Ramón’s shop was dark, with the exception of a single dim light in one of the office windows. On our way home from the mall, I’d gotten a text message from Vero’s cousin, letting me know my van was fixed and would be ready for pickup at eight. But when I’d pulled up to the shop, the garage bay doors were already rolled down and the neon sign in the window was off. The dashboard clock of his loaner car said I was right on time, but everything about the place screamed, “Go away, we’re closed.”
Loose pebbles in the weatherworn asphalt crackled under my sneakers as I got out of the car and nosed around the lot. I found my van parked behind the garage, but the doors were locked and I hadn’t brought a spare set of keys. I kicked the tire. Apparently, I’d driven all this way for nothing.
I groped in my purse, muttering a swear. I must have left my cell phone in my diaper bag when we’d gotten home from the mall that afternoon. Which meant my phone was at home with Vero. With a heavy sigh, I banged on the bay door. Maybe Ramón was still inside somewhere.
The knock was tinny and hollow. I shouted Ramón’s name. When no one answered, I tried the side door to the office, surprised to find it open.
The bells on the door jangled, the sound echoing eerily off the smoke-stained walls and the mildew-stained ceiling. A water cooler gurgled in the shadowy corner of the waiting room. The place smelled like exhaust and ashtrays and the moldering hot rod magazines scattered over the plastic chairs.
“Ramón?” I called out. The door clanged shut behind me. “Ramón? It’s Finlay Donovan. I’m here to pick up my—”
Snick.
I froze as a firm pressure, cold and sharp, pressed into the soft skin below my jaw.
My purse hit the floor with a thud. It was the only sound in the room.
Slowly, I raised my hands. I didn’t dare move as a heavy boot kicked my purse out of the way. The contents spilled out of the open zipper, my blond wig splaying, loose change rolling, a tube of red lipstick skittering across the floor.
I aimed a glance at my wallet where it fell, careful not to lower my chin. The man’s boot was huge, with wide steel toes and thick grooved soles. His clothes smelled like cigarettes, and his breath smelled strongly of garlic.
I swallowed carefully against the blade. “My wallet’s on the floor. My keys are in my pocket. The car’s out front. Take it and go.”
He had the deep, husky laugh of a smoker. I yelped as he grabbed me by the hair and shoved me down the dark hall ahead of him.
Heart in my throat, I let him push me through a doorway, into the belly of the shadowy garage. He pulled me up short, barking gruff words I didn’t understand. A smooth, cool voice responded in a guttural language that sounded decidedly Russian, and the man behind me let go of my hair with a grunt.
“Sit down, Ms. Donovan.” The disembodied words ghosted from the far side of the room. The man’s English was inflected with a subtle accent, and the frosty edge of his tone sent a shiver down my spine. I blinked, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The white collar of the man’s dress shirt became visible in the dim light filtering through the high, narrow windows from the streetlamp outside. He stepped closer, his silhouette assuming the shape of a crisply tailored suit.
A metal folding chair creaked as he jerked it open in the middle of the garage.
When I didn’t move, the man behind me yanked me toward it by the hair. With giant, meaty, calloused hands, he set me roughly down into it.
“You know who I am, Ms. Donovan,” the man in the suit said. It was not a question.
I glanced over my shoulder at the ogre wielding the knife. Clearly, he hadn’t received the memo about the dress code. He wore a tight black T-shirt and dark denim jeans over a stocky, muscular frame. My eyes traveled upward, to a smoothly shaven head over heavy, expressive eyebrows, and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. Up close, Andrei Borovkov was every bit as terrifying as I’d imagined he’d be.
Heels clicked slowly over the garage floor. My stomach fell away as Feliks Zhirov stepped into a beam of dusky light. His smile was serene. Expectant. I could only shake my head. “No,” I croaked. “I don’t think so.”
His smile opened wider, revealing straight white teeth. His sleek, dark hair fell curiously over one eye. “And yet, you were following me. Why?”
