Chapter 12 Andrej
ANDREJ
Standing under the shower, I think about Cartier.
If anyone ever tried to do to her what that fucking monster did to Elena, I will spend the rest of my life behind bars. Fuck that. I’d get a gold pass straight to the front of Death Row, and I wouldn’t regret a thing.
My cock springs to life when I think about fucking her in the shower the night before. She does things to me that I never expected anyone to do. It’s her aura: it’s pure fucking sex and pheromones.
I switch off the water and grab a towel from the heated handrail.
In the bedroom, I check my phone.
Four messages from Cartier since I left her at the shelter. I sit on the bed and read them with a goofy grin on my face like a teenager texting the prettiest girl in school.
How are you?
Is everything okay?
I know you’re busy, but just wanted to let you know that Elena is settling in.
Call me later.
And then nothing over the last few hours.
I left my phone behind; less chance of being tracked while I taught Elena’s husband a lesson. But now that I’ve washed today’s events off my skin, I can lavish all my attention on the one person who really matters.
I locate her number on my Contacts App and hit the green button.
It rings out, and there’s no option to leave a voicemail message.
I try again, and the call ends with a click.
Third time’s lucky. I get the tinny recording: The number you are calling is unavailable. Please try again later.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins.
There’s probably a plausible explanation for her not answering my call. Another resident arrived at the shelter. An emergency. It isn’t a nine-to-five job where she can switch off her laptop at the end of the day and walk away without a second thought.
But my instincts are telling me that it’s something else, and me and my instincts have a great working relationship. We keep each other safe. We keep each other alive.
I dress quickly, fasten a holster around my waist, and slide a knife inside each of my socks. I covered my tracks today. This has nothing to do with Michael fucking Swinney, which means that it has everything to do with me. My gut calling it like it is again.
The car is waiting for me in the private parking lot.
Richard, my driver, tells me that Cartier was preoccupied when he dropped her off at the shelter this morning. No doubt this was down to Ivana’s surprise visit. Another thing that I need to address once I’ve spoken to Cartier.
En route, I check in with Victoria. She has nothing to report.
My finger hovers over Leonid’s number, but I give it a wide pass. He has enough on his plate with his new family, and whatever is going on today would typically fall under my remit anyway. It’s underboss business. Not Pakhan business.
When we reach the shelter, I’m out of the car while it’s still moving.
Anyone who believes that buildings don’t talk is an idiot. The door is shut. The windows reflect the glow of the streetlamps. There are lights behind the curtains creating golden halos between the windowpanes and the frames.
But everything inside is a million miles from fucking perfect.
Because even before Mika opens the door, I already know that Cartier isn’t there.
“Where is she?” I growl, sidestepping around her like we’re dance partners, and this is the Viennese fucking waltz.
“Cartier?” She gives me a look that says I didn’t invite you in but quickly drops it when she realizes that I’m not here to play games. “I thought she was with you.”
There’s a hot pink flash on her cheeks that she didn’t get while watching her favorite scene from Dirty Dancing. Her hair is working loose from its ponytail. She has a dish towel slung over one shoulder, and her sleeves are rolled up.
“When did she leave?”
“After lunch.” Her gaze rakes my face for a sign that I have this under control. “She was supposed to cover the evening meal and take the night shift. She owed me after ditching me for your company the last couple of nights.”
That was hours ago. The sun started trading places with the moon before I made it back to my apartment, and no one thought to fucking tell me that she wasn’t here.
“Where did she go?”
“Your Place. You know, the café on the next block. I assumed that you replied to her messages and whisked her away to show her yet another good time.”
I ignore the comment. “What did she go to the café for?”
“To meet her uncle.” She narrows her eyes. “Haven’t you spoken to her?”
“No. Uncle? Who is he?” I have a million fucking other questions, but this one will do for starters.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask his name.”
“Did you see him? Would you recognize him again?”
The adrenaline is pumping its own rhythm through my veins now. This is a tune that I’m familiar with. It’s like a battle cry, calling me to arms.
“No.” She shakes her head. “He came to the shelter to find her, but she didn’t let him come inside.”
That’s my good girl. Protecting the women, making sure that they feel safe at all costs.
“What’s going on, Andrej? You’re scaring me now.”
“That’s what I intend to find out. Has she mentioned her uncle before?”
“No. He just turned up out of the blue.” She hesitates. “Cartier was unsure about meeting him, but I told her to go and listen to what he had to say. It was just coffee.”
In my world, there’s no such thing as just coffee.
I step around her and open the door. “Let me know if you hear from her.”
“If I hear from her? You don’t think she’s coming back tonight?”
It means that Mika must pick up the slack again, but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. “I don’t know.”
I don’t elaborate.
The evening traffic is moving too slowly, so I walk to Your Place and instruct Richard to meet me there. The café is closed for the day, so I make my way round to the back, through the small, paved yard, and let myself in through the rear exit, disabling the alarm by slicing through the cables.
Having no one to deal with makes my life easier.
The office isn’t even locked. The proprietor either has nothing to lose, or they have way too much confidence in the flimsy alarm system that I just obliterated.
I locate the CCTV footage, one camera on the cash register, and the other angled to face the front entrance.
I rewind it to early afternoon, around the time that I left Cartier at the shelter. It’s a monotonous loop of customers coming in and going out, but I study the grainy footage until my eyes water.
My pulse gallops when Cartier walks in, eyes darting around the café.
She’s looking for someone: the uncle who rocked up unannounced and flipped her world with his ‘we’re family’ speech.
There’s no reaction. She shows no sign of recognition, which means that she arrived before he did.
She peers to her left, locates a booth, and I lose her as she sits down.
Back to the entrance.
I slow the footage down, pausing it every few seconds, scanning the faces for a glimpse of something I can work with.
Five minutes go past on the camera. Ten. Then, at twelve minutes, I spot him.
I zoom in as he looks at the booth on his left, a small smile dancing across his features.
I thought he left the country a few years ago.
I should’ve been notified the instant he set foot back inside the city.
The fact that I’m only finding out about it now fills me with fucking rage, but it will have to wait.
Because Yuri Asimov knows Cartier Black, and I’m not about to let my father’s enemy destroy the best thing that ever happened to me.