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He was about to turn around and head the other way when a frizzy, tangled auburn mane blocked our view. Sometimes, when she wasn’t looking superhot and styled, she gave off Merida vibes from Brave.
Only a few people were exempted from my rule one, and they were people I considered family. Ava Turner was one of them.
I wanted to laugh and say something funny like we always did whenever I got busted for signing in late, but the smile on my lips wobbled.
Ava looked scared to death. Her palms slid up and down the skirt of her navy-blue uniform and her emerald-green eyes frequently glanced over her shoulder as if something or someone was after her.
I stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, what’s – “
“Boss, I can’t ...” she whispered to John, and the low tone of her voice sent creepy chills down to my toes. Another glance over her shoulders. “I can’t go in there. I saw a bunch of men enter earlier and ... there’s just something about them. Dark, depressing, gloomy ...”
John and I looked behind her, hoping to see what rattled her. But all that met our gazes was the brown door leading to a private room. Everything else seemed normal.
I stared at her, concerned.
Between Ava and me, it was uncontested; I was the one with the ‘drama’ baggage. I tended to overact or exaggerate a few times. It was more likely for me to spot a few men in black suits and call them grim reapers. But Ava had a cooler, calmer head screwed on her pretty neck.
If she said something that scared her, then it did.
And I was going to find out what.
John didn’t hide his worry but being the professional he was, he still had to push our asses to work. “Can’t you rush in and out?”
She shook her head. She was adamant. “Please, John. I don’t mind taking on another section for the rest of the evening. Just ... not there. Anywhere but—”
“I’ll do it.” I heard my voice before I realized I was speaking out loud. Two pairs of eyes—blue and green—met mine. I cleared my throat, tapped a finger on my purse, and repeated, “I’ll do it. I need to change up fast, that’s all.”
John sighed, relieved, while Ava looked skeptical. “You don’t have to, Julie. There are other rooms to—”
“I know I don’t have to, but I will. Count it as a favor. You owe me one.” I was not going to admit it, but I heard my pounding heart like drums in my ears. Suppressing my nerves, I winked and turned around. “Besides, how hard could it be?”
All I had to do was invoke the golden rule of avoiding eye contact and not looking long enough to get caught. And that was easy. Far too easy.
Chapter 2 – Rafail
I took a deep inhale and exhaled long and slowly.
White puffy rings formed from my nostrils and faded within seconds as they drifted through the air. The room smelled of strong vodka and cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and lots of hair gel. If I squinted, I could see the reflection of the light bulb in the ceiling lamp on his slicked-back hair.
The man seated across on the black tuxedo sofa sat so stiff and straight like a ruler, I thought he was going to shit his pants.
Andy Colsen. Short raven-black hair, beady russet-brown eyes, and thin lips. A bloody American. He was a top-ranking officer in the police force, had a few sensible contacts in the government, and happened to be the man I needed for the job.
I lifted the cigar stick to my lips and sucked again.
The man next to me emptied half a glass of vodka down his throat. His biceps bulged as he dropped the glass, traced a line of ink tattooed on his arm like a sleeve, and tapped his feet impatiently on the red Persian rug. I knew he was waiting for me to say something to break the ice.
I rolled my eyes. Viktor’s patience was as short as a strip of Band-Aid.
“Mr. Colsen ...” The police officer shifted to the edge of the sofa at the sound of his name. The room was sixty degrees and somehow, he managed to break a sweat. “You were saying something about the process?”
The words rolled off my tongue in a heavily coated thick Russian accent. Anyone who heard me speak could tell that I had a limited knowledge of the English language. But I didn’t bother. I never did. As long as he understood well enough to get the job done, that was all that mattered.
I arched my brow, urging him on. “Go on. I want to hear more.”
Viktor, my second in command, crossed one leg on top of the other and Andy Colson swallowed hard. He rubbed his palms together and smoothened a crease on his cheap brown suit. “I was saying, sir—”
“Rafail.” I reached for an empty glass tumbler on the center table and poured vodka into it. “You can call me Rafail.”
