Page 24 of Bratva Claim

It’s ridiculous.

Or it was, until a black SUV pulled up in the parking lot next to the sidewalk.

My heart drops.

The driver’s door opens, and a man steps out.

He’s tall and lean but broad in the shoulders. His dark suit is crisp and tailored. There’s no tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned at the top.

This guy looks like he walked out of a high-stakes poker game, smooth and confident.

I don’t like that.

“Good evening.” His voice is conversational and easygoing, like we’ve already met.

We haven’t. I’d remember.

I tighten my grip on my bag, trying to remain calm. “We’re closed.”

He smiles.

It’s nice.

Too nice.

“I’m not here for a cupcake. I’m here for you.”

I force out a laugh, but it sounds weird and breathless. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrongperson.”

He doesn’t blink. “I’m Detective Campbell. I’ve been investigating an organized crime ring in the area.”

Oh.

“Felony charges, Miss Graves, for one. Two, from someone noticing Detective Campbell being camped out in front of your bakery. He’s not very good. I wouldn’t want someone to believe you’re in on what’s been happening here.”

Benedikt’s words ring in my ears, prompting the reality that this isn’t a game.

I have a feeling that I’min some serious trouble.

I calculate how long it would take me to sprint to my car. Would he chase me?

I don’t have to answer questions, right? I’m not under arrest.

“Do you know a Benedikt Volkov?”

“Never heard of him,” I deadpan, my tone impassive.

“He was at the bakery today.”

I narrow my gaze at Detective Campbell. “Excuse me?”

“He was at the bakery. He walked in through the back, Miss Graves.” My eyes widen because he knows my name, and he quickly backpedals. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been doing my homework.”

I need to get out of this.

“I just work here,” I respond as calmly as I can. “I don’t—did you say organized crime ring?”

He bows his head. “I did. A very dangerous one, Mrs. Graves. And, if you’re in trouble, or somehow got yourself mixed up in something?—”