Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Has there been anybody new around lately?”
She frowns. “In fact, there were a couple delivery guys the other day I didn’t recognize, bringing stuff in throughout the offices.”
“You received a package?”
“Yes,” she says. “It was just a book I ordered, though. But, there’s usually only one guy, and this time there were two. I didn’t think anything of it.”
I blink and try to focus my gaze. The drugs are mellowing me, and I don’t like it. “I see. You have cameras, don’t you, in your office?”
“We do in the reception area, but not anywhere else,” she says. “I’ll get my hands on those and see who’s been in and out of the office for the last several days.” She blinks. “Blythe Fairfax was there.”
Does Blythe want revenge? I did reject her. “She visited you in your office?”
“Yes.” An odd expression crosses Rosalie’s face. “She wanted to talk about you and showed off the many amethyst rings that you bought for her.”
Amusement lingers just beneath the drugs in my system. “Are you jealous?”
A very pretty pink wanders from her chest up over her face. “Of course not.”
My girl’s jealous. I like that. “I never bought a thing for Blythe Fairfax. Not even dinner. She lied to you about the rings.” Her eyes soften, but Rosalie still looks a little panicked every time she stares at my bandage. She cares more than she wants to admit—even to herself. “I don’t like that you disappeared on me for a full night,” I say quietly. “Don’t do it again.”
Her pupils constrict. Even so, she leans forward to whisper into my ear. “Don’t kidnap my friend again.”
It’s a fair request. She’ll probably never know exactly what I just did for her friend, and then I realize, I didn’t destroy the source of the murder contract—I only took out the weapon. So, I try to think of the right way to tell her. “You need to warn your friend Ella.”
“Why, are you going to kidnap her again?”
“That’s as safe as she’s been in quite a while,” I say quietly, forcing her to place her ear near my mouth. I doubt anybody is listening, but why take the chance? “My former cellmate accepted a contract on her.”
Rosalie sits back. “How do you know that?”
I don’t answer.
She studies me for several long moments and then realization dawns across her angled face. “Alexei,” she breathes.
I shake my head. Now is not the time to go into specifics. I whispered most of it to her, and with the loud beeping from these stupid machines, if anyone’s listening, they didn’t get the details. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Tears glimmer in her eyes. I keep forgetting how smart she is. Obviously, she’s put together exactly what happened. She reaches out and slides her hand into mine, providing more comfort than she’ll ever realize.
“Visiting hours are probably about over,” I say. “I want Garik with you for the rest of the weekend—until I get out on bail.” I won’t consider the possibility that a judge might refuse bail.
Rosalie scoots forward and rests her head next to mine. “I think I’ll stay here with you for a little while.”
Simple words. Soft words. But they hit me harder than a freight train. She might not fully understand it yet, but she’s always going to stay with me.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rosalie
On Monday morning, I find myself dressed in my best navy-blue skirt suit, arguing passionately for Alexei to be released on his own recognizance. He stands beside me in new clothing I brought him, black slacks, a salmon-colored shirt, and a black jacket.
He glances at the shirt a couple of times and then at me. I shrug. It was in with all of his other new clothing, and I thought he liked it. He seems to like the old-fashioned black and white look. But I felt like messing with him a little bit.
The prosecuting attorney, a middle-aged woman with very pretty gray and blondish hair piled up on her head, impatiently taps her pencil on the desk.
For some reason, the sound is bugging me. Once in a while a noise other than a mouth or nose sound will feel like a spur beneath my skin.
She keeps tapping. “Your Honor. With all due respect, Mr. Sokolov’s prints were found on the letter opener, which was still embedded in his half brother’s throat. He was the last one to see the deceased, and there’s no love lost in this family. They completely abandoned the defendant when he was convicted of murder seven years ago.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Falsely convicted.” I slam my fist on the table. I want to grab that pencil from her. “The verdict has been overturned, and we have evidentiary proof that he was set up. I submitted a copy of the video showing Hendrix Sokolov actually planting evidence at the original crime scene.”