Page 36 of Weeping Roses

He is no longer interested. It’s obvious. His soft looks are now replaced by cool venom, and my voice catches as I attempt to be assertive for once.

“What the hell is going on?”

“We’re leaving.” He points to a filing cabinet and two of his men set about emptying it.

“Then leave, but don’t take my possessions. It’s called stealing, you know.”

I’m furious and rather upset as my heart twists into a knot at the realization my adventure has come to a cruel ending.

He turns to me and the dark gleam in his eye should warn me to accept everything, but I face him with a furious gaze of my own and wait for the storm to break.

“We’re leaving for London. Your home in London, to be exact, and we are taking everything of interest with us.”

“Leaving.”

Why did my heart skip a beat when he said we? My earlier anxiety has been replaced by mounting excitement and I say quickly, “Why?”

He waves off my question as if it’s inconsequential and as his men vacate the room, he sighs and then turns to regard me through devilish eyes.

“I am taking charge of the situation.”

“What situation?”

For some reason he appears dejected and I detect a hint of vulnerability in his expression before he closes it down with a sharp,

“Artem is researching the maid, Justine to discover who she is working with. Meanwhile, we’ll head to Kensington and set up there where my men will continue their inspection of the paperwork and search your home.”

“I see.”

For some reason, his words reassure me because it appears that this adventure is long from over and I experience a lightness of spirit that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“What about this place?” I say, waving my hand around the emptying space.

“We lock up and leave. I’ve arranged for my usual security company to come this afternoon to install cameras. If anyone tries to break in, or merely walks within several feet of the boundary, we will know about it.”

“Security?”

My eyes widen. “But I don’t have the money for that.”

He appears confused and then shrugs. “You are not expected to pay. It is on our account.”

“Then I owe you.”

I nervously bite my lip and am not reassured when an evil glint sparks in his eye and he says slowly, “Yes, Polly. You owe me, and I expect payment in full.”

“How much are we talking about?” I’m giddy with worry because this world is way over my head and I may need to sell the houses to sleep soundly in my bed.

“I’m still working out the cost to you. I’ll let you know.”

“That’s not an answer. I expect an invoice up front before I agree to the work.”

For some reason, he finds it amusing and his lips twitch in a devilish smile as he says, “You can pay me in kind.”

I struggle to breathe as his wicked gaze slides across my body and he growls, “We don’t have time right now, but I’ll take my first installment later this evening. Now head for the shower and then meet me, ready to leave in one hour’s time.”

He points to the door. “Now leave. I have work to do.”

I don’t need to be told twice and as I head at speed out of the room, it’s with a smile on my face because all the time I apparently owe him something, he is not going anywhere.