Page 41 of Vow Of Fire

It was well maintained, with a concierge at the entrance and a security camera in the lobby. It wasn’t the same guy Rocco had paid to take a walk the other night.

I waited for him to take a pee break, then slipped inside, keeping my face down and not looking up at the lens.

I headed straight for the stairs. There was no elevator.

Ophelia.

That’s what I’d thought when I’d watched her sleeping the other night. Like the character in the painting above her bed, she’d been wearing a silver-gray slip, her hair like molten copper spread across the pillow. Dark eyelashes resting against creamy skin. She’d looked so peaceful, it had almost been a shame to wake her.

But vengeance didn’t wait.

At the top of the staircase, I paused and listened.

Nothing.

I crossed the hallway to Apartment 3A and unlocked the outer door. It opened into a small private vestibule, barely large enough for a bench, an umbrella stand, and a row of boots. The apartment’s front door stood a few feet beyond it.

The moment I stepped inside, I froze.

What the hell?

The door should have been locked, but it wasn’t. The frame had splintered around the latch, jagged wood jutting into the vestibule. My hand went instinctively to the Glock at my back. Someone had kicked this door in.

Moving quietly, I entered the apartment. There were no sounds from inside, and I was willing to bet whoever had broken in was long gone. Hell, Evelyn had been at the cabin for three days.

I checked every room including the closets, before I relaxed and holstered my weapon but there was no one there.

Then I took a good look around.

At first glance, nothing appeared to be disturbed. My mind went straight to the laptop, but I found that lying on the dining table, lid closed. Her phone was still under the bed, where I’d kicked it. Unnoticed by the intruders, most likely.

I crouched down and picked it up, then placed it on the nightstand. If the cops or anyone else came round, I didn’t want it to look like she’d been taken.

Walking through the rest of the rooms, I saw there were no overturned drawers, no broken glass or upended furniture. The cushions were still in place on the couch, with an indent where she’d been lounging.

With a chill, I realized what this was—and it wasn’t a burglary. Whoever broke into Evelyn’s apartment wasn’t looking for jewelry or cash.

They were looking for her.

I stood in the center of her bedroom, staring at the bed. I could almost see her there. Hair wild, eyes heavy-lidded, breasts nearly falling out of that flimsy excuse of a nightgown. The shock on her face when she’d woken to find me sitting next to her.

Who would come after Evelyn? Other than the Marcellis, of course.

The Russians? Somebody else?

What did it matter? I had what I’d come for. The laptop.

She was nothing more than a means to an end. A liability.

She knew too much to let go.

Yet somehow, she’d lit an ember inside me, a flame I thought I’d extinguished for good. It was so foreign, I couldn’t even put it into words. I just knew I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

I buried the thought and walked over to the vanity. It was cluttered with her things. A hairbrush, make-up, perfume. I picked up the bottle and sniffed it.

It hit me again. Her scent. Jasmine, vanilla, with something darker underneath, something warm and sensual. It enveloped me like smoke.

Looking around, I spotted a small cabin case in the corner and laid it open on the bed. Then I threw in the perfume.