War (Romanian Mob Chronicles Book 5) (5 page)

M
ilan

I
thought
I might be sick with the energy that raced through me as Tiffany and I walked into the police station. It felt strange, being here, and before I could process the impulse, I couldn’t help but think of Priest, couldn’t help but want him here with me. He had made an impression, and his absence was weird, left me feeling strangely hollow.

Which was one hundred percent certifiably insane. But it had been that kind of day. I glanced over at Tiffany and then decided not to ask her how long it took for Stockholm syndrome to wear off. She was nearly radiating with her anger, and every time she looked at me, I halfway worried she might throttle me right here in full view of the police.

I was nearly overcome with the need to smile, but one glance at Tiffany told me that would be a mistake. So instead, I walked up to the security guard at the metal detector. The woman stationed there looked at me suspiciously, and if Tiffany had not been hovering behind me, I might have run.

“I…I, um… The shooting? At the church? I was there,” I said.

The security guard stared at me, the “and” clear in the tilt of her head. “You were there. Did you see something?” she finally said.

“I was with the caterer, but no, I didn’t see anything. Not really…but I thought I should, I don’t know, talk to someone,” I said.

She looked me up and down. “Wait here.” She marched away, watching me as she left. Yeah, this was giving me a great feeling, and I turned to Tiffany, sure my expression gave away my train of thought.

“What?” she said.

At least she wasn’t glaring at me. I wandered back to where she stood and leaned against the pillar in the lobby, waiting.

Twenty-five minutes later, we were still waiting, though someone had taken the security guard’s spot at the metal detector.

“So I guess the wheels of justice do turn slowly,” Tiffany said.

“Looks like it,” I replied.

I had half a mind to leave, but Tiffany was having none of it. Still, it was worth a shot. “Tiff—”

“Ma’am.” The security guard appeared, cutting me off just as I was preparing to convince Tiffany we should get out of here.

She brightened. “You’re not getting out of this, Milan.”

Apparently not, so I walked toward the metal detector, Tiffany close behind me. The guard lifted the black security strap and waved me in.

“Not you,” she snapped.

I stilled and then followed her gaze to Tiffany, who was following me.

“What? I need her,” I said, nearly panicking at the thought of her leaving.

“Sorry. You’ll have to come alone,” the guard said.

I turned to Tiffany, wanting to argue, but she cut me off. “I’ll wait out here,” she said.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Take the car and go home.”

Part of me, a big part, wanted her to stay, needed a friendly face, one that reminded me of who and what I’d been just hours ago. The other part of me needed to do this alone. I didn’t exactly understand the impulse, but I heeded it. This was going to be difficult, and I needed to do it.

“I can’t leave you here,” she said.

“No reason for both of us to be here,” I said, though in that moment I wanted nothing more than to go home and hang out with my best friend.

“Okay,” she finally said. “But I’ll leave the car.”

I shook my head. “No. I’ll figure out a way back,” I said.

Then I handed her the key, and after she’d taken it from my hand, she leaned down and hugged me.

“See you soon,” she said, smiling brightly, though I could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“Ma’am,” the guard said, her impatience clear.

Irritated, I looked back at her, and then hugged Tiffany again.

“See you soon,” I whispered, and then, after a breath, I stepped under the rope.

P
riest

I
’d left
Milan’s on foot and set off on the long walk from her place to mine.

It had been early, the city still quiet, sleeping, and as I’d walked, I watched it come to life. None of what I’d seen had really touched me, though. No, my every thought had been of her.

Why, I wasn’t able to say. Or rather wasn’t
willing
to say. Because what I felt for her, that I felt anything for her at all, was something I had no capacity to understand.

Her gentle beauty couldn’t be the explanation. Women far more beautiful than her often threw themselves at me, and they’d never swayed me, had rarely gotten my attention when I was in their presence and certainly never held it for more than a few seconds after they’d gone.

Now, though, even hours later, when I’d finally made it to my home, I hadn’t shaken her.

Perhaps it was her bravery? She’d been afraid, very, but she had stayed strong. Perhaps it was a combination of things. I didn’t know, and to my surprise, I wasn’t disturbed by it. Curious, yes, but though my reaction to her was one I didn’t understand, it was also one I liked.

My mind was always preoccupied with business, my feelings nonexistent. But this reaction to Milan, strange and unexplained as it was, was welcome, if only because of how different it was.

I approached my house slowly and entered.

The place hadn’t been touched and was as tidy and empty as I had left it. Had it really only been a day, less than twenty-four hours since I’d last been here, bemused at the prospect of attending a wedding, superior in my belief that Vasile had been deluding himself?

It had been, but it may as well have been another life.

The man who’d left this place was not the one who’d come back, and I knew there was only one reason.

Milan.

I could have pretended it was nothing, gone through the motions of pretending that I hadn’t been changed, probably irrevocably. But I wasn’t in the habit of deluding myself. Self-awareness kept me breathing, and even now, when it would be easier to ignore the truth, I couldn’t.

