19. Chapter Nineteen #3
Daniel and Layla exchange a knowing look. The tension between them must be obvious, but Daniel hopes that Aurora will chalk it up to Layla still being angry at him.
He unclenches his teeth. “No. I was waiting for you,” he replies, his eyes fixed on Layla.
“I was there,” Layla speaks up before Aurora has a chance to respond.
“But your name…” Aurora begins, confusion evident.
Daniel has no reason to help Layla, but he can’t afford the focus of the meeting—or Aurora’s attention—to shift away from the case.
Her wavering commitment already worries him, and any more distractions might pull her further away.
He can’t risk that. He still needs her. He still needs her help, so Daniel adds swiftly, “Clerical error.”
Layla pauses in the middle of cutting her pancake, her expression unreadable, before resuming her meal.
“Okay.” Aurora raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember seeing Sergei?” She pulls out a photo of him from the folder. “Sergei Chernov?”
“Yes,” Layla replies, taking another bite of her pancake.
“Do you remember when he arrived or when he left the party?” Aurora presses.
Layla levels a dry stare at them. “You want me to remember details from over half a year ago?”
“I’m sure your job necessitates a good memory, doesn’t it?” Daniel adds.
Layla shoots him a glare that practically screams, “Asshole!”
“That’s true!” Aurora claps her hands in excitement. “As a personal assistant, you need to remember all sorts of things.”
Layla pointedly avoids Daniel’s stare. “Yes… as a personal assistant, I do need to have a good memory,” she confirms, offering a soft smile to Aurora.
“My date and I arrived around eight-thirty, and Sergei came in maybe… half an hour later? I remember because my date made a comment about him being there alone.” She takes a sip from her coffee.
“Do you remember if Sergei left at any point during the evening?” Daniel asks.
“I don’t,” Layla says. “I do remember seeing him throughout the night, though. He looked nervous.”
Aurora pulls out two more photographs and places them in front of Layla. One of Pavel and another of Anton. “Did you see either of these two?”
Layla glances at the photos, her eyes narrowing. “Who are those? Humpty and Dumpty?”
“No, those are his—wait,” Aurora pauses, raising an eyebrow. “You do know that Humpty Dumpty is one—” She waves her hand dismissively, deciding not to correct her friend. “Never mind. They’re Sergei’s bodyguards slash drivers slash assistants... I’m not entirely sure of their official titles.”
“I actually like the Humpty and Dumpty nickname,” Daniel chuckles.
Layla studies the photos for a moment before her red-painted finger decisively points at Pavel’s picture. “He was there.”
“Yes, we knew that,” Daniel sighs, sinking back into his seat.
“But he left,” Layla adds, causing Daniel and Aurora to snap their heads toward her as if she’s just revealed the secret formula for world peace.
“When? Where?” Daniel asks.
Aurora leans in, adding, “Are you sure?”
Layla signals the server before answering, “I saw him talk with Sergei and then leave. They were still serving appetizers, so it must have been within minutes after he arrived.”
The server approaches, and Layla orders fries to go.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Daniel blurts, “Do you remember if he came back?”
Layla shrugs. “I don’t know when he returned, but he was definitely there when you attacked Sergei.”
Shit.
Aurora’s head whips to Daniel, eyes wide with shock. “You did what?” Her mouth falls open.
“I guess we all have secrets, Casper,” Layla says with a wink. She leans in to kiss Aurora goodbye. “Gotta run. I have an evening class. Be careful with this one.” She intercepts the to-go box from the server, pauses to drop a handful of bills into the tip jar on the counter before heading out.
After parting ways with Aurora a few blocks from the apartment building, Daniel heads home, the weight of the case settling heavily on his shoulders.
The house is quiet and empty. Without hesitation, he opens the fridge and grabs two beers. He plans to finish the first one by the time he settles on the couch, and he does, with mechanical efficiency.
Two beers quickly become four. Then six. He drinks with a desperation akin to a convict on death row making a final appeal. Despite the haze settling over him, Daniel manages to reach for his phone, dialing the top name on his favorites list.
After a few rings, a familiar voicemail message plays, ending with a painfully loud beep that makes him flinch.
“Hey, Bambi,” he stutters. His mind and mouth start to malfunction. He fumbles with the TV remote, trying to lower the volume, but accidentally cranks it up instead.
“Shit,” he mutters, finally managing to turn it off.
“I’m sorry, I had a rough day and just…” He pauses. “Really wanted to hear your voice… I’m sorry.” He hangs up.
Daniel tosses the remote and his phone to the other side of the couch, then folds the pillow he’d dragged from his bedroom months ago before lying on it. Closing his eyes, he hopes for a break from his never-ending thoughts.