“I packed enough so that I wouldn’t have to visit the house for a while. I don't think it’s fair on either of us if I hang around here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I need a break.”
I watched as she walked toward the front door. I felt powerless as she left and closed the door behind her. My heart was aching. Was I having a panic attack? Whatever the feeling was, I didn’t care for it.
I looked at the card she’d handed me.
“I’m so fucked,” I sighed out loud, “I may as well move from the frying pan into the fire.”
I dialed the number on the card.
“Agent Stevens.”
“This is Max Mikhailov.”
“Mr. Mikhailov. I’m glad you called.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not over the phone. I’d like to meet you in person. I’ll send you a pin location.”
“Fine.”
“Tomorrow morning, 9 am?”
“Sure.”
There was no going back. The gravity of the situation hit me like a sledgehammer. I had to call Vlad and warn him.
Vlad and I spent at least an hour talking on the phone. He promised to carry on as if nothing had happened. We couldn’t risk word of the DEA sniffing around getting back to Grigoriy.
The last thing we wanted was a bloodbath.
29
ANGEL
“Hey, Angel. I was just going to call you. Are you home?”
“Hi, Josie.”
“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
“Yeah.”
“Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. I need a favor, Josie.”
“Sure. Anything. You know that.”
“Can I stay with you for a while?”
I was in my car with the engine running. I’d stopped at a gas station to make the call.
“Uhh, of course, Angel. But, why? Did you and Max have a fight?”