“They found him at home this morning. His wife said he woke up in the middle of the night, started choking on food, couldn’t call for help.”
Oh. Just a coincidence then.
“Wow. What a shame.”
“I know, right? He’ll be so missed.” She coughs to cover a laugh. “Not.”
I laugh too. I mean, Alexei couldn’t have killed him by making him choke on food … There’s no way that’s even possible.
I shake my head and push the thought away before it can take root.
“I was thinking of sending in my resignation anyway. I applied to a few different jobs this morning.”
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“Good for you. And seriously, send it in. Screw that clinic.” Her voice drops. “I didn’t tell you before, but I applied to vet school.”
I know she’s been thinking about this for months, weighing it, doubting herself, talking herself out of it every time we brought it up. I’m so proud of her.
“That’s incredible. You’ll do amazing, I know you will. You can ask me anything you want to know about the program, seriously.”
She starts rambling. I let her go because it’s nice hearing her sound like this instead of stressed about work or worried about me.
Alexei walks away, looking sheepish in those sexy black workout shorts, heading toward the home gym like he’s trying to escape from me.
“Hey, Camilla, can I call you later?”
I shut the laptop with a soft click, then follow him.
I don’t even know how to say what’s churning in my head. I need to know if there’s some kind of future we can plan for. Something outside this house, outside all the hiding. I also kind of want to set some basic ground rules about murder and maybe discuss boundaries around killing people who make my life difficult.
The sound of weights clanking and Russian rap blasting through the speakers hits me before I even reach the door. I stop in the doorway, while he pretends he doesn’t see me.
“So, I just got an interesting call …”
He stops mid-deadlift and looks at me, then drops the weight without warning. The floor shakes from the impact.
“I heard.”
“Alexei …”
Ignoring me, he just bends and grips the bar like I didn’t say his name at all. Lifts it again with a grunt, then drops it with another floor-shaking crash.
I roll my eyes and walk over, stopping directly in front of him.
“You didn’t, right?”
Once again, he stares at me with an undecipherable expression.
“You haven’t even asked how he died,” I hedge.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t need details. Bastard had it coming.”
Then he bends again and lifts with perfect form, the weight belt around his waist pulling tighter while his muscles strain under the load. Beads of sweat roll down his chest. I hate that my mouth waters even when I’m trying to have a serious conversation about potential murder. The weight slams down again. He walks past me like nothing happened, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long sip before ripping off the waist belt.
“Look at me.”
