It’s heavenly, and my legs are shaky as we turn off the tepid water. Dmitri wraps me in a fluffy white towel and then grabs one for himself to dry off.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, knowing he wants to confront the man who shot him. I can’t see anything good coming from it.
If the man knows that Dmitri is alive, won’t he try again to murder him?
My insides are twisted, and my hands tremble as I get dressed. I keep my concerns to myself. Dmitri would have come here alone if I hadn’t insisted on tagging along.
He shouldn’t be alone.
Hell, I don’t want him to be alone. I like him more than I should for a friend with benefits situation.
I like him a lot.
We have the rehearsal dinner and wedding swiftly approaching. I don’t want to be his fake date. I want it to be real between us. What we share doesn’t feel fake. And he brought it up last night, but I remained silent.
After we get dressed, we have a quick breakfast before Dmitri drives us back up the mountain. He’s following the directions on his GPS through the winding and curvy road until we pull up outside a small log cabin.
Dmitri kills the engine.
There’s an SUV parked in front of the house. There’s no garage or anything frivolous. Woods surround the property on the mountain.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door.
“Wait,” Dmitri says. His voice is rough. He clears his throat. “You should stay in the car.”
“I didn’t come all this way with you to sit in the car.” I ignore his request, and he grumbles under his breath as he steps out.
Our feet crunch on the gravel. We’re not quiet on our approach, but it doesn’t seem to matter. No one comes barreling out with a weapon threatening us.
I’m not quite sure what I expect to happen, but silence isn’t it.
Dmitri heads up the wooden porch stairs and gives a prominent knock, waiting for someone to answer.
I’d think they could be at work if there weren’t a car in the driveway. It is a weekday.
The lock clicks, and a woman with long blonde hair pulls open the door. Her blue eyes meet mine before landing on Dmitri.
“Dmitri,” she whispers, and her eyes flicker. Her hand falls to her baby bump protectively.
“Savannah,” Dmitri says, his nose twitching as he glances past her. “Is Anton home?”
She doesn’t answer his question, but given that he isn’t storming toward the door, I’d guess he’s not there.
“How did you find us?” Savannah asks, taking in a sharp breath. She stands her ground at the front entrance, not inviting us inside. Her eyes rake over Dmitri, but it’s not intimate. She’s examining him, looking at him for something.
A weapon?
“It wasn’t that difficult. I hired a private investigator. Your sister lives in town,” Dmitri says.
“Shit,” Savannah mutters under her breath. She shakes her head. Her complexion pales. Sweat glistens on her forehead. “Have you come on Mikhail’s orders?”
Mikhail.
Why would the club owner want Dmitri to find the two of them? Dmitri was shot.
I take a tentative step backward, trying to piece everything together in my head. Is Mikhail behind Dmitri’s shooting? If that’s the case, why does he still trust him? Why the hell does he work for him?
“I came here for myself,” Dmitri says. “I want to know who the fuck shot me. Was it you or your pretty little boyfriend?”