12. Gleb

"Maks never mentioned where he got the information?" I press as Sven and Arsen shake their heads.

Standing in the entrance to the trucking warehouse, they both seem anxious to give me the answers I'm searching for. But as of now, all I've found is a giant goose egg.

"He didn't even say what he had to talk to Pyotr about," Sven adds. "All I know is he stepped outside to take a call, and when he came back in, he was wound up and told us he had to see the boss."

I huff. "Figures. And we wouldn't be lucky enough to have his phone still, would we?"

The guys exchange glances, their brows furrowing.

"I would assume he had it on him when we got ambushed," Arsen says.

"What's this about, Bratok?" Sven asks.

"Don't worry about it," I state flatly. "But if anything comes to mind about that last conversation you had with Maks, you tell me—and only me. Got it?"

"Yes, gospodin," they agree in unison.

With a curt nod, I turn and exit the warehouse.

It's late. Night fell at some point during my extensive questioning of Maks's few remaining men. And still, I have no leads. Frustration rips from me in a low growl as I sling my leg over my black Triumph Daytona and crank the engine to life.

Hunting down the rat in our midst is going to be no easy feat. Patience will have to win out if I'm going to make it to the finish line on this one. But after the last few days, I'm running very short on the patience I need.

And Mel plays no small part in that equation.

I know it's late—well past dinner time at this point. It would probably be smarter to finish our conversation tomorrow, after I've had some sleep. But Mel and I have unfinished business to attend to, not the least of which is the Plan B I picked up on my way to Pyotr's this morning.

And I don't like the way we left things. I could feel the tension between us. Forcing Mel into a corner was a bad choice, and if I want to keep the trust I've earned, I need to know when to stand my ground and when to hear her out.

That doesn't mean I've changed my mind. She's not safe going out for modeling gigs right now. But I'm willing to discuss a compromise.

As long as I can keep my temper in check.

Which is why the conversation part should really wait until tomorrow.

But hell, why not go for broke? Four days without sleep, what's a few more hours, right?

The forty-five-minute drive back into the City and to the girls' house is a lot faster on a sportbike that can weave through the Manhattan traffic clogging the streets day and night. It gives me time to think over the information I gathered today, along with what I want to say to Mel when I see her.

Pulling up to the curb outside her redbrick Harlem home, I kill the motor and kick the prop down to stabilize my bike as I dismount. Though Mel's scolded me on more than one occasion, I never wear a helmet. I'm of the mind that, when your number is up, it's time to punch that ticket. And dying in a motorcycle accident doesn't sound like a bad way to go, not when I consider the vast number of far more likely alternatives in my line of work.

Peering up at the home, I find several of the girls' lights on in their rooms. But not Mel's. And I wonder if she chose to call it an early night.

"Lev." I greet my second, who stands on the front porch, his eyes turned toward the street with sharp attention.

"Hey, boss," he greets curtly.

Until further notice, I have him and Denka on alternating shifts, so one of them will be watching the front of the house at all times. It's the strongest protection I can offer. And it's the best place for them, considering my search for the rat is to remain top secret. I don't trust anyone else to keep the girls as safe as I know they will. Lev and Denka won't drop the ball on any security measures. Of that, at least, I can be confident.

"All quiet?" I ask as I make my way up the steps.

"Since I took over about an hour ago," he confirms.

"Mel give you any grief?"

He shakes his head, and though that should bring me a small sense of relief, suddenly, I'm on guard. Knocking to give the girls a heads-up that someone's coming in, I turn the brand-new knob and step into the entryway.

Someone's bedroom TV is on, the laugh track of a sitcom making its way down the hall toward me. And though Mel's room is upstairs, I head toward the kitchen—the familiar place where the girls seem to gather naturally.

I recognize Annie's soft voice before I even reach the doorway, and Tori's barking laugh follows a moment later. Sounds like they've settled back in pretty well considering they just made it home today.

"Ladies," I greet, half expecting Mel to be seated at the table with them as I step onto the black-and-white tiles of the kitchen.

But she's not here, and when Annie pales visibly, the smile falling from her face, I know immediately what's wrong.

"Where is she, Annie?" It takes all my self-control to keep my voice steady, and I flex my fingers to manage the tension that ripples through my body.

"Sh-She made me promise not to say anything…" she stutters nervously, leaning back in her chair as if frightened of me, though I haven't taken a single step toward her.

