“No.”
“What do you celebrate?” I look around for a menorah but don’t see one.
“Nothing.”
“That’s grim,” I mutter, watching him walk into a small mudroom and then going through another door that must lead into the garage. I’m surprised when he comes back carrying a litter box, setting it down in the mudroom before going back out and coming in with a couple of food dishes and a bag of cat food.
When he doesn’t offer an explanation, I ask, “You have a cat?”
“Did.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
He lifts a dark brow at me as he fills the dish with food. “Some might say you talk too much.”
His thick Russian accent mixed with his insanely good looks makes it difficult to remain unaffected by him. He makes me nervous, and I’m grateful when he sets the bowls down, so I can put my focus on Nutmeg and get myself under control. I hear him banging around behind me, and turn to see him shoving a frozen pizza into the oven.
“I watched you eat about ten pounds of Chinese food, but that was hours ago. Watch this while I make a phone call.”
I refuse to be embarrassed about my big lunch. I was hungry, damn it, and it just so happens I’m hungry again, so I just nod my head and watch him walk back into the living room. It’s not long before I hear him growling something in Russian. Nice to see I’m not the only one he’s short with. I’m guessing he’s talking about me, but I haven’t the faintest idea what he’s saying. I know I like the sound of it, though. If he wanted to kill me, he could’ve shot me at work or let me die from my asthma attack. I’m alive for a reason, and I take comfort in that. Plus, as strange as it sounds, there’s something about him that settles me. I know I shouldn’t feel comfortable around a murderer, but I do. I’m not justifying what he does, but Mr. Belsky was an absolute perv, and if what Aleksandr said is true, he was downright evil, and the world is a safer place without him in it.
I’m trying not to psychoanalyze my feelings too much when he walks back into the kitchen with an even grumpier look on his handsome face. “Everything okay?” I ask as casually as I can.
“No.” His one-word answer is blunt and to the point.
“What are you going to do about me?” When he turns to me, I try not to fall headlong into those green eyes. “I mean, I’d rather know what you’re planning.”
The silence stretches out between us. I break it. “Are you going to kill me, Aleksandr?”
“If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
I’m not sure if his gruff response is supposed to be comforting, but it kind of is, and I freely admit that’s all sorts of fucked up.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask again.
“I’m not sure yet.” He checks on the pizza, and then shuts the door to give it a few more minutes.
“I’ll be staying here until you decide?” I ask, watching Nutmeg’s hesitant steps as he goes to investigate the living room.
“Yes.”
“If you don’t decide by Monday, let me know, because I’ll need to call in sick to work.”
He lifts a brow at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. I’m not sure exactly how I’m supposed to react in this kind of situation. It seems like a good idea to plan ahead, though, so I can at least pay my bills when he decides to release me. I mean, yay for rich people if they don’t need to worry about such things, but I’ve got rent due soon, and I’d like to be able to buy some groceries.
“I’ll call in for you if it comes to that,” is all he says before turning his back on me and taking the pizza out. Placing it on a cutting board, he slices through it with a quickness, making me wonder if he’s ever killed a man with a pizza cutter. I don’t ask.
“Are you okay splitting a pizza with me, or are you going to need your own?”
My look must say it all because the corners of his mouth lift up in the smallest hint of a smile before he gets control of it and squashes it down. He fills two plates and passes me one. Grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge, he takes a seat at the small table on the other side of the counter, setting one of the cans in front of the seat opposite. I’m guessing that’s as much of an invitation as I’m going to get, so I walk over and sit down.
After I’ve eaten a slice, I take a drink and ask, “Is it true what you said about Mr. Belsky?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to answer my question about whether or not you kill women?”
He finishes chewing his bite while he studies me. The vivid green of his eyes is downright distracting, so I focus on my next slice of pizza instead.