Page 1 of Grave Secrets

Chapter One

Ada

As everyone files out of the room, I sigh and sit back in my chair to look around the empty room. Today was group counseling for the sexual assault survivors. We had a new girl start who is rather hostile, so it’s taking a lot out of me to play middleman between everyone’s triggers. I absolutely love what I do, but it can be mentally draining at times.

I should be excited that it’s Friday, but it just means that I will be at home all weekend. Again, it should be exciting, but it’s hell on earth. My boyfriend, Chris, is a worthless drunk that I can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t have a job, so I am the one supporting him. He is also controlling and manipulative. I know he is abusive, but I just don’t have the fight in me to get rid of him. One day I will. Until then, I will just deal with the bullshit.

I’ve been with Chris for two years, and at first, everything was great. He moved in after three months, and now I’m just fucking stuck with him. We go through this cycle where I tell him to leave, he beats the fuck out of me, and I give up. If I don’t fight with him, he just sits around and drinks. I know what he is doing, but I keep falling for it.

I eventually get up and start stacking chairs so the cleaners can vacuum tonight. I go into my office and start gathering my belongings. Just before I am about to leave, my desk phone rings.

“Ugh,” I groan as I drop my bags on the couch and go to my desk. This always fucking happens. Every day I try to leave, someone calls. Hell, they call me at home too. “Ada Pavlov,” I say warmly.

“Hello, Ms. Pavlov. This is Molly Nordel up at the courthouse. I just wanted to notify you that you are being assigned a new client for anger management. He is court-mandated to do sessions six days a week for the next twelve months. That will start tomorrow,” she says.

What the fuck? Are you fucking kidding me? This means I will have to be here on Saturdays. But… maybe that’s not all bad. “Okay,” I say. “If you could email me his file, I’ll look at it tonight so I can be prepared.”

“What time works best?” she asks.

“Uh…” I say, looking at my calendar. “Monday through Friday, I can stay later and see him from five to six. On Saturdays, I can do ten in the morning.”

“Perfect. I will let him know,” she says sweetly.

“What is bringing him to me?”

“He had attempted murder charges dropped to assault in exchange for anger management,” she says.

“Ah… I see…” I say. “Well, I’ll be ready for him. Thank you.”

When the call ends, I pick up my belongings and leave before the damn phone can ring again. When I get outside, I check my email and see that Molly sent me his file.

Viktor Holt. Age thirty-eight. Charged with attempted murder but convicted of assault. Clean criminal record otherwise. I know that name, though. Is he mafia? One of my clients, Archer, has connections to Andre. He is both the police chief and a big name on the more nefarious side of the city. I pull my phone out and text Archer. He has a family dinner tonight, so maybe he can ask.

Personal question. Does Andre know a Viktor Holt?

Almost immediately, Archer calls me. “Hello?” I answer.

“Hey, Ada. It’s Andre,” he says.

“Hey. Sorry for interrupting dinner.”

“Not a problem. Why are you asking about Viktor?” Andre asks.

“I get funded by the city government, and they send me court-ordered clients. He was just assigned to see me six days a week for the next year for anger management. It was attempted murder charges that were reduced to assault,” I explain.

“Ah… Yeah, he is mafia. He took over when he was twenty-five, when his dad died,” he explains.

“Am I safe? I’ll be alone with him six days a week. I scheduled him after everyone leaves.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t hurt women. He might make you think he will, but he won’t,” Andre says. “You’re safe, Ada. If you have any problems, call me. When do you see him?”

“Tomorrow at ten,” I say.

“Okay. I’ll come by tomorrow so he can see that you are connected to me and Alan,” Andre says.

“I appreciate that,” I say with a sigh.

“Have a good night, Ada. I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. When the call ends, I start driving toward home. I am not looking forward to telling Chris.