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No excuses.
71
RUSLAN
I’m jolted awake by a pinch on the arm. I jerk up and spot Kirill at my bedside. Emma is draped over me, so I have to move slowly and carefully to untangle myself from her and the sheets before I can get out.
Kirill backs off to the doorway while I pull my boxers on. I check to see that Emma is still sleeping and then I follow him into the living room.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
“Sorry. I tried calling, but you didn’t pick up.”
“Did you find Sergey?”
“Man’s still missing. But the security team did find something else that I think you’ll want to know about.”
Kirill’s lips are pursed together. He’s also cracking his knuckles a lot, which is a sure sign that he’s got bad news for me.
“What is it?”
He clears his throat and gestures towards the thin brown envelope sitting on the dining table. “I’m sorry, man.”
Those are ominous words. I rip off the top half of the envelope and pull the contents out. It’s a sheath of photographs. The first one is a blurry picture of Remmy Jefferson leaning against a very familiar-looking wall. Just beyond is a woman with her hair pulled up in a bun. The picture quality is low but I recognize Emma immediately.
I glance up at Kirill. “What the fuck is this?”
“It looks like Remmy visited Emma last night.”
Last night? Is that why she was so frazzled? She was borderline hysterical. Goddammit, why the fuck hadn’t I just slowed down for two seconds and let her say what she’d called me to say?
Oh, right—five dead bodies.
I move onto the next photograph. It’s more of the same. Remmy standing in Emma’s apartment, the two obviously engaged in a conversation. Of course, there’s no way to know the nature of the conversation. But the fact that it took place in her apartment is troubling.
When I look up again, Kirill is staring back at me with wary eyes. “I hate to say it, brother… but I think she might’ve conned you.”
I shake my head. Even in the face of photographic evidence, I’m willing to give Emma the benefit of the doubt. Pictures can be doctored. And even if they haven’t been, there has to be another explanation.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“Look at those pictures, bro.”
“I’m fucking looking,bro,” I snarl. “And I don’t fucking believe them. I trust her; she wouldn’t—”
“That’s not all.”
I feel like I’m turning to stone. “Go on.”
He cracks his knuckles again. His tendons must be shredded to nothing at this point. “Our contact in the newsroom gave me a call this morning. He wanted to give us a heads-up. They’re getting ready to run a story about you soon. He preempted the conversation by saying there was nothing he could do to stop it.”
Just like that, my heart drops. “What story?”
Kirill shuffles from one foot to the other. “A story that involves a sex contract between you and your assistant.”
Breathe.
Fuckingbreathe.
