Page 20 of The Lies Between Lovers

“And that his ID is a terrible forgery,” he added.

Igor palmed the side of his neck. “But he’s a better driver than me. And his fake passport works for most everything anyway.”

Vaslav chuckled. “That is true. Get him another ID—one that’ll at least pass inspection.”

“All right,” Igor replied, his tone dropping in confusion.

“And this, as well, while you’re on the task. I’ve included the information that should be used to make a new one.”

“What?”

Vaslav produced a tri-folded stack of papers from the inner pocket of his jacket. Handing the documents over, he squinted one eye as the first stabs of pain began to spear behind his left eye. Fuck.

Too much cigar smoke.

It was also too late, now.

“That,” he said once the papers he’d taken from The Swan House were in Igor’s hands. “I want a forgery—a passable one; it all has to look legal, you know—for that, Igor.”

Igor unfolded the papers, the thickest one on top was really the only important one in the pile. With all its official letterheads and yellowed edges, even an idiot would understand what they currently held in their hands.

“That’s the deed,” Igor stated, his gaze lifting over the edge of the papers to meet Vaslav’s.

He grinned back, nodding. “To The Swan House, yes.”

Igor’s attention dropped back to the document. “I don’t think I do have the whole picture, actually.”

“Well, that’s fine, too. Sometimes you don’t need to.”

6.

Vera really needed to get better about checking the peephole in her front door, or even the decoratively frosted windows on either side, before just opening it up to whomever was ringing the doorbell. Or in this case, knocking on the glass.

As she hadn’t checked before swinging the door open to ask just what the person was knocking on the glass with—because the loud ting that accompanied each knock didn’t sound like a bare-knuckle rap—she wasn’t ready to find the man who stood waiting on her front stoop.

“Vaslav,” Vera said, not even in a greeting.

Her visitor’s gaze drifted down her figure in the doorway, making her fist tighten a bit into the top of the large, white bath towel she’d used to wrap herself in when she heard the knocking after exiting the shower.

“I have a doorbell,” she told him, eyeing the many rings on his fingers that were likely the cause of the strange noise on the glass.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

Glancing around the side of him, she was surprised to find no one waiting on the sidewalk.

“I just got out of the shower, actually,” she replied. “Where’s Igor?”

Vaslav shrugged. “Working. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’m not allowed to drive myself,” he explained as she finally noticed the car he’d parked on the street in front of her villa. “Or that’s what useless papers from doctors say. I may have taken the car out while he was off doing his own business.”

“Is that a—”

“A Ghost, yes. I had it imported a couple of years ago. I keep it in the shed along the side of the property where it’s out of the weather.”

He stepped aside a bit so she could have a better view of the Rolls-Royce. She would not expect him to drive around in a white car because there was nothing quiet about the vehicle. Rolls had a beefy appearance from the large grill and hood ornament in the front to the overall boxy shape. People couldn’t help but look when the engine of a Rolls-Royce roared down a street.