Page 79 of The Wrong Monster

I stand there holding a half-eaten Reuben, watching my best friend disappear into the crowd. I want to go after her, but I don’t. Art’s men are already moving in my direction, their eyes on Isla’s receding back and strawberry blonde hair.

* * *

The drive back to the lake house is silent. Art’s men in the front seat didn’t say anything about what happened at the food truck court. I’m sure it’ll make it into a report back to Vasily. Will he care that all this has damaged one of the only friendships I have?

Probably not.

I stare out the window at the trees rushing past, feeling something I haven’t felt in years: lonely. And guilty. Very guilty.

I’m completely unsure of what the hell I’m doing with my life.

Chapter 22

Vasily

Several days have passed since Isla went home. Matilda has spent them buried in the case, and I’ve spent them trying to find a man who seems to vanish every time someone sees him.

Matty’s voice echoes through the foyer, heels tapping a determined rhythm as she calls out: “I need to go with you.”

“No.”

“Vasily.”

“Absolutely not.”

From the fourth stair up the staircase, she plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me like I’m a particularly stubborn opposing counsel. A wave of infuriation goes through me because she looks delectable like this, and because she’s as determined as any of my enforcers.

“I need to update you on Mikhail’s case.”

“You can do that when I return.” I turn toward the door, putting on a light jacket to combat the rain.

“I don’t know when you’re returning.”

“Then consider it a surprise.”

Her eyes narrow. She takes another step down. The black boots she’s wearing, knee-high and thick-heeled, make her look longer and taller and even more tempting.

“I’m coming.”

I stare at her. She stares back.

“Day mne pokoy, radi Boga.”

“In English, Mr. Borisov.”

“Give me some damn peace,” I snarl.

The argument lasts another five minutes before I finally give up, not because she’s won, but because I’m too tired to keep explaining myself. And I have an appointment to get to. A very important one.

“Fine.”

Her expression brightens immediately. God, if I could make her look at me like that every single day. She’s radiant and mischievous, and annoying.

I point a finger at her.

“You stay with me. You don’t wander. You don’t ask questions.”

“That’s a lot of rules for a business outing.”