Page 6 of The Lies Between Lovers

Igor’s question didn’t gain much of Vaslav’s attention as he continued the search of his safe’s shelves. Eight, in total. He was surprised it took the man as long as it did to come find his boss in the house, but the hour gave Vaslav the time he needed to scour everything from the drawers in his desk to the filing cabinets in the cellar.

“You know,” Vaslav muttered as he stepped back from the safe and scratched at his jaw, “today was the first time I stepped foot inside my bedroom in over a year.”

“What?”

He glanced up to find Igor had come to stand at the edge of the hole in the den’s floor. Every piece of furniture on the large rug in the den had needed to be moved in order for him to gain access to the latch door keeping the safe hidden. Ten steps led down to the seven-foot tall safe encased in cement. The only way the damn thing was coming out was if someone burned the house down around it first.

Good luck.

“My bedroom,” he clarified to Igor. “I had to check in there, too.”

“For what?”

For what?

“My mother!”

Igor’s brow lifted high at that statement, and if the man tried to hide the incredulity shining in his eyes, he didn’t do a very good job of it. “Your mother.”

“I just said that.”

“You thought your mother was in your room—now? That’s why we’re late for Nico’s funeral?” Igor’s wide eyes bulged a bit in their sockets like he was purposefully trying not to roll his eyes. “I know you’re a little neurotic sometimes but Jesus Christ, this is ridicu—”

“No, she was inside my house,” he snapped.

That quieted the man overhead.

“Here,” Vaslav repeated. “When I was gone. Who knows what she was doing when Mira didn’t watch her like a hawk? Where were you?”

“Vas—”

“Forget it.”

He didn’t need to hear Igor explain that he only visited the property when his boss was out of the country. There wasn’t a need for Igor to spend twenty-four hours a day watching the house when Vaslav wasn’t around. Mira knew how to use the phone, if required.

Vaslav spent a few more minutes rearranging the items in his safe, not that he had honestly believed his mother had gotten inside the damn thing. Even if she had enough time to move everything to access the door in the floor, it was highly unlikely that the woman had the code to spin into the many dials, never mind the strength to open the three-hundred-pound door.

Shit, he barely had the strength now.

Yet, even knowing those things like he did had no effect on the fact he had to triple check the shelves for every gold bar, medication, stack of cash, and envelope of private information that he kept hidden there. Much like the way he’d needed to check the desk in his den, the one in his private office, his bedroom, and the cabinets in the cellar.

He only felt better—like things might be right—once he’d touched everything, and put it all back just the way it had been before he searched through the items.

Not that it did feel right.

Which meant something had to be wrong.

“You’re thinking about something,” Igor said as Vaslav climbed the stairs leading away from his safe. He let his silence be the response while he picked up the suit jacket and vest he’d tossed over the back of one of the den’s chairs. Getting the clothing off was less restrictive when it came to moving furniture and yanking on heavy doors. Igor clearly wasn’t satisfied with his boss’s quiet contemplation, asking, “What is it?”

Taking his time to slip on the maroon and black striped vest, Vaslav considered what he wanted to do next. “Nothing.”

“Pardon?”

In his own funeral-appropriate three-piece suit, Igor looked more tense than usual. The man didn’t mind a pair of slacks and a good sports jacket, but a vest and tie was a step too far for his rougher tastes unless required.

“There’s nothing,” Vaslav repeated.

“Nothing wrong?”