“This ought to do it.” Andrei appears with two gas cans he must have found in the garage.
I nod and take one of them. “I’ll handle the upper level. You get downstairs. Make sure to douse William, the drapes, anything that will burn.”
He limps away and does as I request without protest, still nursing his wounds from earlier. Vasily will probably have something to say about me beating his face in, but I’m long past giving a fuck.
I douse the carpet, the beds, and Nina’s body with gasoline. When Andrei shouts that he’s done downstairs, I grab the pack of matches I found in the bathroom and set flame to the beds and the carpet. Downstairs, I repeat the process on William’s body and the other places that Andrei points out. The smoke is already starting to fill the house, and when the fire alarms are triggered, I gesture for Andrei.
On our way out the door, he nearly trips over a muddy pair of shoes. The same shoes I tripped over on my way in. And it isn’t until he looks at them and his brows pinch together that I realize the scarf isn’t the only thing Kat left behind.
“Whose shoes are those?” he asks.
“Probably Nina’s,” I lie.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen her wear them. And she hasn’t left the house today, so why would they be muddy?”
The one time I need Andrei to be a dumb fuck, he starts piecing shit together.
“Then they’re Elizabeth’s. Who gives a shit? We need to go.”
“There was a scarf upstairs too.” His brows pinch together. “That drunk chick from the club. She had one just like it.”
“Andrei, we need to get the fuck out of here. The cops are coming,” I bark.
He takes one more long look at the shoes and then bolts out the door. I should be thinking about my exit strategy, potential witnesses, and a million other problems that have just presented themselves, but there’s only one thing on my mind now.
Andrei knows, and I am so fucked.
* * *
I told Andrei I would meet him back at the club, and he bought it for now. When I pull up to Kat’s apartment complex, I’m not entirely sure how this will play out. It’s not even dinnertime yet. People are still up, getting home from work and watching TV. It’s not like I can drag her out of here in broad daylight. But I can’t leave her here either.
My fist rattles the door in its frame before Rachel finally pokes her head out through the chain.
“What do you want?” She glares.
“I need to see Kat.”
“She isn’t here,” she hisses.
“Bullshit.”
“Look, asshole. I don’t know who you are—”
I slam my shoulder into the door without warning, and Rachel stumbles back in horror as I enter the apartment and shut the door behind me.
“Don’t scream.” I shake my finger at her when she opens her mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you make a scene, I’ll tape your fucking mouth shut.”
Her eyes dart to the door. She considers her options, but it doesn’t take her long to accept that she’s trapped.
“Kat isn’t here,” she repeats. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“Where is she?” I glance down the hall toward her room.
“She bailed.” Rachel glares up at me. “I don’t know what’s going on. She just came home, freaked out, and said she had to leave. She grabbed a bag of clothes, and she was gone. That’s all I know.”
Christ.
I don’t want to believe it, but the empty silence in the apartment only seems to confirm Rachel’s account. If Kat was here, she’d be out in the living room by now, trying to defend her friend. That much I know.
“Show me.” I gesture for Rachel to move, and she hesitates.
“C’mon. I don’t have all fucking day. Show me her room.”
Finally, Rachel staggers down the hall, glancing over her shoulder every couple of feet to check if I’m still here. She doesn’t trust me, and I can’t say that I blame her.
“Satisfied?” She crosses her arms when we reach the end of the hall.
Kat’s room is in complete disarray. Clothes strewn across the bed, her dresser drawers open. She was in a hurry all right, which only manages to confirm what I suspected. She saw something she shouldn’t have, and now she’s in the wind.
“Where did she go?” I pick up one of her sweaters from the floor and toss it onto the bed.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know.” Rachel shakes her head. “She wouldn’t say. She was totally spooked by something, and she just kept telling me she had to go.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose to temper the headache I feel coming on. “Where are your garbage bags?”
“What?” Her eyes narrow.
“Where do you keep the garbage bags?” I repeat.