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“Misha was beside you.” I rise carefully.

“So you decided I wasn’t allowed to know?”

“There were other people there, and the children were playing.” I cross to the mantel and pour a finger of vodka. Facing her is harder when she’s this angry. “I wasn’t telling you in front of them.”

“That’s your reason?” Her face tightens. “Or did you need Cara and Elena to soften me up first?”

“Careful, Vera. You’re angry, but they were trying to help.”

“And you helped by deciding when I could handle hearing that my colleague was dead?” She points at my chest. “You had no right.”

She takes a step back and sways.

I move around the desk. “Sit down before you fall.” I reach for her elbow.

Vera jerks away and gives a short laugh. “You and your control.” She spreads both hands. “Marina is dead. She was more than my colleague.” She draws in a sharp breath. “But of course, you’re still worried about where I’m standing.”

“There’s more.” I place another photograph on the desk.

Flames pour through her kitchen window, while smoke swallows the third floor.

Vera snatches it up. “What is this?”

“Your apartment burned after we left.”

“Misha’s things were there.” Her finger moves over the blackened window.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Her head snaps up. “My records, his clothes, every photograph from his first year.”

She looks at me then, and whatever she sees makes her mouth twist.

“You knew.” A bitter laugh catches in her throat. “Is that why you made such a show of dragging us out? Because you knew this would happen?”

“We had no warning about the fire. The fire was set after the extraction.” I step closer, keeping my voice even. “They were destroying evidence. They weren’t trying to kill you.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” Vera backs away. “Because it doesn’t. You keep deciding what I’m allowed to know and when I’m allowed to know it.”

“You’re right. I made that choice for you, and you have every reason to be angry.” I hold her gaze. “Marina was killed, and your apartment was burned. Someone had a reason. We’ll find it.”

“There’s no reason for murder.” Vera shakes her head.

“There is to the man who ordered it.” I slide the photograph across the desk. Belov watches the surgery through the glass. “He saw Marina as risk and you as pressure. Hospitals make it easy. People can come and go without anyone thinking twice.”

“I was doing my job.” Vera wraps both arms around herself. “So was Marina.”

“That’s why she noticed what armed men missed.” I pour a drink and slide it toward her.

Her gaze drops to the photograph. “She called me.” Her thumb rubs the bent edge. “I didn’t answer.”

“He killed her, Vera. You missed a call.”

A knock sounds before she can reply. Mrs. Wentworth opens the door carrying tea, crackers, and small sandwiches. Her eyes move over Vera’s face and the fire photograph before she sets the tray down.

“You haven’t eaten since last night.” She places a cup near Vera.

“I had breakfast.”