Page 48 of His Savage Vow
It could have been a bluff, a clever lie to distract us, to buy him some time. But for Constance, I’m not willing to take that chance. I try to call her again, but it goes straight to her voicemail, probably because she’s still driving.
Or because someone has already stopped her from answering.
“Get him in the car,” I order while sending her a text begging her to go back to the house and that it isn’t safe for her to be alone. “We’re going over to Monroe’s right now.”
Something in me snaps. If Kirill touches her, there won’t be a war. There will only be a goddamn burial.
Paul’s men cut the zip ties holding the Russian to the chairand then drape him over their shoulders as they haul him outside. They throw him into the rear of the Escalade that Paul drove and take places on either side of him. I climb into the passenger seat and Paul tears out of the warehouse and across the docks, tires squealing.
If our unfortunate new friend was telling the truth, then the leak is closer than I feared, and Constance could be walking straight into a goddamn trap. I refuse to give that bastard Kirill a second chance at her.
22
Constance
The driveto Monroe’s is slow and aggravating, the streets a snarl of traffic and pedestrians. The closer I get, the heavier the air feels, like the fire left something behind besides a pile of ashes.
The back of my neck prickles, like some kind of instinct. One I’ve ignored too many times lately.
I tell myself it’s just nerves, that Maximo is unreasonably cautious in wanting me to have him or his guards with me for every little errand.
In the city, I have to use a public parking deck two blocks away from the restaurant because some asshole is blocking the alley leading to my usual parking space. I try to pick out the insurance agent as I walk down the block towards the ruins. I’ve only spoken to him twice over the phone, but never in person, so when a tall, well-dressed man in a charcoal suit steps forward to greet me on the sidewalk, I don’t think twice.
“Ms. Monroe?” he asks smoothly.
“Yes.”
“I’m Alex Crispin. We spoke on the phone. Please, let’s step inside. The inspector is already here waiting for us.”
I follow him through the front entrance of the restaurant. The police tape warning “do not cross” has been cut and is fluttering in the afternoon breeze. The fire completely destroyed the kitchen and the upstairs apartment above it but had spared most of the front dining room. The walls are scorched, and soot stains the windows, but the tables and chairs are still there, lonely ghosts haunting the ruins of my old life.
“Where is the inspector?” I ask as my eyes adjust to the gloom. The electricity has been shut off, so the only light is the afternoon sun shining dimly through the stained front glass.
“He must have stepped into the kitchen, just back here,” Alex replies. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
We step deeper inside the burned remains. From here, I can see the back of the restaurant, including the part the fire gutted completely. Blackened beams jut from the ceiling, and beyond them, in the shadow of the wreckage, shapes begin to move.
My stomach drops as Kirill Volkov emerges from the darkness, flanked by three of his men.
I freeze, then clutch at my purse, cursing myself for leaving my gun at Maximo’s. Carrying it and the knife is still completely foreign to me. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might need it here, today. Maximo is going to be pissed. I just hope I live long enough to see his wrath.
“Well,” Kirill says with a grin. “You came back. I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”
“Alex Crispin” has stopped a few paces behind me, telling me he was in on this setup the whole time. The floor threatens to collapse under my feet. I’m so stupid and careless. I should’ve trusted my gut.
“Of course he’s not the insurance agent,” I say quietly. I walked straight into their hands, just like they wanted.
I look around, frantic, as the other men fan out around me.
“No, he’s not,” Kirill answers.
Two of his men come around me, blocking the doorway behind me. Kirill’s grin widens. “We were supposed to have a drink together the other night, remember? But you left before we had a chance to talk.”
“The only words I have for you are go fuck yourself you murderous piece of shit! You killed my father!” I spit.
“That’s one of the reasons I brought you here, today. I owe you an apology, Constance. Sit.” He gestures to one of the intact tables behind me. When I don’t move, one of his men pulls out a chair anyway and places a hand on my shoulder.
Reluctantly, I sit.