“I wasn’t—”
He held up a hand, his cuff links glittering in the low light. “Let’s do each other the courtesy of not wasting each other’s time.” His voice was ominously soft, the tight muscle of his jaw hinting at his impatience. “Yesterday, a blue sedan, with the same license plate as the one you just parked, followed my limo on a little expedition through Fauquier County. My colleague tracked that plate to this garage.” Feliks tucked his hands in his pockets, his elegant gait and his words thoughtfully measured as he paced in front of me. “Ramón and I had a little talk. He told me you’d be coming to return the car tonight, so I encouraged him to take the rest of the evening off. Which means we can stay in this garage as long as necessary.
But I’m sure you’d rather be home with your children, Ms. Donovan.” He let my name hang in the silence. Finding my home—my children—would be easy, assuming he hadn’t already … “So let’s cut to the chase. Tell me.” He straightened his sleeves with a pinch of each cuff as he sauntered closer. “Why were you following me?”
“I wasn’t following you.” Feliks paused in front of my chair, the hard lines of his mouth tightening into a thin line as his eyes cut to Andrei. Andrei’s hot cigarette breath rolled over the back of my neck. His knife bit my throat as his calloused hands pinned me in the chair. All I could think of were the three men Georgia’s friends had found murdered in an empty warehouse, their throats cut from ear to ear, left in a river of blood.
“I was following Theresa!” I blurted. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Eyes squeezed shut, I braced for death. When it didn’t come, I peeled one open.
Feliks cocked his head. Curiosity softened the sharp contours of his face as he regarded me the way a cat might consider its prey—uncertain if he wanted to kill me or play with me. “What exactly is your business with Ms. Hall?”
“She’s engaged to my ex-husband.”
His eyebrows rose with a hint of surprise. “And what had you hoped to gain by spying on our meeting?”
My mouth went dry. I tried not to think about the sting of Andrei’s knife, or the cool trickle down the side of my neck that may or may not have been sweat. “Steven … My ex-husband thinks she’s having an affair.”
“So you enlisted the help of a police officer to catch her?” Feliks laughed quietly. He scratched the dark stubble on his jaw. “Don’t look so surprised, Ms. Donovan. Detective Anthony and I go back a very long time. I may not have recognized the car, but I sure as hell recognized the driver.” He leaned in, a wicked gleam in his eye. He smelled like expensive liquor, soft leather, and fancy cologne, what I imagined the inside of a limo must smell like. “I can safely assume you witnessed nothing worthwhile, since Ms. Hall and I share a purely professional relationship.” The devious curl of his lip suggested we had different definitions of professional, and I recoiled as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face with the tip of his finger. “But tell me,” he said, slipping his hands back in his pockets, “what was the detective after?”
“Nothing,” I said, my voice trembling. “He was just keeping me company.”
“Am I to infer that you and Detective Anthony enjoy a … personal relationship?”
I nodded, mute as Feliks knelt in front of me. His dark eyes flashed as he took me by the face, jerking my chin up. His voice crackled over with ice. “If I discover you’ve been lying to me, I will find you. Do you understand?”
Heart pounding, I nodded into his hand.
Andrei watched him, knife held, waiting for a sign.
A siren wailed in the distance, drawing closer.
Feliks let go. He rose to his feet as a car skidded to a stop out front, flooding the high windows with swirling blue light.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Donovan,” Feliks said. “I trust I won’t be seeing you again.”
He motioned to Andrei, and the hulking man followed him to the exit at the rear of the garage. My breath rushed out on a shudder as the back door closed behind them.
“Finlay!” Nick’s muted shouts echoed from outside. Doors rattled on their hinges, one by one, as he made his way around the building. Bells jangled in the office. I got to my feet, surprised my shaking legs would hold me up.
“Over here,” I managed to say.
