27. Kat

Chapter 27

Kat

People say everything looks better in the morning.

Liars, all of them.

When Nik stormed off last night, leaving me naked and alone in the car, clarity hit me like a slap. I needed to rethink everything about our situation.

I slipped back into my dress and returned to the penthouse. He was nowhere to be found.

After calling A.J. and washing up, I collapsed into bed, clinging to the slim hope that the old saying might hold true—that everything really would look better in the morning.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

If only I could go back in time and do things differently.

Not just because last night was a complete disaster—but because the moment itself had been extraordinary.

Nik has kept me at arm’s length since the truth about our identities came out, but something cracked in him last night. For the first time, he showed me a glimpse of vulnerability.

He let me in—just a sliver—and I ruined it.

Maybe not everything looks better in the morning, but I believe in another saying: where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I’m more than willing to clean up my mess.

Right on cue, my phone pings. It’s a text from A.J.

Last night, when I called her looking for a shoulder to cry on, she mentioned there was still nothing but radio silence from the stronzo .

I told her about the museum gala’s surveillance feeds and how our little heist ruined the internal footage. I asked her to work her magic, and, as always, she promised to try. Now, just hours later, her message is unexpected but welcome.

Couldn’t sleep last night. Maybe you're right about my Diet Coke “addiction,” as you love to call it. Still working on your surveillance videos, but thought I’d share what I’ve got so far.

A video follows the text.

I click on it, watching as the footage loads. A moment later, I recognize the scene: the metal detectors at the museum entrance. Before I forget, I quickly reply.

You’re the best! I owe you one.

The scent of freshly baked muffins wafts in as I hit send. My stomach grumbles, and I can’t resist heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a plate, I pile on a few muffins and wander the penthouse, hoping to find Dmitri. I could use some insight into Nik’s mood this morning—and maybe a little advice. But he's nowhere to be found.

With a sigh, I head to Nik’s office. For all I know, he might not even be home. Still, it’s worth a try.

The door is closed, so I knock. Barging in unannounced doesn’t seem like the best idea, especially after last night.

“Come in,” his voice calls after a beat.

I push the door open hesitantly, stepping inside. Nik sits behind his desk, bent over a stack of papers with a pen in his left hand. He’s wearing a royal blue sweater, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. His other hand props up his head, and he doesn’t look up when I enter.

“You’re left-handed,” I blurt out dumbly.

He finally looks up from his work, his expression making it clear I’m not exactly welcome.“What do you want?” he asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“I come bearing a peace offering.” I force a smile, even though I feel far less confident than usual.

“Muffins. From my own kitchen. Be still, my heart,” he deadpans, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not exactly,” I reply, ignoring the sting. “I mean, food is usually the way to a man’s heart, right? But I brought the muffins because I haven’t eaten yet, and I figured maybe you haven’t either. The real peace offering is this.” I pull my phone from my pocket and wave it.

Nik arches an eyebrow and sets his pen down. “I’m listening.”

I take a breath and explain how I’d asked A.J. last night to dig into the museum’s security feeds, hoping she could recover some of the footage scrambled by the SBU.

“She got back to me this morning,” I say. “She hasn’t salvaged all of it—not yet—but she sent me what she’s got so far. Want to see? I can probably air-cast it to your TV.

Without a word, Nik pushes back his chair and heads for the couch in front of the TV, gesturing for me to follow.

I cast A.J.’s video onto the screen and sit beside him.

“Is this the front entrance?” Nik asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies the footage.

I nod.

We watch as people file through the metal detectors, chatting with security guards as they empty pockets into plastic trays. The guards scan men’s belongings and women’s purses with practiced efficiency.

Then I appear on the screen. My past self strides up to a young guard—barely in his twenties—with a confident smile. I watch myself strike up a friendly chat, even playfully swatting his arm. He blushes furiously. Then, without so much as a scan or a second glance, I walk right through the metal detectors.

Nik scoffs, low and unimpressed. “Why am I not surprised?”

I shrug. “A.J.’s device would’ve set off the alarm. We didn’t have time to figure out how to hide it, so I had to use what I had.”

“Oh, you used it all right. If I remember correctly...” he says, his tone sharp.

I consider pushing back on the jab, but after everything that happened last night, I decide to let it slide.

