Page 82 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Oh, how wonderful! Are you working with a designer?"

"I am the designer." The words feel good coming out of my mouth. True. "I'm making my own dress."

Her smile widens. "Even better. Let me get that cut for you."

While she measures and cuts, I move through the store, selecting coordinating lace for the bodice, delicate beading for accents, and the softest tulle I've ever felt for the veil. My design is clear in my mind, and seeing the actual materials makes it feel real in a way the sketch couldn't.

Then I move to the men's section. Emil agreed last night that I could design his wedding outfit, though I'm pretty sure he wasn't really paying attention. He was distracted, distant, with his mind clearly on other things. I doubt he actually knows what he agreed to.

But I'm not going to waste the opportunity.

I select a deep charcoal fabric with the slightest hint of texture, perfect for a suit jacket. Then a crisp white shirt material and a silk for the tie that matches the ivory of my dress. The shop assistant helps me gather everything, her enthusiasm infectious.

"Your fiancé is a lucky man," she says as she rings up my purchases.

I think about Emil. About the violence I witnessed in that interrogation room and how it contrasts with how he holds me in his arms or looks at me with such hunger.

"I'm not sure luck has anything to do with it," I say.

Luca steps forward to pay with Emil's credit card before I can even reach for my wallet. I don't bother arguing. The amount is substantial, and I know Emil can afford it. Besides, he's the one who insisted on this wedding.

The guards carry my packages to the SUV, loading them carefully into the back. I slide into the seat, already thinking about the next step in my construction process.

"Where to now?" Luca asks from the front passenger seat.

"The police station."

Every man in the vehicle goes rigid.

"Miss Walker," Luca says carefully, turning to look at me. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I need to see my brother."

"Your brother, the cop." His tone makes it clear exactly how terrible an idea he thinks this is. "The one who's been investigating the Pakhan."

"That's why I need to see him." I meet his gaze steadily. "I promised Emil I'd handle it. So I'm handling it."

Luca studies me for a long moment, then pulls out his phone. He has a brief, quiet conversation in Russian that I can't follow. When he hangs up, he nods to the driver.

"The Pakhan says you can go. But we're coming inside with you."

"Fine."

The drive to the police station takes twenty minutes. I spend the time looking out the window, rehearsing what I'm going to say to Jack. How do you convince someone to stop doing their job and to ignore their instincts? To trust that I'm safe when everything they see suggests otherwise?

The station is busy when we arrive. Officers move through the lobby, civilians wait on benches, and the phones ring constantly. Our entrance draws immediate attention. Three large men in expensive suits flanking a young woman tends to do that.

I walk up to the front desk. "I'm here to see Officer Jack Walker."

The desk sergeant looks at me, then at my very obvious security detail, then back at me. "And you are?"

"His sister. Kiera Walker."

He picks up a phone, speaks quietly, then nods. "He'll be right out."

Jack appears two minutes later, his expression shifting from confusion to concern when he sees me. His eyes move to Luca and the guards, and his jaw tightens.

"Kiera. What are you doing here?"