“Okay,” I say quietly, staring at my stilettos. “Yeah, I’ll try.”
Just not in the way she thinks. I’m going to help Daisy get out of Marissa’s clutches once and for all.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she chirps. “You’re going to be the best auntie yet. Love you.”
She hangs up quickly, but not before I hear scuffling on the other end of the phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gloria stood right next to her while she called.
A glum, gnawing ache lingers in the pit of my stomach.
CHAPTER 23
Russet
The hallway’s unlit but when I open the door, I spot a tall lurking figure staring at the photos along the wall. Dima.
He glances back at the opening door, nodding in hello. He’s got his usual glass of alcohol in hand, his other shoved in the pocket of his jeans. He seems scruffier than normal and I make a note to buy him beard oil for his birthday or Christmas. I’m not sure which gift-giving event occurs first.
“You okay?” he asks.
I thought I’d wiped my face blank. Smiling, I nod.
Honestly, if there’s anyone who has information about the Ghost it’s Dima. Max is a man of few words but practically gloats anytime he talks about his uncle. He’s his favorite and he looks up to him.
But Dima is clever. The minute I start asking questions, warning bells will go off.
“Maxie mentioned someone you knew recently died.” Dima’s tired face frowns further, in a showing of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“It was my old neighbor,” I explain. The funeral occurred two weeks ago, but Nancy’s been on my mind every day since.
“She was good to you?”
That’s an understatement. “I think you’d like her. She used to take me to the gun range all the time.”
A rare smile lights up his face. But his dark eyes seem to study me. His gaze goes from my face to something on the left.
Max appears from a set of stairs I’ve never noticed. I’ve never gotten the full tour of the place and I’m willing to bet it’d take hours. He nods at his uncle and then catches my hand, pulling me up the stairs.
“What are we doing?” I whisper in the dark. No one is around and there’s an air of haunted abandonment to this wing of the house.
He pulls me down a hallway, past another living room. Pictures line the walls and I make a mental note to inspect these childhood photos later.
Opening a door, I come to a stop in an airy, clutter-free bedroom.
I smile. “Is this your bedroom?”
He closes the door, his eyes feral in the dark.
And now I’m laughing. “Absolutely not.”
Softly, he trails a finger down my cheek. He keeps going, running it over my chest.
“There are people everywhere.”
“Hardly,” he replies, slowly dragging his hand over my nipple. “No one’s upstairs.”
“They’ll know as soon as we go downstairs,” I argue.
“It’s not my fault your face can’t keep a secret.” He drags his tongue over my cheek.
