Page 86 of Hunt Me, Daddy

The bathroom filled with heat and white mist, softening the hard edges of the mirror, the sink, the tile, the woman standing there pretending she wasn’t thinking about Ivan Morozov telling her not to test consequences tonight.

Tonight was over.

Technically.

I stripped and stepped under the water. The heat hit my shoulders, and I exhaled harder than I meant to. My muscles were tight from hours of stillness, from holding myself like if I relaxed, I would miss the exact second danger arrived. Water slid down the back of my neck, over my spine, between my shoulder blades, and I braced one hand against the tile.

Do not think about him.

Naturally, I thought about him. Ivan standing in my doorway, maybe. Ivan with those pale eyes behind his glasses, looking at me like every argument I made had already been read, annotated, and returned with corrections. Ivan’s voice loweringwhen he said my name. Ivan sayinggood girlin a tone that had no business making my thighs clench.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

My hand moved before I’d decided to let it, and I wasn’t proud of what happened next, or the name I moaned when it was over.

“Great,” I muttered. “Fantastic work, Calloway.”

The mirror was completely fogged by the time I got out. I wiped a hand across it and stared at my reflection.

Still haunted.

Now annoyed too.

An improvement, arguably.

I dressed in black leggings, a soft gray sweater, and black combat boots. I pulled my hair up, then took it down, then pulled it up again because indecision was for people without coffee and I was technically one of them.

My phone rang at eight-oh-six. It was Ivan.

My pulse spiked stupidly. I let it ring twice before answering because there was no reason to let him think I was waiting for his call.

“Morozov,” I said.

“Kit.”

My name in his mouth was going to be a problem. Actually, it already was.

“You owe me a real conversation,” I said.

There was no hesitation.

“Yes. I do.”

His answer was unexpected enough that I went still. I had prepared for deflection. For another partial answer. For some calm, infuriating explanation about operational timing and limited windows and why I should trust him despite the fact that men who asked for trust usually meant they wanted obedience with better branding. Instead, he agreed and I didn’t really know what to do with that.

“Good,” I said. “Then start talking.”

“Come out of your building.”

My eyes moved to the window.

“What?”

“I’m outside.”

Of course he was.

I crossed the apartment and stood just to the side of the glass, where I could see down without making myself fully visible. A black car waited across the street, not directly in front of my building but close enough to make a statement. Ivan stood beside it in a dark coat, one hand in his pocket, his head tilted slightly as though he already knew exactly where I would appear behind the window. He was looking up at me.