Chapter 33
Nick
AFTER I MADE UP MY mind about keeping Nadya for good, a weight lifted off me. Well, metaphorically it did. In reality, Nadya lay draped over me after another round of mind-blowing sex.
Nadya shifted, curling herself tighter around me, and her breath hitched in a way that was almost a laugh.
“You okay?” she asked, voice muffled in the crook of my arm.
“Not sure,” I answered. “Either you fucked my brains out or I always had a one-track mind, because the only thing I can think about right now is investing in condoms. Lots of them.”
She hummed in agreement, then rolled to the side, dragging the sheet with her, but keeping a foot hooked behind my calf.
I was about to close my eyes and drift when my phone vibrated on the nightstand. Really didn't want to pop this bubble, but after checking the caller ID: Supervisor Special Agent John Keller. Fuck.
Nadya caught the flicker of hesitation. “If it’s not the end of the world, let it ring.”
It rang again. I picked it up, thumbing it to speaker. “Santana.”
“We found eleven bodies buried on the property of the perp you bagged.” His voice sounded older than usual, rough and chewed up by coffee and nicotine.
I glanced at Nadya, who was already sitting up, sheets bunched around her knees.
“Kids?” I guessed.
“Yeah. We’ve already ID’d two, and...” Keller paused, and in that second, I knew I wouldn't like whatever he said next. “We found your sister.”
Isabella.
I pressed my thumb so hard into the phone’s casing I could feel the plastic flex. My sweet, mischievous baby sister. I could still remember her laughter as I tickled her into submission after she tried to steal my favorite pen right out of my hand to get me to play with her.
“I’m sorry, Nick. We’ll have counselors ready. You can come in tomorrow, or take as long as you need. You want us to call your folks?”
“No,” I said. My jaw felt welded shut. “I’ll do it.”
Keller’s voice softened. “Let me know what you need.”
I needed my sister back. Alive.
Of course, I’d known the chances of ever finding her alive had been slim to none and told myself I’d be fine just knowing what had happened to her, but now...
I hung up the phone and just sat there still as a statue, wondering how I could tell my parents.
Nadya put her arms around me, chest to my back, cheek pressed between my shoulder blades.
“She’s dead,” I whispered, testing the words, readjusting my heart to the knowledge.
Nadya didn’t say she was sorry or ask for details. She just held me, her hand flat against my ribs, her breathing syncing with mine, keeping me from flying apart.
I stared at the window, the city lights stuttering in the breeze, and tried to put together what was supposed to happen next. There was no script for this. No field manual for how to bury a ghost you’d been chasing for years.
“I need to go home,” I said, because even though I still had no idea how to tell my parents, I knew I wouldn't do it over the phone.
Nadya slid off the bed, bare feet on the freezing floor. She went to the closet, pulling on a hoodie and a pair of jeans. She didn’t even bother with underwear. “You want company?”
I tried to picture myself there—breaking the news to my parents, explaining how their daughter wound up in a hole in the ground.
“Yeah. I do.”
She nodded, then sat back on the bed next to me, elbows on her knees, hands clasped, then she stood up again to get her phone and started typing. “Greyhound okay or are we riding your motorcycle?”
“Bus.” Otherwise I’d crash and then my parents would have two kids to bury. Besides, I didn't want to risk Nadya's life.
She kept typing. “The earliest one leaves at 11:30 tonight. Is that too soon?”
I looked at the clock. 3:15 p.m.
“No,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
She booked two seats, then started packing a bag with the kind of efficiency you only saw in people who’d run before.
She knew how to travel light—no excess, just the essentials: a change of clothes, a sketchbook, a ziplock bag with a tiny watercolor kit, a travel mug, two granola bars, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a pair of earbuds.
I just sat there, watching her move, not trusting my legs to hold me.
When she finished, she came back to the bed and ran her fingers through my hair, slow and methodical, as if she could smooth away the knots in my head. “You want to call them now, or wait until we get there?”
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I should do it in person.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
I lay down, pulling the comforter over my face, and tried to remember how to breathe.
We didn’t talk for a long time. Nadya sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling her phone, occasionally glancing over to check if I was still breathing. I was, but just barely.
“I promised Vera I’d stop by for a chat,” Nadya said quietly. “But it can wait until we get back.”
“No. There's enough time before the bus. You should go.” No point in both of us staying here being miserable.
“I don't want to leave you.”
I cupped the back of her head and kissed her, but kept it short. “I always knew the chances of finding Isabella alive were slim. Now I just know for sure. I’m alright. Go spend time with your sister.”
And I might catch up with Sean to talk security. Maybe we could catch someone else breaking into Nadya's apartment while she wasn't even here. He might even agree to feed Meatball while we were away. Just to protect unsuspecting residents from the vicious cat burglar, of course.