Page 42 of The Lies Between Lovers

Igor eventually had to admit to Vaslav that he’d come in contact with a man who had paid a Chinese lab a good bit of money to have the dog cloned from frozen tissue the man had stolen from a research company he worked for. After having the three-month old puppy smuggled into the country, and finding himself in trouble with his work for other reasons that were likely related to his thievery, he needed to get rid of the dog.

Lucky circumstances brought him to Vaslav. At first, they thought he could be trainable as a support animal but that was a joke that ended on day one.

“He’s bit me four times,” Igor eventually said.

Ah.

Vaslav grunted and waved that complaint off. “Barely. Pinches the skin.”

“Vas, I’ve had stitches.”

“Who paid for the flight, Igor?”

He was done being distracted. Igor had become too good at playing that game with Vaslav to keep his attention off topics that might otherwise end in bloodshed.

“Probably her father,” the man said without missing a beat.

Vaslav scowled. “Another problem, then?”

Was someone else getting ready to stand in the way of something he wanted?

“We don’t know that. You don’t have to make one, either,” Igor pointed out.

“I’m not fond of giving people the benefit of the doubt.”

“She’s not even back in Moscow yet. At least wait and see what she does when she gets here ... then decide if her father is a problem you’ll have to consider.”

Americans.

Always getting in the way, he mused.

Vaslav glanced down at the dog, and realized how little he could actually move under Marrow’s substantial size. He believed there was a reason the dog wanted to be as close as he did, but he couldn’t put his finger on why when he felt fine enough for a day away from his home.

Or is that it, shchenok—pup?

Did he not want Vas to leave home?

At his silent question, Marrow lifted his head, his black-as-night eyes finding Vas before resting back down. A gust of his stinky breath flapped past the dog’s snout and lips.

“Turn around,” Vaslav muttered.

“What?”

“I want to go back home.”

“Vera’s fine, Vas. She’s on a private jet twenty-something thousand feet in the air. She’s perfectly fi—”

“It’s not about Vera.”

Something just wasn’t right.

Igor’s curse in their mother tongue was only slightly annoyed as he yanked the vehicle into the shoulder to aid in a wider U-turn. “Could have done without the entire fucking drive, yeah? Is the numbness back?”

“No, it’s not that.”

His arm was fine.

“Are you still eating Vicodin like it’s candy?”