Milan made me feel. I couldn’t say why, had no idea what it meant, but that didn’t change the truth of it.

I undressed quickly and went to my bathroom and turned on the water. As it warmed, I hung my wrinkled suit on a hanger and added it to the others that needed laundering.

Who knew if I’d ever have occasion to take it in or wear it again, but whatever might happen in the future, there was no excuse for untidiness.

I didn’t linger in the shower, both because time was short, and because doing so would give me an opportunity to think about Milan. Even the few moments I’d been naked had been long enough for my dick to harden to steel. A distraction I couldn’t afford, but one that I couldn’t completely ignore.

Any longer, and I knew I would be closing my fist around my hard shaft, stroking myself while fantasizing it was Milan. And I had no time for that.

So I got out, dried off, and began to dress. Again I linked my shirtsleeves closed with cuff links, tied a fresh tie without looking in the mirror. As I slipped the final button on my jacket closed, I heard my front door splinter.

A quick glance at my watch told me it had taken twenty-five minutes for my visitors to arrive. I’d anticipated at least a half hour, but I was ready.

I walked through my bedroom and out to the living room, my walk loose, slow, my hands out at my sides.

“You’re here.”

I recognized the man who spoke as Ioan, one of Vasile’s younger but promising soldiers. I’d always thought him a favorite, but that must have been a mistake. Vasile couldn’t have valued the soldier too much if he’d sent him here, risked him to whatever I might do to him.

Then I looked at Ioan, such determination in his eyes. He had something to prove. I could see that clearly. Maybe he’d volunteered to retrieve me in an attempt to prove himself to his leader.

Whatever the case, I wouldn’t shed his blood today.

“I’m here,” I said, walking toward him.

He was wary, but not afraid, something I couldn’t say for sure about the three that accompanied him. He gestured toward the battered door that barely hung on its hinges with the weapon he held.

I didn’t bother to speak and instead walked toward it, careful to keep my steps slow, as nonthreatening as I could make them. Ioan, to his credit, didn’t flinch when I passed him and made my way outside.

A dark car idled in my driveway, looking ominous on this bright, cheery afternoon, a striking contrast to my calm, relatively well-to-do neighborhood.

“Get in,” Ioan said.

Though I had expected this, my instincts told me not to, the lingering sense of self-preservation warning me not to step into the mouth of danger, but there was no other choice.

Vasile would hunt me until he found his answers, so it was best to clear up this misunderstanding now. There was a possibility, a remote one, but still a slight possibility, I might find an ally in him.

So I reached for the door, and it opened before I touched it. I glanced back at Ioan who stared at me stone-faced and then I got in.

M
ilan

“
I
’ll finish
up and have you out of here in a few minutes, Ms. Meadows.”

At the sound of a voice, I peeled my eyes open and turned toward the door. The detective who’d been questioning me smiled almost sheepishly, which told me my disbelief was all over my face.

“Sorry,” he said as he pulled out the chair across from me and again sat. After he shuffled the papers in front of him, he looked at me and smiled again, this time apologetically.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Coffee? Water?” he asked.

I shook my head. “N-no,” I croaked, my voice scratchy from disuse.

Which was exactly the opposite of how it should have been, but we’d played this scenario out four, or was it five times now. The detective—I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name, and after all these hours, I’d given up trying—would sit, shuffle his papers, ask me a question or two and then get called away.

“It’s been a crazy day,” he said, smiling yet again.

He’d said that before too, and while I understood, my nerves and patience were frayed to the breaking point. After the debacle with the security guard, the day had only gone downhill. What I had expected to be a short conversation had stretched on and on, and by now, hours had passed. I couldn’t say how many, though. The room they had stuck me in didn’t have a clock or a window.

The walls were padded. When I’d first walked in, I’d found that surprising. Not anymore. Between boredom, anxiousness, and flares of pissed-off at how long this was taking, I was halfway to banging my head against the nearest hard object. So what had struck me as a poor design choice initially was now looking more and more like a favor from a kind soul.

“Okay,” he said, avidly reading from his stack of papers.

During each of the many interruptions, I’d wanted to look through them. He’d been reading them nonstop, and whatever was in them was doing a much better job of holding his attention than I seemed to be. I’d managed to refrain, barely. It was only knowing how much my mama would have frowned on snooping that had kept me from doing it.

Although, in this case, even she might have made an exception.

The detective—I really should have asked his name—was avidly poring over those pages almost feverishly. So rather than scream at him that I wanted out of this room, or smack the papers out of his hands, I stared at him.

He was completely bald, his hair shaved down to his dark brown skin, I suspected to hide thinning hair, though he wore the look well. He had a nice build, was the type who worked out, I could tell, and he dressed his well-earned body quite nicely in slacks and a jacket that were definitely off the rack but still expensive.

