Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

VIVIAN

I threw open another drawer and grabbed the contents as my friend's voicemail beeped.

"Michelle, this is Vivian. If you get this, please call me back. It's urgent. I need a place to stay tonight."

I tossed the handful of clothes into the open suitcase on my bed. It was already more than half full and I hadn't even added any of my designer handbags yet.

I scrolled through my contacts and hit another button. Tilting my head to hold the phone against my shoulder while I tossed several pairs of boots onto the pile of clothes, I then lowered to my knees and dragged a second suitcase out from under the bed.

Just because I was going into hiding didn't mean I couldn't look good while doing it.

As the phone continued to ring, I ran into the bathroom. Holding my silver glitter travel makeup bag open at the edge of the counter, I swept my arm along the granite, pushing all the eyeliners, blushes, foundation, mascara, lipsticks, and brushes into the bag.

"Hello…"

"Stacey! Thank God you picked up."

"You've reached Stacey. Obviously, I didn't hear my cell ring, but you can leave a message or better yet text me like a normal person."

Crap.

It was Saturday night. They were probably in some noisy bar or club. Unlike me, all my friends had lives, dates, boyfriends.

Pulling the towel off my wet hair, I marched out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, I rummaged through the refrigerator, pushing aside several half-empty containers with a chicken gyro, some falafel and a few kabobs, as well as one untouched cheeseburger, and I found the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

Throwing up a prayer for twist tops, since I did not have the mental energy right now to go searching for my wine opener, I snatched a clean wineglass from the counter dish rack and poured a large glass.

As I drank, I stared at the flickering candle flame on my coffee table. The vanilla sugar cookie scent usually calmed me. Not tonight.

Maybe I was overreacting?

Even though the Russian had seen my driver's license, it didn't mean he knew where I lived.

Score one for procrastination.

I'd never updated my license after moving over three years ago.

And a silver lining. The principal people on Abakar's staff who knew I worked for him were now dead.

Maybe I didn't need to shove all my belongings into a suitcase and disappear in the middle of the night like a freaking thief.

As I paced, I crossed the threshold into the second bedroom that I used as my workshop.

I stared at the chaos of tools, supplies, and chemicals.

I couldn't possibly pack all this up and take it to a friend's apartment.

And I couldn't leave it behind.

I closed the bedroom door and hugged my wineglass to my chest.

Still, it would be smart to leave town—at least for a few days.

Heading back into my main bedroom, I picked up my phone and scrolled the contact list again.

There had to be someone I knew who was home.

I raised my head and looked at the bedroom wall.

Millie and Barb were probably in. They lived in the apartment next door. We shared a bedroom wall. They were forever teasing me about how they never had to knock on the wall to tell me to keep all the sex noises down.

My lips twisted into a frown. Of course not. The last boyfriend I had was the reason I had to move. And it wasn't hard keeping the sex noises to a minimum back in my old place, when my boyfriend was across town fucking his co-worker.

I touched my lips.

What was more pathetic? That the kiss tonight was my first one in over three years, or that it was the best kiss I'd ever had?

Damn, that man knew how to kiss. All powerful arms and skilled tongue. No hesitation or icky spit.

And the press of his cock against my stomach… I took a long gulp from my wineglass. I thought dicks that big only existed in novelty dildos.

Even the idea of him making good on his threat to shove it down my throat and make me…

No.

Focus.

That man was a Russian, tatted-up criminal killer.

I had not become so desperate for a man that I was willing to lower my standards through the floor.

No matter how good he kissed.

Besides, he was obviously involved in this mess, and since I clearly was not getting my money, there was no need for me to have any more to do with the whole fucked-up thing.

I would chalk up the experience to a lesson learned and next time get the full payment up front.

Problem solved.

Well, the problem almost solved.

I still needed to find a place to lie low for the next week, just in case.

I thought of Millie and Barb again.

No. They were too close to my apartment.

What was the point of making myself scarce if I still could be seen entering and exiting the same building every day?

My phone screen glowed. I needed a married friend who'd moved out to Naperville or Oak Park, somewhere out of the city.

I'd returned to the kitchen to refill my wineglass when there was a loud knock at the door.

The wineglass fell from my hand but thankfully landed in the stainless-steel kitchen sink where it rattled and rolled before settling next to my morning coffee cup.

I grimaced at the sound.

Tiptoeing barefoot to the door, I peeked through the peephole.

Holy shit! It was the Russian.

He'd found me.

Another knock had me skittering backwards across the floor until my ass hit the back of the sofa.

Then his gruff voice called through the heavy oak, "Vivian. Open up."

I bit my lip as my head swiveled from right to left, looking for a weapon. Somehow, I didn't think my trusty pink knife would cut it this time.

He knocked again. "Vivian. I'm losing patience."

The vase! I lunged for the side table and picked up the porcelain vase I'd gotten at TJ Maxx. Dumping out the bouquet of dried pink roses, I held it over my shoulder. "Go away! I'm calling the police."

"That will be difficult through a cellphone jammer."

A few measured steps brought me back into the open kitchen. I flipped my phone upright on the counter and pressed a few buttons. No service.

Dammit, why hadn't I pulled the chain across? Now I was too scared to go near it.

I listened.

There was nothing but the rapid pounding of my heart in my ears.

The doorknob rattled again.

"If you don't leave, I'll scream."

"Why would you want to put all the nice people in the building in danger like that?"

Oh, shit. I'd seen enough death for a lifetime tonight.

I had no choice but to hope the heavy door and old lock held. "I told you I don't know anything. Please, just leave!"

Again there was a long stretch of silence.

Then my doorknob turned as the deadbolt gave with a click.

The door slowly opened.

The Russian stepped inside, carrying a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he tucked what looked like two pairs of silver tweezers into a leather case and zipped it shut.

The bastard had picked the lock!

Tossing the duffel bag and lock pick set on the counter, he grinned as he kicked the door shut behind him. "Now, why would I do that, Vivian, when we have so much to talk about? Starting with how you were a very bad girl for running away from me tonight."

With a cry, I threw the vase at his head.