Page 68 of Mastered By Desire
He raises his heavy, bushy gray eyebrows at me. The picture of fucking innocence. “I don’t get involved in any problems.”
“Look, Leah’s in trouble.”
“Danica’s friend.” He tilts his head to the side. “Why areyoucoming to me?”
“For one thing, Danica wouldn’t know to ask, because you won’t let me tell her anything. For another, Leah’s been staying with me because she ditched her terrible boyfriend. And he died.”
“She has always picked the wrong boys.” Disapproval laces his tone. He doesn’t seem to care about Mick dying. No surprise there. “But what do I know. In my mind, any boy who isn’t you is the wrong boy. She should pick you.”
“Granddad, no.” This conversation is getting derailed. “I need to know if your guys are involved, that’s it. It sounds like her ex, Mick—who’s dead now—owed money. Now they’re coming after Leah.”
“Why is he dead? You can’t squeeze money from a dead man.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Let me make a call.”
I munch on my croissant while he speaks in rapid Russian to the guy on the phone. I catch words likemoney, loan, dead, but my Russian isn’t good enough to make any real sense of it. My mother tried to pass down her language, she really did. But it wasn’t “cool” when I was a kid, so I never put much effort into the classes she sent me and Danica to.
Granddad waves a hand at me. “Mick—last name?”
“Rabanoir.”
He repeats it into the phone, says a few more things, listens. Then, he ends the call and says, “I know nothing of this trouble Leah is in. Nobody has heard of her or this Rabanoir fellow.”
“Shit.”
“Language, Dmitri.”
I repeat the word in Russian, and he smiles. “That’s my boy. Listen, whoever he owed money to, it wasn’t any of my friends.”
Friends, he calls them. Murderers, mobsters, men with guns.
He continues, “That means whoever it is, you have to be careful, my boy. And so does your little Leah.”
19
Leah
The second season ofAcademy of Ghostsplays on the hotel TV. I’m not really watching it, but I can see why Danica loves the show so much—it’s comforting.
And I need comfort right now. When the stay isn’t for fun, a hotel room is really fucking lonely. Gray carpets. Gray curtains. A faded blue bedspread, generic dresser and nightstands. An abstract painting in blues and grays, probably the same print as in every other hotel room in this building.
Calling Danica would help with the loneliness. And the boredom. But I haven’t told her about moving from Dmitri’s place. She might ask why, she might threaten to beat him up for being a bad host, she might see through the whole situation and realize he and I hooked up.
Ugh. I need to stop thinking about how he and I hooked up.
I don’t even have work to distract me. After receiving the ominous message and photos, I canceled my tutoring sessions today. I don’t feel comfortable meeting with my teenagestudents when threats are hanging over my head. I realize I’m the target, but seeing my students in those photos? It scares me.
While paranormal drama plays out on the TV, my phone chimes with a call. Eager for a distraction, I pick it up and see Detective Wentz’s name. He had me save his number in my phone after our last meeting.
“Miss Shreve, this is Detective Gerald Wentz. I’m glad I reached you,” he says. “I wanted to check in.”
“Have there been any developments? Did you find out what’s going on?”
“No, unfortunately. But I have some theories to discuss with you. I could swing by. Are you still staying with your friend?”
“No, I’m at San Esteban Stays.”