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“If I give them you, they’ll let me walk out of here.”
“They wantme?”
“To get to me, probably,” Dimitri says in disgust, then he yells something in Russian. “They must’ve seen us together.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them to go to hell and that I’ll spend every resource at my disposal to hunt them down if they even think about taking you.”
There’s some whispering behind the door and another exchange in Russian.
“Now they want money,” Dimitri mutters after responding. “Payment for their dead friend. Like I would’ve shot the bastard if they didn’t try to hurt you.”
Dimitri growls something, his tone dark, his muscles seeming to expand like he’s going to balloon out of his clothes. My throat is so tight, the world feeling hazy, unsteady, almost like reality could topple over any second.
“I told them the only thing I’ll give them is their lives,” Dimitri says coldly, “and they’re lucky to get that after threatening you.”
After another terse exchange, the voices fade from the hallway. Dimitri keeps his aim on the door but takes a few steps back and uses one hand to reach and grab my hand. “Stay behind me,” he says. “We’re going to the window.”
Keeping his body between me and the door, he leads us to a small window that must be there for security reasons since the attackers didn’t notice it, the gun never wavering. I can’t believe how steady his hands are. The letter opener is juddering around in mine. When we reach the window, I drop it. I don’t want to steal Susan’s gift.
Outside, there’s the sound of tires screeching. Dimitri glances out the window and then nods shortly. “Change of plan. Wait here.”
“Dimitri—”
But he’s already approaching the door. He moves like a man who is comfortable holding a gun. That’s not unusual for Vegas, but it’s still a sharp change from what we were doing: flirting, kissing, getting heated. Now, it’s like we’re suddenly in an action flick.
Dimitri shifts around, trying to move the desk while aiming at the door.
“Let me help,” I whisper, grabbing the edge of the desk to drag it backward. Dimitri nods a thanks, then erupts through the door. He paces down the hallway and then returns to me.
“Amateurs,” he grunts, then frowns at me. “You might want to cover your eyes, Lia.”
“Why?” I say.
“There’s a dead body on the floor out here.”
He says it coldly, as if he’s the one who didn’t just kill the man. I’m struggling not to hyperventilate, but Dimitri’s demeanor is as icy as his eyes.
“I’ve seen a dead body before,” I tell him.
He flinches. “You have? When?”
“I’mthe one who should be asking questions,” I say pointedly.
I walk toward the door. Dimitri wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me back. “Are you sure about this?”
Pushing his hand away, I walk into the hallway. The man lies on his back, his shirt covered in blood, tattoos covering every part of his exposed skin that I can see. His gun rests on the floor next to him.
“They just left him here,” I say, that creepy feeling moving over me, the one I felt years ago. There’s something uniquely horrifying about a corpse, something uncanny about it as if I’m starting a portrait of a person.
“Whoever they are, they’re not good people, clearly,” Dimitri grunts. “We need to leave. I’ve got calls to make. I need to clean this up and get you someplace safe. Come on, Lia.”
“Get me someplace safe?” I say. “What are you talking about?”
He walks right up to me, blocking off my view of the body, staring down with a determined, serious expression I haven’t seen from him since before we started talking. When I’d sometimes watch him walking across the office, he’d get like this, but not with me.
“You can’t go home now,” he tells me. “You have to come with me.”
