Page 50

50

OLEG

My head is a war zone of vodka and regret.

The reception, the funeral, the never-ending speeches, my mother’s vicious attack right afterwards—it’s all a blur of miserable memories that I’d like to forget.

Still, despite the pounding in my head and the soreness in my bones, I’d rather have a thousand more hangovers like this one rather than relive yesterday again.

Even the comfort of a hot, morning shower doesn’t exactly clear the fog in my head.

I step out of the guest room where I’d crashed last night, wondering how Sutton is doing today.

I didn’t want to disturb her last night.

More importantly, I didn’t want to taint her with my black mood.

If there’s one thing Oksana is good at, it’s knowing exactly what to say to get under my skin.

But away from her viper’s tongue, it’s easy to get perspective. It’s easy to see what my priorities are.

I go to the kitchen, hoping that Sutton will already be there. But it’s conspicuously empty, the pantry door, wide open for God knows what reason.

Maybe she’s still sleeping?

She looked dead on her feet when she showed up at the funeral parlor yesterday, dressed in a pale pink dress that stood out in a sea of black.

Of course, Oksana had been furious, but I was glad for the outfit choice. It gave me something to focus on in moments when I felt like I was on the verge of losing my cool.

But by the time I’d extricated myself from the dutiful conversations with the ancient Russian relics that I call uncles, I was informed that Sutton had already left.

A part of me was disappointed.

A part of me was relieved.

Just because I had to suffer through this torture didn’t mean she had to, too.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, ready to go upstairs to check on Sutton, when Pavin enters the kitchen, his somber face overtaken by worry lines.

“What is it?”

“Sorry to disturb you, boss,” he says. “But… there are cops at the door.”

“Cops?”

“A detective and a cop, to be exact.”

Abandoning my coffee, I go to the foyer, where just as Pavin had said, two unwelcome guests are standing in the threshold of my entrance.

The cop, a morose-looking, middle-aged man with an impressive combover, is staring at the gilded sconces with interest.

The detective is not completely unfamiliar. I’ve met her a few times in passing. Our last run-in was at the station, weeks ago, when they brought Sydney in for questioning.

“Detective Cooper,” I greet. “What brings you here?”

She inclines her head. “I have some news you might be interested in, Mr. Pavlov. This is Sergeant Cornelius.”

I shake both their hands, albeit stiffly enough that they know they’re not entirely welcome. “Would you like to sit down or is this more of a ‘stand by the door’ kind of conversation?”

Detective Cooper glances behind me. “I think we’d better sit.”

My heart twinges uncomfortably. What the fuck is happening now? Why this? Why more?

Am I not dealing with enough bullshit already?

“Should I be worried?” I ask casually as I show both of them to the living room.

The detective takes one of the Hermes armchairs and the sergeant walks over to the French doors to admire the garden. I’m not stupid enough to miss what he’s really doing: standing guard.

“ Are you worried, Mr. Pavlov?” she replies, her eyebrow arched as though she’s trying to catch me in a lie.

“Is it about my future sister-in-law?”

“I suppose you could say that,” she agrees. “At least, insofar as her culpability is concerned.”

“I’m all ears, Detective.”

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “We launched an investigation into the victim, Drew Anton, considering the people he worked for.”

“And?”

“His fingerprints matched the prints found at your uncle’s residence on the night of the break-in. In addition, he had stolen several items from your uncle’s home and tried to sell them on the black market. Three items were definitively linked back to him.”

“You’re telling me Anton is the one who’s responsible for murdering my uncle?” I ask, phrasing my words carefully.

“Yes, Mr. Pavlov. That is exactly what I’m telling you.”

I have to work very hard to control myself from breaking into song. “I see. And as for my sister-in-law…?”

“Obviously, her crime will not be forgiven simply because her victim committed egregious crimes himself.”

“Of course.”

“But we’ve opened another investigation into the abuse claims she made against Drew Anton. We already have enough evidence to suggest that Sydney Palmer was being used and abused by both Anton and her boyfriend, Paul Lipovsky.”

Stiffening, I lean forward. “What do you mean? What ‘evidence’?”

For the first time, Sergeant Cornelius strides forward from his post at the window. “Recordings and tapes that detail the abuse she suffered by both men. We issued a search warrant against Lipovsky’s home yesterday and it provided us with enough evidence to incriminate Anton and arrest Lipovsky.”

