“You okay?”
“No.”
“What do you need?”
“The Russians. Are they dead?”
“I don’t know. They’ve been quiet. We ain’t had no visitors either. That doesn’t mean they’re dead. Could mean they’re regrouping.”
“So you don’t know.”
“Not yet. But I can find out.”
“How long?”
“A few days. Maybe less.”
“Do it.”
“Indigo.” His voice dropped. “I’ll handle everything myself. You can come back if—”
“I know.”
He let out a long breath. “I’ll call you back on this number in a few days. This phone good?”
“Yeah. If Maya answers, just tell her. I probably can’t keep this phone—my husband’s a nut. I bet he searches me as soon as she leaves.”
He hung up.
I handed the phone back to Maya.
She tucked it into her bra.
“What now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Wait.”
“And if Malachai’s lying?”
I looked at the broken glass, the wine-soaked rug, and the boots on my feet.
“Then I’ll stab his ass again and go on about my business.”
Maya laughed and stood up, pulling me to my feet.
“You’re a mess,” she said.
“I know.”
She hugged me tight. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
The door clicked.
Malachai stepped back in.
His eyes landed on us—on her arms around me.
