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I had no idea what Misha wanted but I was fairly certain it had something to do with Daria Belova’s untimely murder. What, exactly, remained to be seen and the unknown left me with knots in my chest.
* * *
Sipping my vodka,I checked my watch again.
Misha was late. That in itself was unsettling. Misha wasneverlate. Even for a Russian, he was early for everything. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was one of his spy tactics — trying to unnerve me before our actual conversation. Then again, he’d never been late before and if he was going to try and put me on edge, he would have done it in the beginning of our working relationship. After so many months of working closely together, he had no reason to test me.
Three drinks, four cigarettes, and a half an hour after he told me to meet him at Delirium, Misha stepped up to the bar next to me. “Sasha. You know there’s no smoking in here.”
“So your bartender keeps telling me.” I finished my vodka and turned to face him, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Did you leave him in one piece?” Misha asked, flagging down said bartender for his own glass and a refill for me.
“More or less.” The bartender in question, a flamboyant thing that reminded me of the peacock, glared at me and stomped away after serving Misha.
“My apologies for being late. I was with the boss.” Misha took a sip of his drink before turning to face me again, leaving the rest of his commentary unspoken. Irritation danced at the corner of his mouth, but he’d never volunteer his complaint.
“Problems?” I asked.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” He smiled the same way I did right before I did something painful to someone and sipped his vodka. When he lowered the tumbler, he abruptly changed topics. “I saw Roan last night.”
I tapped ash off the end of my cigarette, letting silence work in my favor and ask the questions for me. Until I knew what the fuck he wanted, I didn’t want to give anything away — especially if Roan was somehow involved.
“It was at a charity event downtown. Quite the spectacle,” Misha continued when I failed to ask further.
Nodding, I purposely held in the next puff of smoke until my lungs burned.
“Did he tell you about the murder?” he asked, watching me carefully.
Expelling the smoke in an even stream, I shook my head. “No.”
“It caused quite a stir. Police everywhere. The creme de la creme of the city were horrified. I thought for sure he would have told you all about it.” Misha swirled the vodka in his glass before taking another sip.
“We didn’t exactly speak last night.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Wedidn’tspeak beyond our fight and Roan’s declaration that he loved me. To me, that was more important than discussing Daria and what a disaster the masquerade had been.
Misha cocked his head. “Trouble at home?”
“Nothing that will affect my work here.” I cleared my throat and stole a quick sip of my drink.
“Good.” He nodded once with finality. “You remember Daria Belova? Yuri’s older sister?”
“What about her?” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep the growl out of my voice. Although, the fact I hated her shouldn’t have been news to Misha. Misha made it his business to know everything about everyone, a habit he brought to Sergei from his time with the Spetsnaz. He would have known all about my past with Daria.
“She’s dead,” he announced, with zero emotion.
I slid my gaze toward him, meeting his sky blue eyes with a blank expression. If he meant to shock me with his blunt delivery of the news, it didn’t work. “Such a pity. How?”
“Someone stabbed her in the middle of the masquerade.”
“Someone,” I repeated flatly before taking another drag off my cigarette. It could have been him or any number of people. Hell, her murderer could have been hired help, a one-time gig that ended with their throat slit and their body crushed in a junkyard somewhere. I’d never get an admission, nor did I want one, just as long as “someone” wasn’t trying to lay the blame at my door.
He shifted forward, his head tilting to one side again. “You two had a history, no?”
The very thought resulted in a sneer on my face. “If you could call it that.”
“I take it you didn’t part on good terms?”
“She fucked me. And then she fucked me over. Now she’s dead.” I shrugged, making a concerted effort not to let any more of my anger show. I didn’t want to rouse his suspicions anymore than I obviously had. “Why are you bringing her up?”
