“Fine. I’ll stay inside like a good little patient.”
The sarcasm in her voice is new, and it’s sharper than anything she’s shown me so far. I set down my tablet and inspect her face.
“I have meetings today. Business that requires my full attention for several hours.”
“Of course, you do.”
“Boris and Pavel will be here while I’m gone. If you need anything, ask them.”
“You mean my babysitters?”
I grind my teeth and sigh. “Your security detail.”
She laughs humorlessly. “Security from what?”
“From making mistakes that could set back your recovery.”
“Such as?”
“Ignoring medical advice, for starters. Putting yourself in situations you’re not ready to handle, mentally or physically.”
We stare at each other across the room, and I realize this conversation is a chess match. Each of us is probing for weaknesses, testing boundaries, and trying to figure out what the other knows.
“I’ll be back by six,” I tell her as I grab my jacket from the chair.
“I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
The edge in her voice follows me out the door, and I make a mental note to review the security footage when I return. Something about her attitude feels different since our trip to the gallery a few days ago. Almost like she’s planning something.
My meetings with the dock supervisors run longer than expected, and it’s nearly seven when I return to the penthouse. Boris nods as I pass him in the lobby.
“Any problems?”
“No, sir. Mrs. Kozlov stayed inside all day, like you requested. Spent most of her time reading in the living room.”
“Reading what?”
“Art books, mostly. From her personal collection on the shelves.”
I take the elevator up, thinking about dinner plans and how to gauge her mood, when something makes me pause outside thepenthouse door. The space feels different, like the energy has been disturbed. Nothing obvious is out of place, but my instincts are screaming that something’s off.
Katya is in the kitchen making coffee, humming softly like she doesn’t have a care in the world. She looks up when I enter and gives me a smile that looks much too plastic.
“How were your meetings?”
“Productive enough. How was your day?”
“Quiet and peaceful. I did some reading, took a long nap, and watched the city from the window. Very domestic and boring.”
“What did you read?”
“Some of those art books from the shelves in the living room. Trying to see if any of the techniques or historical styles might trigger some memories.”
“Did they?”
“Nothing. Still blank.”
She’s lying through her teeth. I can tell because she won’t quite meet my eyes while she talks.