Gun in hand, his figure swept into the garage, his eyes darting to every corner of the room. He rushed toward me and jerked to a stop. His gaze fell to my neck, then quickly over the rest of me. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I swiped a sticky bead of blood from my throat. The red smear it left on my fingertips made me woozy. “Just a scratch,” I assured him. “I’m fine.”
He took a slow step closer, tucking his gun back into his holster. I flinched as he lifted my chin to check the cut on my neck. His hand lingered possessively on my jaw, his body a little closer than professional protocol probably called for.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Vero called but I was in a meeting and couldn’t pick up. She left a frantic message. All she said was that you were at Ramón’s Towing and Salvage and you’d forgotten your phone, and you needed help. I got here as fast as I could.”
Ramón must have called Vero. He must have told her Feliks and Andrei were here waiting for me. When she hadn’t been able to get through to warn me, she must have realized she had my phone. And she’d been worried enough to call Nick.
“You mind telling me what the hell’s going on here?” he asked.
“I had an appointment to pick up my van, but Ramón wasn’t here. Feliks Zhirov was inside waiting for me with one of his goons.”
Nick’s hand froze where it cupped my jaw. His eyes skated back and forth over mine, the skin around them creased with worry.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “They ran out the back door when they heard your siren.” His eyes leapt to the rear of the garage, as if he was ready to run after them. “Don’t bother,” I told him. “They’re long gone by now.” I hadn’t seen Feliks’s car when I’d pulled up. He’d probably parked on the next block. The last thing I wanted was for Nick to go looking for them.
Nick dragged the folding chair closer, holding it steady as I slumped into it. The adrenaline rush was fading, and exhaustion was filling the void.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“Feliks knew we were tailing him the other day. He got the tag number of the loaner car and tracked it here. My mechanic is Vero’s cousin. He must have called her to let her know I was in trouble.” I leaned my elbows on my knees, rubbing the tension from my temples. Not only was I on Feliks’s radar now, but so was Nick.
He rested his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t get Vero’s message sooner.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said through a shaky sigh.
“What did Feliks say?”
“He wanted to know why I was tailing him. I told him I was following Theresa. But he recognized you.”
“Shit.” Nick scrubbed his face as he paced a slow circle around the garage. “How’d you explain that?”
“I told him you and I were … involved. And the fact that you were in my car had nothing to do with him. But I’m not sure he believed me.”
Nick paused, amusement lurking in the suggestive lift of his smile. “If you want to try convincing him, I have a few ideas.”
With a roll of my eyes, I stood up, turning my back on him as I strode to the office to recover my purse. All I wanted was to make sure Vero was okay, to peek in on my kids as they slept, and to kiss them good night.
“Finn, wait.” Nick swore quietly, catching me by the elbow. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to lighten things up. I know you’ve had one hell of a night. And I feel terrible that Feliks roughed you up because he spotted us together.” He shook his head, raking his hands through his dark curls and setting them heavily on his hips. “I should’ve taken my own car. I should never have brought you along. Georgia’s going to strangle me when she finds out—”
“She won’t find out,” I said, ignoring the guilt that tugged at my insides. “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”
A weight fell from his shoulders. He nodded. “Go get your things. I’ll drive you home.”
My knees were still wobbly as I retreated to the office, and I was grateful for the excuse not to drive. I bent to collect the spilled contents of my purse, scraping cosmetics and loose change from the floor and jamming my wallet back inside. Nick’s footfalls grew louder as I reached for my wig-scarf. As he came up behind me, I pushed it deeper under the desk.
“I’m going to have an unmarked keep an eye on your house for a while.” I stood up, ready to protest, but Nick held up a finger. “Just for a few days. Just until we know he’s not going to try to come for you again.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already calling it in. By the time he dropped me off at home, a cop would be stationed down the street from my house, documenting my every move, watching me come and go. This was worse than Mrs. Haggerty. Much, much worse. I used my shoe to nudge the wig-scarf deeper under the desk; I didn’t dare bring it home.