Page 16 of The Beast of Moscow

“Brie cheese, black forest ham, and—”

“I only needed to know the cheese.” Feliks’ hand raised at the waitress passing by the table next to their booth. He pointed at Vera’s plate, saying his order in Russian to the woman, “What she’s had—but do me a solid and make the cider hard.”

“Da srazu—yes, right away,” the blonde responded with a brilliant smile before tucking her hands into the matching pink apron of her uniform and heading for the kitchen.

“You still like this place?”

Small talk, now?

Well, Vera couldn’t blame Feliks, she supposed. The last real conversation the two had ended with her threatening to stab her house keys into his ball sack if he showed up at her place drunk again. That had been a couple of years ago. They only spoke now when he wanted to confirm that she didn’t need a schedule change.

“Who wouldn’t?” she asked back.

Feliks only grunted in reply, but his gaze turned away from her to the window and the activity outside. “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore. You and me ... whatever we’re doing here.”

“We’re not, but it’s a hell of a lot better than someone seeing me step foot near your office.”

He tipped his head a bit to the side at that, giving her a view of the tattoo that disappeared somewhere beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Always unbuttoned at the throat and one down his chest. He liked to draw women’s gazes, but hers had already been fine-tuned to this man.

He didn’t interest her anymore. His allure quickly faded the first time a woman realized he really was just a selfish bastard out for his own gain. Even ugly could be beautiful.

“So, you asked me to lunch for what, then?”

“Well, my lunch is almost done,” Vera replied. “Don’t apologize for being late, I really don’t care.”

Raising his brow, he glanced over at her. If he didn’t like her tone, he chose not to voice it, but his stare was more than enough. Too bad for him.

“Well—”

“The man, last Thursday,” she said, talking before he could ask something else, she wouldn’t bother to entertain. “I just wanted to ask if he was okay.”

For a few seconds, Feliks expression didn’t change although his gaze darted back to the window all the same. That didn’t stop Vera from seeing the way he scanned the outside movement, giving himself time to think before he asked, “What were you doing, anyway?”

That time, it was Vera’s turn to blink away her surprise. “I had a class.”

“The studio was empty, and mostly dark. The kids had all gone. I didn’t notice the exact time, but we have cameras, I could easily—”

“You know I dance sometimes after. Alone.”

Clearing his throat at that admission, Feliks only nodded.

Vera let out a hard breath, adding, “I saw him fall in the upper gallery, and ran to help. Right time, right place is all. Nobody else knew anything about it, and he kind of seemed out of it. I’ve been worried about it.”

About him.

It had all been amazingly fast and chaotic. Vera barely had her hands on the stranger’s scarred face before Feliks and another man had heard her shouting for help. Before they’d rushed in, though, the stranger asked her something she hadn’t been able to forget—why were you crying?

She didn’t even have the time to think about the fact that the man had been watching her dance, never mind asking his name. The men who rushed to help him quickly brushed Vera off, even as they helped the man stand and led him out of the gallery through the rear exit hallway.

Who knew what happened after? Her hands shook for the rest of the night because she couldn’t get the stranger’s face out of her mind every time, she closed her eyes. In just a few seconds, she had memorized the lines that spoke of age around his icy blue eyes and the frightening clarity that watched her.

He’d not really been able to move. His gaze had jumped wildly back and forth, and the grimace that had been set into his mouth while he lay on the floor had told her that he’d been in pain.

Was he okay now?

“It’s fine, he’s fine,” Feliks had snapped at Vera in the gallery that evening.

But it wasn’t.