It wasn’t the first time I’d been sprayed before with my bullheadedness and nosiness.
“I’m Lucy De Lucci. A friend of Bruce Davenport.”
She hurried up the stoop. “Try again. You’re Lucy Zahkarova and you’re married to Kirill.”
Without missing a beat and despite my surprise, I said, “Not for long.”
She paused trying to open the door and laughed. Not in humor, but with grating mockery. “Well, that didn’t last.”
“Yes, he’s an asshole.” Who planned to murder me. “I was hoping to disappear after this,” I said. “But I want to know what Bruce Davenport has on the Kings.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“Please, Miss Brown. I hated that I wasn’t able to help him, but I wondered if there was something he hid that I might have missed. That maybe his death wouldn’t be for nothing.”
“I thought it was an overdose.”
“He was under the influence the last I saw him.” I glanced around me. I’d been on pins and needles that Kirill would suddenly show up and spray me with a machine gun. Or that was too flashy. He’d probably shoot me with a tranquilizer, chop me up, and stuff me in a barrel.
“Please, can I come in?”
“You expect me to trust you in my house?”
“You know who I am…and I’m thinking you’re desperate too and have no one else to turn to after Bruce died. My family can help you.”
“You’re a De Lucci and still mafia.”
“Okay.” I blew out a breath and held out my purse. “My gun is in there, and I didn’t hold you at gunpoint because all I want is information. My phone is also in there. All I want is to help you.”
“Your coat?”
Jeez, fine. I stripped my puffer and dropped it on the front stoop. My skin protested at the frosty blast. “Fuck. It’s cold.”
Chloe smirked. “Yeah, come on in.”
It was a barren house, devoid of warmth. There were still boxes stacked up in a corner like she had never unpacked. Trevor said the house was fully furnished, and that she was just renting it. It was fully furnished all right with furniture that had seen better days in the sixties.
Chloe set my purse on the upper shelf of a wire rack that functioned as her pantry. Its shiny aluminum frame indicated it was the only thing new in this house.
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “How did you find me?”
“You know what I do?”
“Some. You’re some kind of fixer. So I guess you know people.” She flipped on the fireplace and wrapped a shawl around her back.
“If you need to change out of those sweaty clothes, I can wait right here.”
“I’ll be fine. Start talking.”
She reminded me of Sloane and her no-nonsense attitude.
“I saw a picture of you and Ivan. You were five.”
She winced. A trace of anguish flickered in her eyes. “I was four. I never understood why Mom sent the picture to him. He abandoned us.”
“Wait. Is Ivan your?—”
Her laugh was bitter this time. “Father? No. But he acted like one when Duncan couldn’t be bothered, but the second Irina got pregnant, he abandoned us.”
