Page 49 of Weeping Roses
Now I understand why he commands a small army of obvious assassins. The men who work for him mirror the same emotionless expression that he wears so well. Something has happened that has changed everything in a split second and now my perfect evening is not so perfect after all.
“Your neighbor, Samantha Burrows.”
Fuck! This concerns me and now I’m really afraid.
“What about her?”
I’m nervous to ask and he says in a low whisper, “Her maid, Justine.”
“The one you think had something to do with the break in?”
He nods. “Artem put a man on her to observe her movements. As soon as I saw her expression when she was questioned about the keys, I knew she would act.”
“How?”
I’m shocked and he hisses, “That is why we had to leave so quickly. I realized we had little time, and I was right. My man was waiting outside Carrington house and followed her when she left for the day. We already had her address, but she didn’t go there.”
“Where did she go?”
I’m intrigued and Valentin leans forward and whispers in my ear, “To a private club in Oxford. My men observed her meeting with a man who is known only too well by my family. She was anxious, agitated even, and it didn’t end well for her.”
“What happened?”
I hold my breath because things like this don’t happen in my world and Valentin says darkly, “Whatever she said was not taken well and she was escorted from the premises.”
“Then what happened?”
Obviously something did from the flicker of distaste in his expression and he says with a deep sigh, “She left via the rooftop terrace.”
“What did you say?”
I feel sick and he snarls, “It was made to look as if she jumped, but she was definitely pushed. Suicide to the authorities, murder to those who know him.”
“Who is he?”
I’m almost afraid to ask and Valentin whispers in my ear, “Nikolai Barinov. A known Russian assassin who works for the government.”
I say nothing and stare at him in shock as he adds, in a voice laden with animosity, “This changes everything.”
“How?” My heart is beating like a drum announcing danger and any good humor we shared has vanished down the end of the phone line.
Valentin has a gleam in his eye that scares the shit out of me, and I wonder what is going to happen now.
The waiter appears with our starter and yet my appetite has deserted me, but Valentin merely points to the food and says firmly, “Eat.”
He lifts his fork and spears one of the scallops and as he eats, I almost hear his mind working. I can already tell he’s in no mood for easy conversation and I concentrate on my own burrata, not really feeling it now.
Our meal is conducted in silence as Valentin works out his plan. I can tell he is brooding on the call and I’m wondering if I should tell him about my meeting tomorrow. He has a lot to think about and it seems so trivial now, but something is telling me he needs to be told.
Once the main course is cleared away, I’m a little more courageous and say tentatively, “Um, I was going to tell you later but?—”
His eyes flicker with interest and a shred of anger as I command his full attention now.
“You were going to tell me what, exactly?”
His tone is even but I detect the animosity in it and I realize he’s a man who doesn’t react well to information being withheld from him and so I say defiantly, “I had a call earlier when I was unpacking the delivery.”
He says nothing and I swallow hard.