“You… you… killed… dead…” She stammers, eyes wide with shock.
This girl is either a really good actress, or I just severely fucked up.
“Calm down. Take a deep breath. They were going to kill us if I didn’t kill them. It was self-defense.” I keep my voice steady, trying to calm her. If sheisBratva, she’s probably laughing on the inside right now.
Once her breathing evens out, I start questioning her.
“Are you with them?” I demand.
Her eyes bug out, and she looks at me as ifI’velostmydamn mind.
“No! Of course not! Why the hell would I be with them?” she snaps, completely baffled.
“You called them over. And you expect me to believe you and they were following me for separate reasons.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” She glares at me. “You left your card. I was bringing it to you as agood deed. Then youattackedme. Then youattackedthose men. Then youkilledthose men. And now you’re blamingme?” She huffs. “It’s the twenty-first century, Mr. Montclair. We left victim-blaming behind in the twentieth century. Get with the program.”
Then she has the gall to roll her eyes at me. As if she didn’t just witness me kill two men.
I’m stunned silent for a full minute.
Who the hell is this spitfire?
“Fine, let’s say you’re telling the truth–”
“I am!” she interrupts, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I narrow my eyes. Who the hell is this girl?
“–then what happened once you followed me? Why didn’t you give me my card?”
“I… you… phone… Roman… call.”
I smirk.Gotcha.
“You heard my phone call with Roman?”
Her face blanches. “Absolutely not! I didn’t hear anything! I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about! I didn’t hear you talk to Roman about killing someone! I swear I don’t know anything! I didn’t hear anything!”
She’s spiraling. I can see the moment she realizes she’s incriminated herself, because she panics.
“I won’t tell anyone anything, Mr. Montclair! I don’t even know anything! I mean, what you and Roman do is your business. I’ll mind my business, you’ll mind yours, and you definitely don’t have to worry about me!” She’s hysterical again. “Please let me keep my tongue!”
I blink.
What the fuck is she talking about?
The more she scrambles to assure me she didn’t hear anything, the more convinced I am that she did.
I go over the conversation with Roman in my mind.
Shit.
She heard too much.
Hell, she just named Roman and me.How does she know who I am?I’m not sure I’m buying the credit card story. But she doesn’t look Russian, or Italian, or even like she’s ever committed a crime, but the best spies blend in.
“How do you know my name?” My tone stays even and cold.
