7. Vadim
7
VADIM
The soft morning rain filters through Queen Anne's tree-lined streets as I pull up to Walker's address. The lights are off and there aren't any cars parked outside.
If Walker does have a fiancée, she's definitely not here.
Or, she's at the police station, filing a missing person's report right now.
I drive a block further down and park before walking back towards the apartment. The red Ferrari stands out like a sore thumb, but it's a damn sight better than parking right in front of it.
The key slides smoothly into the lock. Inside, cheap Ikea furniture and abstract art made to look expensive fill the space—all carefully chosen to project success and sophistication.
Silence greets me like an old friend, and I give it a few heartbeats before moving methodically through the living room.
But my thoughts keep drifting to Lacey.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about the way her eyes lit up when she saw me at the Vorobyov event. How eagerly and perfectly she fit in my arms as we danced. How irresistible she looked in that cheap uniform as she worked. The way her eyes darted all over the place when she looked for me in the crowd.
And that scent.
Her intoxicating scent of citrus and lavender seems to have followed me here.
I should've texted her, apologizing that I couldn't make it back. Would she have responded with attitude or another tantalizing photo of herself?
And just like that, my cock starts straining against my pants again.
Focus. I force my attention back to the search.
I walk deeper into the townhouse, and the home office yields more promise—a laptop, files, and a safe hidden behind a cheap Rothko print. It doesn't take much for me to crack it open.
Inside are more financial records, and I tuck them inside of my jacket. There will be a time and place to look at them later.
My phone buzzes, and I'm disappointed to see that it's not from Lacey, but two simple words from Demyon:
It's done.
I should feel satisfied that another piece of Kirsan's network is eliminated. But I'm not. Closing out Demyon's text, I open up Lacey's and stare at the photo she sent me.
Suddenly, the scent of citrus and lavender is filling my nose again.
Shaking my head, I stand up and pause when I spare a glance at the desk, noticing a framed photo.
In it, Walker is with a woman, both smiling at the camera. She's pretty in a generic way, but something about her seems familiar...
Wait… is that?
Impossible!
My hands tighten on the frame as I stare into a pair of familiar rich amber-flecked brown eyes.
The pieces click together as another wave of her scent—citrus and lavender—hits me.
I haven't been imagining the scent.
It's been here this whole fucking time!
Lacey's words from Mrs. Klossner's echo in my head:
"The ring seems more committed to the relationship than he was. Call it a perk of finding him balls-deep in his secretary eleven hours and twenty-three minutes ago. But who's counting?"
Her biting humor had caught my attention even then. The way she'd used sass to mask her pain. How despite everything, she still managed to find dark comedy in her situation.
Ex-fiancé.
My hands had just beaten that man to death. The same man who helped move money for human traffickers. The same man who was engaged to her.
I watched the light fade from his eyes as I struck him again and again. Felt his bones crack under my fists. Heard his final gasping breaths. Mutilated his corpse piece by piece to make sure nobody will ever identify him.
And now I'm standing in his home, staring at a photo of him with the woman I can't stop thinking about.
The irony twists my gut. She'd been hurt by his betrayal, never knowing the true depths of his depravity.
And I avenged her honor without even realizing.
The sound of a key sliding into the front door lock freezes me in place. Metal scrapes against metal, followed by the click of tumblers falling into place.
I move silently out of the office, positioning myself against the wall just as the door swings open to reveal Lacey stepping inside. She's back to wearing the same clothes she had the day our paths crossed at Mrs. Klossner's.
Even down to the same coffee stain on the front of her blouse.
Her brow furrows in concern as she surveys the darkened living room, probably searching for signs of Walker.
Or at the very least, an answer for why the front door was unlocked.
The morning light streaming through the windows catches on her blonde hair, making it glow like a halo.
There's no more point in hiding. And the faster I can control the situation, the better.
I step out and her eyes widen in recognition when she sees me. Her purse and keys fall from her hand in shock.
Her mouth drops open, and I close the distance in three long strides and clamp my hand over her mouth before she can draw a breath to scream.
Her skin is soft and warm against my palm. Her irresistible scent—citrus and lavender—is overpowering now. Her eyes widen even further as I press her against the wall.
“I told you I’d find you later, Ms. McKinney."