I feign ignorance. “And have you… arrested Lipovsky?”

“It seems the man made a run for it,” Detective Cooper informs me regretfully. “He must have sensed that his days were numbered. We’ve issued a warrant for his arrest that will go public in a day or two. Don’t worry, Mr. Pavlov—we’ll find him.”

I smile, nodding gratefully, all the while knowing that there isn’t a chance in hell that they will ever find Lipovsky.

He will disappear into the ether with all the other missing persons that have been lost over the years.

I’ll make fucking sure of it.

“Does this mean my sister-in-law won’t be charged?”

The detective raises her eyebrows. “I would have thought you’d be more concerned about the fact that you have officially been cleared as a suspect in your uncle’s death.”

I snort. “I knew those suspicions had no merit. I was never concerned about that. The only thing that concerns me is my fiancée’s happiness. And right now, that is directly tied to her sister’s freedom.”

The detective’s face softens. The blue in her eyes reveals a tinge of green I hadn’t noticed before.

“The charges will be dropped against your sister-in-law,” she says. “But she will be required to finish her three-month stint at Alice Matlin Psychiatric Institute.”

“That won’t be a problem. After what she’s been through, she’s going to need to be rehabilitated.”

She nods in agreement. But something about her pinched expression gives me pause.

“Detective… you mentioned that Sydney was abused at the hands of Lipovsky and Anton.”

“Yes?”

“What do you mean by that?”

She frowns, clearly hesitant to answer.

“Please,” I say smoothly. “Knowing will help me help her.”

Detective Cooper sighs. “Days before Lipovsky disappeared, we have footage of your sister-in-law being assaulted… by Anton.”

My stomach drops.

It makes sense now.

This is why Sydney risked everything to botch our trap. She wasn’t really trying to botch anything—she was simply trying to get revenge for what was done to her.

“It seems that Lipovsky was the one that handed Sydney off to his right-hand man… as a punishment.”

I rise to my feet, ready to end this meeting. “Thank you for coming all this way to let me know.” I look at each of them in turn. “Detective. Sergeant.”

The moment I’ve seen them out, I turn towards the staircase.

I can’t wait to tell Sutton that Sydney is officially off the hook. I won’t tell her everything, though.

She doesn’t need to know how badly Sydney was abused. Unless, of course, Sydney decides to tell her one day.

Selfishly, I hope she never does.

Both women have been through enough.

I take the steps two at a time up to Sutton’s bedroom door. But when I walk in, the room is conspicuously empty.

What’s more, it looks pristine. The bed hasn’t been slept in. The windows are still drawn open from the night before. And Sutton’s familiar scent is absent.

“Where is she?” I murmur, my spine turning icy.

I circle the house once before calling to security at the front gate. Pavin answers, his deep voice resonating over the phone.

“Yes, boss?”

“Ms. Palmer… where is she?”

“She’s at the Savins’, sir. Miss Faye picked her up last night.”

His words feel like a blow to the head. Not least because I know it can’t possibly be the truth.

There’s something final about her absence.

Something permanent.

But fuck if I’m going to accept that lying down.

I hang up on Pavel and call Faye. She picks up immediately, almost as though she’s been expecting my call.

“Yes, I broke her out last night,” she says instead of the traditional greeting. “And no, she’s not with me anymore.”

“I’m not mad,” I assure her. “I just need to know where she is now.”

Faye sighs. “I can’t tell you that, Oleg. I promised her.”

“Jesus Christ, Faye!” I growl.

“You said you wouldn’t get mad.”

“I said I wasn’t mad. But you’re starting to change that.” I clench the phone harder. “She’s pregnant and alone, Faye. She can’t manage on her own.”

“She’s scrappier than you think.”

Squinting, I twist towards the gardens. “Do you honestly think I mean her any harm?” I ask. “She means fucking everything to me.”

Faye hesitates, inhaling and exhaling nervously. “Is this for real or are you just trying to manipulate me?”

“For fuck’s sake, Faye, what do you think?”

Another breath.

Another pause.

Then… “She took a boat ride. I’m sure you can guess where.”

I hang up and send instructions to ready the jet. The princess can run.

But unlike Lipovsky, I’ll be damned if I let her hide.