach for the door handle and pause. The unease that’s been skittering around the back of my neck since we left the hotel sharpens suddenly into something more specific.
The street. The windows. The feeling of being watched.
I don’t open the door.
“What?” Aleksei asks, noticing immediately.
I glance through the rain-streaked glass toward the building entrance, then back down the block. “I don’t know.”
His voice changes at once. More alert. More present. “What is it?”
I hate how relieved I am to hear that tone. “I’ve had this weird feeling since we turned onto the block,” I say quietly. “Like…” I hesitate, feeling stupid the second the words form. “Like someone’s watching.”
He goes still, and then he takes out his phone, tapping away at a text and sending it off. A second later, another. His gaze lifts to the building, to the parked cars, to the shadows under the awnings.
Then he looks at me.
“When you go upstairs,” he says, “I want you to look out your front window. The one facing the street.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
That’s not an answer, but I’m too tired and too rattled to fight him over it.
The car door opens from the outside before I can reach for it. The driver stands there with an umbrella, face professionally blank. Aleksei steps out on my side after all, scans the sidewalk once, then nods for me to move.
Well… That should not make my stomach flip the way it does.
He walks me to the entrance, one hand light but firm at the small of my back. Not possessive, exactly. Just enough that I know he is tracking everything around us while pretending not to.
Inside the building lobby, I turn to him. The harsh fluorescent light is deeply unflattering and does nothing to diminish how devastating he still looks.
“You’re not coming up?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His eyes hold mine. “No.”
Right. Of course.
His hand slips away from my back. “Go upstairs. Lock the door. Then look out the window.”
I open my mouth to ask another question, but his expression tells me not to waste the breath.
So I nod once and head toward the stairs. I can feel his gaze on me all the way up.
By the time I get into my apartment, my pulse is a mess again. I lock the door, then the chain, then stand there for a second with my hand still on the handle, listening to the rain and my own breathing.
This is ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. Tonight is ridiculous.
Still, I do what he said.
