The space resembles hers and has concrete floors, minimal furniture, and a bed with dark linens. In the closet, I find only men’s clothes. Black t-shirts. Dark jeans. A leather jacket hanging on a hook.
I tug one shirt off the hanger and check the size. Medium. Not a big guy then. I wear extra-large. My biceps would split these sleeves with one curl. At least I know what I’m up against.
A quick search reveals the fucker spends too much money on shoes and watches.
Still holding the shirt, I wander back to the fireplace. Nika’s lips are swollen, especially along one side. She rests her face on her wrists to hide the fact that she was trying to untie herself with her teeth.
Clever, but not going to work.
Once I get the fire roaring, I venture into her room far enough to toss the shirt onto her lap. “Dimitri’s?”
She doesn’t even bat an eye.
I try a slightly different angle. “Lover?”
Her brows wrinkle, as does her nose. Even her lips curl up in uncensored disgust. “Absolutely not.”
The surprising vehemence suggests that Dimitri might be a relative. Maybe older, or otherwise off-putting in some way.
Not a lover. Just someone who lives with her.
Handler? Father figure? She disappeared when she was young. Dimitri could be the person who raised her, trained her.
I’m not willing to examine the relief that floods my chest.
I’ll deal with the rest of the Dimitri question later because I have more doors to check.
The next door is locked, which I find odd considering none of the other doors in this place are locked. I press my ear againstthe wood to listen and catch a faint, rhythmic noise. A hiss, then static, then a distorted voice. A man pleading.
I turn the handle with more force, shoving my shoulder against the wood.
The cheap metal locking mechanism buckles, and the bolt slides. Not all the way, but enough that the door gives once I nudge a second time with my shoulder.
Banks of screens mounted on the walls crowd the small space. They’re all dark except for the one showing the swirling storm system.
On a metal desk, a high-frequency radio sputters, explaining the noise I heard through the door. “Kai? It’s Dimitri. Kai, are you there?”
The infamous Dimitri. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.
“The pass is completely snowed in. Another—” Crackle. “—feet overnight. Can’t get up the mountain. Rescue teams are grounded. Tell me you’re safe.” More static. “Answer me!”
I find the genuine desperation in his voice quite…annoying.
This isn’t a handler checking in. Dimitri cares about “Kai.”
Enough to have a radio set up in the house so he can always contact her. I wonder if there’s one in her vehicle too.
That explains the dull gray satellite phone charging quietly in its cradle. Another backup communication. Just who is this guy to her? Why is he so paranoid?
He’s this serious about staying in contact with hisKaiand there are no cameras?
Not fucking likely.
Maybe she wasn’t lying. Or maybe she just doesn’t know.
I lean over, follow the cords from the back of the radio to the wall, and rip them free. Plaster flies, and after two more yanks, the thick wire loosens. Then I pick up the radio and smash the whole thing against the ground, just in case.
While the broken bits of plastic don’t completely erase the foreign sensation of jealousy, they do help.
