Page 65 of The Beast of Moscow

“I said, or asked rather, how’s your other roommate?”

“Out—coffee at a cafe, dinner later, and then an evening under the tower, or that’s what I heard her discussing with her friend before she left. She’s stayed out of my way; it’s been fine.”

“Just fine? You almost bit my head off—”

“We’ll revisit that conversation,” Vaslav said, referring to Vera slipping his moniker, “once I figure out who told her. I thought I made myself clear on that?”

Igor quieted instantly.

Maybe that was why Vaslav hadn’t heard the man ask his initial question. He almost didn’t want to talk about Vera—or the fact that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she left earlier to go meet with her friend and the outfit she’d walked out the door wearing.

She distracted him.

It was as good and welcome as it was a problem. Or a possible one.

“She tempts me,” Vaslav said.

Just because he didn’t want to talk about Vera had no bearing on whether he should. Igor needed to know anything that posed a threat of sorts to his boss, and a distraction could be exactly that.

Not that Vera herself was the threat.

Igor cleared his throat. “She’s young—I think people call it vibrant ... she’s quick on her feet, can actually carry a conversation, and pretty. I’d be surprised if you didn’t look at her and like what you saw, Vas.”

“Kind way of saying you think she’s attractive.”

“A respectful way.”

Well said, he mused.

“But she’s mostly just useful,” Vaslav added after a few seconds. “And that’s what I like about her the most.”

Igor didn’t reply.

His boss didn’t really mind.

Even he could hear his own lie.

“You know, if you’re bored,” Igor said, “I could always call Veronika. I hear she’s been living in Paris for the last year—thirty minutes, and she could be there.”

Vas didn’t so much as blink at the suggestion of his favorite escort being on speed dial, and available. She was a warm body, and a beautiful one, that had occasionally warmed his bed after he lost Irina; mostly because she started as his massage therapist, but she had a way with those damn oils. “I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

“I kept her number when she skipped out of Moscow; she told me to keep it just in case. She used to help you when it got bad, Vas. Might still, yeah?”

He considered it.

Just not for long, though.

“I have other plans tonight, Igor.”

“Boss’s choice.”

It always was.

20.

There was something about the very sight of Hannah Malone’s freckled, smiling face that could turn any day around for Vera. Maybe it was the way her friend’s emerald eyes almost glittered when she was happy, and her whole aura—from her bouncy steps to her head of frizzy red ringlet curls—radiated joy constantly.

The woman made it hard to feel anything but happiness. Without even trying.