Page 2 of What He Keeps

Everything feels shattered.

One medic kneels beside Irina while another rushes toward Viktor. Ivy buries her face harder against my neck as they check Irina for a pulse that no longer exists.

Alexei rises smoothly to his feet beside us. Blood streaks across his hands now from touching both Ivy and me, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

An officer approaches carefully. “Sir, we need everyone separated for statements.”

“No.” Alexei’s voice remains calm and even. Controlled in a way that feels more intimidating than yelling ever could. “Not yet.”

The officer hesitates. Apparently, Savannah police know exactly who Alexei Agapov is because the man backs off almost immediately.

Two EMTs crouch in front of me next.

“Ma’am, are you injured?”

I look down at myself like I’m seeing my body for the first time. Blood covers nearly every inch of me, soaking into my shirt, staining across my arms, and smeared down the front of my jeans. But none of it belongs to me.

“I don’t know,” I whisper honestly.

They guide Ivy and me toward one of the ambulances parked outside the shelter. Ivy refuses to let go of me the entire walk, clinging so tightly to my shirt that I can barely move without her. They help us sit on the edge of the ambulance. The medics begin checking Ivy first while silent tears slide down her cheeks.

“Sweetheart, did anyone hurt you?” one medic asks gently.

Ivy shakes her head no and buries herself against me.

Alexei stands by the ambulance doors while officers put up crime scene tape around the shelter. A black SUV pulls up looking expensive and out of place next to the animal rescue vans and volunteer cars.

Roman’s men.

I know who they are instantly by the way they move through the parking lot, silent and lethal making my pulse race. One of them speaks quietly to Alexei in Russian, while another disappears toward the rear of the property, followed by two more men. Alexei responds without taking his eyes off Ivy and me.

The medic checking my pulse finally says, “You’re in shock.”

My shaking hands answer for me. I keep staring toward the hallway where they covered Irina’s body with a white sheet. This morning, she was smiling and laughing while helping Ivy pick ribbons for Mr. Pickles’ leash. Now she’s dead on my shelter floor. My throat constricts painfully.

Suddenly, Jules comes barreling through the police barricade, looking half out of his damn mind.

“Maggie!” he shouts.

I stand up so quickly that one of the EMTs grabs my arm in protest, but Jules is already crossing the parking lot toward me. His face goes pale beneath the flashing emergency lights. The moment he reaches me, he grabs my shoulders hard while his eyes search frantically over my face.

“Oh, sweet heaven.” His voice cracks apart. “Jesus Christ, Maggie.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine,” I say quickly.

His eyes drop toward Ivy, curled against me. Then he notices the white-sheet-covered stretcher being wheeled toward the coroner’s van. The last bit of color drains from his face.

“No,” he breathes.

Fresh tears sting my eyes.

“Jules…”

His hand flies up over his mouth while grief tears through him so suddenly it makes my chest hurt. “Who?”