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“Why now? You spent all this time avoiding me and now, you want to help me?”
Correction: I wantyouto helpme.I shrug and continue to play coy. Sheepish. Contrite. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking. About you, and Willow. And you’re right. She deserves to have her family back together. I just know we’ll never be left alone until, well…”
“Until Greg’s taken care of.” Martin nods. “It kills me, but you’re right. It’ll help clear up Tolya’s name, too, so what I had to do to get him out won’t matter anymore.”
“Right.”
He smiles at me, cups my face, then leans in for a kiss.
I think I’m gonna throw up.
Yeah, I’m definitely gonna throw up.
But right before he presses his chapped lips against mine, the pot boils over and clatters the lid around the stainless steel. It’s loud and jarring and the exact distraction I need to move out of Martin’s grasp without a struggle.
“How about this?” Martin says from behind me as I go to fix it. “You agree to marry me, and I’ll work on turning Greg over to Internal Affairs. Hell, you marry me, and I’ll blow the whistle without a second thought.”
“Then it’s settled.” I hate this taste on my tongue. “We’re getting married.”
“Atta girl.” He slaps my ass, then smacks his lips. “I’m gonna go jump in the shower. Let me know when dinner’s ready.”
I let the pasta cool in the colander and return to making the meatballs, my mind racing a mile a minute just to process everything and assure myself that no, I’m not actually marrying Martin Patterson and settling for a life like my mother’s.
I’m just buying time until the happy ending we all deserve catches up to us. But until that happens, I’m left with nothing but prayers.
Please, Demyen… come back before it’s too late.
41
DEMYEN
I’ve only been in Russia for three hours and already it feels like three whole goddamned centuries.
The time here is ten hours ahead of Vegas, which means I’ll be asleep while Willow’s getting out of school and Clara will be asleep while I’m dealing with whatever bullshit Oleg’s got us roped into. Any hope of real-time video feed rests on me not getting any sleep—which, to be honest, won’t be that difficult.
PAVEL: This is all I’ve got from today.
The camera feed shows the front side of Patterson’s house. No movement in or out, and no sign of anyone playing in the meager little yard that lines the driveway.
PAVEL: No news is good news, right?
I resist the urge to throw my phone across the room in frustration.
Did I do the right thing?
Did I make the right move by sending them to Patterson?
Or did I send them to their deaths?
Pavel’s right: no news is good news. It means no one is in the hospital, no neighbor has called in a domestic disturbance, and there’s a solid chance all is peaceful and well inside.
Toopeaceful.
Images of Martin pawing at Clara’s body flash through my mind, and I suddenly feel the urge to punch something. There’s no doubt he’ll try to seduce her into his pathetic little bed and if she resists, I know he will try to force her into it.
He’s done it before.
He’ll do it again.