Not as expensive as Priest’s had been, but then, I expected not many could afford the clearly custom items Priest had been wearing. And they had fit him so well, the jacket cut perfectly to show his trim waist and broad shoulders, tight enough that his strong, defined back couldn’t be missed, but loose enough he could move unfettered.

Yeah, the clothes had been made for the man, and the man wore the hell out of them.

“Ms. Meadows?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you all right?”

I blinked and then focused on the detective who watched with a concerned look in his eyes.

“I-I’m fine,” I said. I added what I hoped was a smile but was more like a twisted grimace to the end of the sentence, certain that it wouldn’t convince him of my mental stability, but I was at a loss for what else to do.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Between last night and today had I lost all remnants of my sanity?

I was at a police station giving a statement after a shooting and…whatever that had been with Priest, and I was fucking daydreaming about him, not crying in relief I’d survived.

If anything, though, my increasingly wayward thoughts proved I needed to get out of here and home, and the way to do that was to answer Detective Whatshisname’s questions.

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling again, this time hopefully more sanely. “I am a little tired, though. If we could—”

“Of course. We’ll get this wrapped up. Just walk me through what you saw one more time,” he said.

I nodded. “Nothing, really. I was leaving and heard the sounds. Figured they were gunshots, so I got in my car and drove away.”

The detective had again looked down at his papers, something for which I was grateful. I hadn’t been entirely forthcoming, or forthcoming at all really, and had decided not to say anything about Priest. I wasn’t trying to protect him, certainly not, but my gut told me not to mention him.

The logical part of my brain was saying otherwise, which left me confused, conflicted, and exhausted. Pulled in two completely different directions. But I’d made my decision, and I’d stick with it, saying nothing about Priest.

That decision aside, I wasn’t immune from the guilty feeling creeping over me, yet another reason I needed to get out of here.

“And that’s all?” the detective said.

I nodded.

“Good. I have your information if I need you,” he said.

I exhaled, some of the tension I hadn’t realized was there leaving me.

“Can I go, then?” I asked tentatively.

The detective nodded, stuffed his papers into a folder, and then stood. I did too and then walked toward the door on legs stiff from lack of movement. When I finally made it to the door, he stepped in front of me.

“Wait. I just have one more question,” he said.

As he spoke, something in his expression changed, got sharper, almost predatory. Different than before. Our conversations hadn’t been pleasant, and I wasn’t sure much could be in this small, windowless room. But the room was different now, and I became much more aware of the tight, airless feeling in the space.

I swallowed. “What’s your question?”

“All that time. Between now and the shooting. You were just driving around?” he said.

“Yes. Well, no,” I said.

My skin burned, and my face felt hot with the weight of my lie and my nervousness, a feeling his intent gaze only increased.

He could see my nerves, too, or see something, and he watched with an expression that told me I wouldn’t be leaving this room until he had decided what. Before I could stop them, the words began to tumble out of my mouth.

“I was just so scared. I didn’t know what to do,” I said, talking fast.

And I
hadn’t
known what to. That, at least, was God’s honest truth. A tiny sliver of it, but still the truth. Too bad the technical truth didn’t alleviate the guilt that gnawed at my gut or soothe my shot nerves.

Guilt and nerves aside, I needed to shut up, so I snapped my jaws closed and pressed my lips together, needing the physical action to keep the words that threatened to spill out inside where they belonged. After I’d managed to keep silent for more than a second, I watched him closely, trying to figure out how he was responding. His face gave me no clue as to whether or not he believed me, which made my mind race even more. I fought the urge to speak. I could burst into tears, talk about how overwhelmed I was by emotion and nerves and fear. By shock. Something told me every word I spoke only condemned me more, told me that if I cried, I would lose him completely.

So I stayed quiet.

And so did he.

With each second that passed, the moment became more tense, and then even more tense, so much so I knew that any second I would give, that the facade would break and the words I didn’t want to speak would come out.

“Thank you, Ms. Meadows.”

I nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, but I held myself together, even as he again went silent, watched me through now-suspicious eyes.

Again, I managed to wait until he spoke. “I’ll be in touch if I need you.”

“Thank you, Detective,” I said, surprised at the calm voice that came out of me, one that didn’t give away how hard my heart beat, or the panicky nerves that were gathering in my stomach.

“I’ll have someone escort you home,” he said.

“No. I’m fine,” I said.

He frowned and then looked me up and down, lingering on my hips in a way that didn’t at all strike me as appreciative. “That’s a long walk.”

“I’m up to it. The fresh air will do me some good,” I said frostily, grateful my umbrage had taken away some of the nerves.

“I’ll call you if I have more questions,” he said.

I really,
really
hoped that call didn’t come, something I obviously couldn’t share with him. So instead I nodded and then walked down the hallway he had led me through and toward the front doors.

With each step, I waited for something to try to stop me, but no one did, and when I finally broke through those doors and out into the late-afternoon sun, I breathed deep, the band that had been around my lungs loosening, the crawling claustrophobia of that awful room falling away with each step I took.