Page 95 of Her Darkest Possession

I meet his gaze steadily. "Lawyer."

Webb laughs harshly, but there's no humor in the sound. "Don't think your lawyer is coming back, Baryshev. We both know you had Bennet killed."

I repeat myself. "Lawyer."

Webb slams his hand down on the table. "Your lawyer can't help you! You think we don't know what you are? What you do?"

He's willing to hear me out. That I won't deny.

But just like when I clocked him back during the arrest, he's only doing that because he sees me as a criminal, and it's his God-given duty to put me away.

I keep my face impassive. It's funny. I thought I might be more agitated, being pulled away from Indigo twice now in such a short amount of time to get familiar with the insides of an NYPD interrogation room.

But all I feel right now is an immense calmness.

Maybe it's the knowledge that I'm completely innocent for once. And so, while Kaufman continues to make threats and implications that he can't back up, I'm thinking about when I can go home to make sure Indigo is alright.

And how I'm going to make the Volkovs pay for this once I'm out.

So, I stare at him one more time and repeat that same word again. "Lawyer."

The door opens and Kaufman walks back in. There's a smug confidence in his step that wasn't there before.

"Detective Webb," he says, sliding into the chair beside me. "Your boys in forensics agree with our argument. Mr. Baryshev never left his residence from the time of his return last night until you arrived to arrest him earlier this afternoon."

Webb's eyes narrow. "That doesn't mean?—"

"The timestamps were all there," Kaufman continues smoothly. "Mr. Baryshev was at home with his pregnant wife during Ryan Bennet's death. The footage is unaltered and continuous. You have no more cause to hold him."

Then, Kaufman leans toward me, his lips nearly touching my ear.

"Roma has a name," he whispers. "Ivan Yumatov."

Everything clicks into place. Ivan Yumatov isn't a real person. Just a pseudonym the Volkovs use for their fixers when they need something particularly nasty done.

Lola—and I know it's fucking Lola because no way in hell is Taras ever this devious—is setting me up to take the fall for Ryan's death, and this just about fucking confirms it.

But what's her end game?

She knows that NYPD wouldn't be satisfied with letting me out on bail without evidence. Which means she put me in here twice now for a reason.

It means she wants mehere.

Webb's frustration is palpable. "Just because he didn't leave the house doesn't mean he didn't issue orders. He could have made a phone call?—"

"Do you have evidence of such a call?" Kaufman interrupts. "Phone records? Witness testimony? A confession from this supposed hitman if you even have one? No? Then you have nothing but speculation, which isn't enough to hold my client."

Webb's face reddens. "We have reasonable cause?—"

"You had reasonable cause to question him," Kaufman says. "Now you have evidence proving his innocence. Once Mr. Baryshev pays his bail for the window incident, he's free to go."

Webb starts to object but Kaufman holds up a hand to stop him.

"The security footage establishes an alibi, Mr. Webb," he says. "You can't hold him for murder without evidence."

Webb opens and closes his mouth, then glares at me. "Fine. Process the bail. But I'm going to go over the footage personally, Baryshev. And if I so much as see a single goddamn pixel out of place, I'm going to bring you back here myself."

Kaufman adjusts his tie with a self-satisfied smile. "If you want to question my client again, Detective Webb, you'll need a warrant. And good luck getting one with the evidence we just provided." He turns to me. "Is my client free to go now?"