On the screen, Nik appears, striding through the metal detector like he owns the place. The young guard steps forward, asking him to empty his pockets. Nik gives the man a single withering glance before an older guard intervenes, clearly recognizing him. With a quick wave, the senior guard sends Nik through, then scolds the younger one for daring to question him.

I snort. “Oh, you’re such a hypocrite.”

“It’s different,” he replies evenly.

“Oh, really? Why?”

“For starters, I wasn’t there to commit grand larceny,” he says, his tone dry.

“Well, the guard didn’t know that.”

“He did,” Nik counters smoothly. “He knew exactly who I was.”

“All the more reason to frisk you,” I counter. “That’s what I would’ve done if I’d known who you were.”

He arches an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “If memory serves me, you did. Very thoroughly.”

I blink, surprised. His eyes still hold that guarded look, but there’s a flicker of mischief that wasn’t there last night.

“You and I clearly remember that night differently,” I reply, leaning back. “I remember your very expensive clothes being almost untouched during our... interaction. I can’t say the same for my dress.”

Nik lets out a low chuckle, the sound unexpected but disarming. “And yet,” he says, eyes flicking back to the screen, “you managed to keep my diamond hidden the entire time. Where was it? In your purse?”

“Oh, please. That’s the first place anyone would check.”

“Then where?” he asks, leaning slightly toward me, his curiosity genuine now.

I pull my eyes away from the TV and catch Nik staring at me. With a sly smile, I tap the spot between my breasts. “Hidden pocket in my dress. Right here.”

His lips curve into that amused smile—the one that always makes me forget how to breathe. “Clever.”

“When your... attentions started wandering there,” I tease, “I almost panicked, thinking you’d feel it and catch me red-handed. That’s when I decided to strip for you—to keep you distracted and make sure I could stash my dress somewhere safe.”

Nik throws his head back, laughing loudly. “Quick thinking,” he says, smirking. “I’m impressed.”

I shrug, grinning back. “Had to think on my feet.”

We turn back to the screen, and I’m relieved to see the faint trace of a smile still lingering on his face. A moment later, Dmitri appears on the footage, walking through the metal detectors with none of our theatrics. He places his wallet, phone, pack of gum, and car keys in the tray, waits for the scan, and collects them without fanfare.

Next comes Vladimir, who empties his pockets into the tray: phone, lanyard with keys, money clip. Nothing remotely interesting. Watching him retrieve his belongings feels about as exciting as watching paint dry, and I grow bored.

But then McGuire steps into the frame, and Nik immediately straightens beside me. His attention sharpens as the Irish mobster empties his pockets—a phone, leather wallet, pack of cigarettes, lighter, and a fountain pen.

Shortly after, McGuire’s right-hand man appears. His haul is just as uninspired: phone, wallet, plastic lighter, wired headphones.

I sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m sorry. This is disappointing. I should’ve watched it all before showing you. I really thought it’d be more helpful.”

Nik shakes his head, his eyes still on the screen. “No, this is good. It’s another piece of the puzzle.”

I snort. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. It’s useless. There’s nothing new here.”

Finally, he glances over at me, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not sugarcoating anything. This gave us something important—now we know exactly what McGuire and Connor had on them the night Maxim was killed.”

“So what? It’s not like they were carrying anything unusual,” I say, shrugging.

“True,” he admits, “but we might have something on the murder weapon. Connor could’ve used his headphone wires to strangle Maxim. That's something.”

“Or,” I counter, “he might’ve grabbed whatever was lying around. A weapon of opportunity. We still don’t know anything for sure.”

Nik shakes his head, his tone firm. “No. McGuire wouldn’t do that. He’s too calculated. If he planned to kill Maxim, he’d come prepared. He wouldn’t rely on luck or chance.”

“You might be right,” I concede, though part of me isn’t completely sold.

I pause, debating whether to voice what I’m really thinking—that maybe we need to widen our focus. Fixating on McGuire could be a mistake. But after last night, I hesitate. Nik’s in a better mood now, more engaged than I’d expected. The last thing I want is to ruin it.

Instead, I reach out hesitantly, resting my hand over his where it lies stretched across the couch. “Nik, I’m sorry about last night. I wish I could go back and handle things differently. I don’t know how much that means to you, but... I regret it deeply.”

He studies me quietly, his eyes searching my face. The silence stretches so long I start to wonder if he’ll say anything at all. Then, finally, he nods.

And then, surprising me completely, he asks, “Do you want to get out of here? There’s something I want to show you.”