“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. I step forward, trying to seem as harmless as possible. “I can take over as the realtor for this property so you have more time. If you need a place to stay temporarily.”
Her head pops out from around the corner. “Really?”
“Yeah, my father owns the company.” I shrug nonchalantly as I walk toward her. “I can easily handle it until you can figure something out. It can’t be for very long, but I think a few more days shouldn’t be a problem.”
Tears spill from her eyes. “I…I don’t know…”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
I sigh while stepping into the kitchen. Gorgeous steel appliances ready to be used shimmer with a chrome silver finish. The white tile continues in here, marble counters polished to perfection. Onyx black wooden cabinets with gray knobs look like they came right from the manufacturing floor.
For a squatter, she’s living pretty lavishly.
Her stomach gurgles again. I turn to her, seeing the look of vulnerability on her face. The plastic crinkles as she opens the bag and pulls out a foam tray.
“I, uh…” She opens the tray and reveals the steamy meal inside. “It’s a few burritos if you want one.”
I smile. “Sure. I could eat.”
When I settle in at the counter, I notice how she hunches over her food like a stray cat guarding her only meal. She’s protective of herself and her resources. She’s definitely on the run from some kind of prick. But she doesn’t have any visible bruises or scars, so I imagine it’s just someone just trying to ruin her in other ways.
She’s slender and pale, prettier than anyone I would have expected to see on the run. In any other context, I would’ve believed her to be an actress or model. Maybe even a dancer with how her body looks.
But right now, she just looks like she’s grateful to have food and decent company.
“Thanks,” she whispers after she annihilates her food. “What’s your name?”
I smile warmly. “Willow. Willow Austin.” I hold out my hand. “And you?”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Zoya Malinskya.”
Chapter Five
Kiril
The apartment is too quiet, too empty without my Zoyechka making a fuss. She’s been gone for three days, leaving me to clean up the absolute pigsty of a home she and that idiot Jonas left behind. While my phone vibrates itself off the counter, I fight with the washer machine, kicking the door shut once I get the quilts situated inside.
The phone clatters to the ground. I sag forward to retrieve it, staring at the missed calls on the screen. I’m expecting my daughter. I’m expecting groveling. She should be apologizing and crawling back to me right now, too broke to make it in the world on her own. Especially with a baby growing in her belly.
But the message I find is from the people I’ve been trying to avoid since she went missing.
“Meeting at 2:00 p.m., docks.”
Panic trickles into my chest.
Another text appears, accompanied by a smiling emoji: “Don’t waste my time.”
Captain Howard Sharp must think he’s a fucking celebrity if he’s trying to threaten me with emojis. Cardona is one sarcastic asshole, but Sharp takes it to a whole new irritating level. Asshole acts like he’s my buddy while constantly sliding a few death warrants on the table at the same time.
What’ll be this time? Death by sharks? Torture? Flesh-eating bacteria?
He always says he knows a guy in South America with a piranha tank.
I roll my eyes.
And then he laughs like it’s the funniest damn thing on the whole planet.
The phone vibrates in my hand.