"Annie," I say calmly, infusing my voice with a patience I don't possess. "Where did Mel go?"

Tori looks between us, her expression stunned. "She didn't come down for dinner…" she observes, as if suddenly realizing something's wrong. "I thought she was just tired."

I nod, silencing her when I don't break eye contact with the trembling, doe-eyed girl who I know has the information I need.

"She didn't say," Annie breathes. Then, slowly, she gets to her feet. "But here. Come with me."

Heart in my stomach, I follow the petite honey-blonde girl through the house to her room. Inviting me in, she opens the drawer of her dresser and shuffles beneath the layers of clothes until she finds what she's looking for.

Then she slowly withdraws Mel's phone. And a plain white envelope.

"What's this?" I ask as she hands them to me tentatively.

"She asked me to give them to you," she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes.

The phone is communication enough. She doesn't want to talk to me. And she doesn't want to give me a way to find her. Sliding her phone into my back pocket, I turn my attention to the sealed envelope. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I take the paper in both hands, weighing the significance of it.

And though I feel as if the oxygen has been sucked from my lungs, I steel myself and slip my finger beneath the fold to tear it open.

Gleb,

I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye, but it's better this way. Because I know you would have tried to stop me. But I need space. I need freedom. And I think we both know those are things you can't give me.

I will always cherish our time together. You've made my life better in so many ways. I can't thank you enough for all you've done. And I hope someday you can forgive me and will think back on me fondly.

But please, don't follow me. Don't look for me. I need to find my own way, my own life, and I have to do this without you. It's my only chance of escaping your world, and I think we both know that if I don't get out, I'll never be happy. I'll never truly be free.

I love you always,

Mel

It would have been lesspainful if she'd reached into my chest and physically ripped out my heart. Distraught and furious, I struggle to wrap my head around the fact that Mel would leave without talking to me.

She's gone.

Just like that.

Mel burst into my life like a meteor. She struck me with the same force and forever changed my world. And now she just wants to walk away.

I replay every word we've shared in the past twenty-four hours, every moment together, searching for the moment I should have known I went wrong. I can't believe it has to do with our night together. I don't think I've ever shown that much restraint in my fucking life. And everything about my situation growing up was about discipline and control.

No, this is in response to our argument this morning. I told her she couldn't leave the house. I all but pinned her against the fucking counter because when I'm around Mel, my emotions take over my common sense.

But I know she doesn't like confinement. Whatever ghosts haunt her, that one's not hard to see. And though I backed off as quickly as I realized what I'd done, I'd already planted the seed.

I should have stayed and finished talking it out—even if Pyotr got pissed I was late.

Because now Mel is gone, and I have no way of finding her.

Swallowing hard, I look up from the letter at Annie. Tears stream openly down her cheeks now, her devastation as apparent as the pain inside me.

"Sh-She called about an hour ago to tell me she's safe," she breathes. "But she didn't say where she went or if she's staying."

I nod, fighting the urge to demand Annie's phone. Because if I wanted, I could find the area code Mel called from and at least know in which direction she's heading. My mind is automatically working on ways to track her before I've even decided to. It's so deeply ingrained in my instincts, that I could probably find her—even if she doesn't want to be found.

But Mel's right.

My life is not good for her.

She would never truly be out of danger as long as she chose to be with me. And because of that, I would always want to hold her too close. So, if I genuinely care about Mel, I need to respect her wishes. I need to set her free.

"Thank you, Annie," I say softly.

Then I turn and force myself to leave.

"Everything okay, boss?" Lev asks as I nearly rip the front door off its hinges in my fury.

"Peachy," I growl, my arms shaking with the effort to close it more gently. "I'm going hunting. I might be off the radar for a few days, but call me if anything comes up. Otherwise, I'm trusting the girls' safety to you and Denka."

"Sure thing."

"And, Lev?"

"Da."

"Mel's no longer our problem. She's gone. Not missing."

Lev stands in stunned silence, confusion written across his face. But he doesn't ask questions as I stalk down the steps and fling my leg over my bike.

It took everything I had not to take what might be my only lead and follow it to Mel. And if I'm going to keep myself from changing my mind, I need a distraction worthy of forgetting about her.

The one good thing I can say about losing Mel?At least I'll have no distractions while I hunt down Mikhail's spy. And when I find him, he's going to regret the day he wound up in my sights.