Page 83 of For Your Eyes Only
She’s a scheming little climber vying to take over running Gibson’s and who knows what else. She thinks she can join the ranks of the criminal underworld. I have no idea what Rainey wants.
Blake quickly kills that rumor. “She was wearing her Versace robe.”
“She was always such a drama queen.” Rainey’s tone is bored.
Hana stands, lifting her chin. “I’m going to my room. It’s stuffy in here.”
“Perhaps you should try coffee for breakfast,” Natasha quips, and I want to throw her out myself.
The girls discuss the possibility of suicide, as if we all don’t know better. Debbie was a party girl, but she was always in control. I need to find Grish. I need to know if Simon did this. I need to know if Grish had any warning it was going to happen.
I need to know how much danger I’ve placed Gia in.
“How well do we truly know anyone anymore?” Natasha laments as if she cares.
Blake asks before I have the chance, “Where’s Greg?”
“Oh, you know Grisha.” Natasha waves her hand, plucking a strawberry off the breakfast cart. “He’s not one for big family gatherings.”
“It’s not a family gathering. It’s a wake,” Blake notes coldly. “He’s supposed to be her boyfriend.”
“Will they have a funeral?” I polish off my vodka and do my best to pretend I don’t care. I need these girls to think I’m far removed from what just happened, which unfortunately, might not be true. “Their family tradition is cremation.”
“Is that a tradition?” Rainey snorts a laugh, and Blake’s eyes narrow.
Blake is barely containing her disgust with these two, but I need to find out what they know. Natasha always sticks close to Grish at Gibson’s. She was probably there last night, and I need to connect the dots. Where was he?
Blake leaves the room, going to the small table in the foyer, as Natasha and Rainey continue to conjecture, making snarky comments and plucking items off the breakfast cart like vultures on a carcass.
When Blake returns, she’s holding an ivory linen envelope. “Why don’t you all go home?”
It’s all I need to make my exit.
I place my empty tumbler on the table and pause. I’m ready to get out of here, but I don’t like leaving my friends this way. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I don’t need anything.” Blake’s posture is straight, and I glance at what she’s holding.
As previously noted, Blake is smart. She’s very capable of ensuring her safety and taking Hana with her. Hana will do whatever her sister says. It appears she has a plan, and so do I.
Turning, I wrap my arms around Natasha and Rainey as if I’m ready to get plastered. As if I have no feelings, no involvement, no worries. It’s my mask.
“Come, girls. Time for an Irish wake.”
CHAPTER23
TRIP
We take a cab to Grish’s loft in Soho, a third-floor walk-up on Prince Street.
He’s not home when we arrive, so we let ourselves in. Natasha has a key to his apartment, which I find unusual, but Rainey acts like is the sort of thing that happens every day.
I file that detail away for later. I don’t give a shit if Grish is fucking Natasha or Rainey or both of them. It’s not my concern. My focus is on finding out what really happened to Debbie and who is involved—and how bad of a situation I’m in.
The loft is a single, long room divided into thirds by exposed brick half-walls. The front is the kitchen-dining area, and the middle is a living room with the bedroom all the way in the back by the picture window overlooking the street below.
Natasha goes to the kitchen and takes down a bottle of Mamont, which I know is his favorite Russian vodka, a very expensive brand. She pours two tumblers. Rainey apparently isn’t underage drinking for once.
“Where’s Grish?” I tilt the tumbler side to side, doing my best to keep up my careless, detached vibe.