Page 40 of Casting Butterflies

“Witnessed what? No body, no crime.”

“So what am I supposed to say Misha was shooting at?”

“The moon? A bird? I’m sure you can think of something.”

“My story needs to match Misha’s,” I retorted.

“I might be able to help with that. Don’t go anywhere.” As if I could. I’d been confined to my cabin, but that didn’t stop Cedric from slipping out when I cracked open the door and asked the crew member standing guard for a bottle of water and crackers to settle my belly.

To my surprise, it was a few hours before I got escorted to a different closet-sized room with a table and chairs for questioning. Guess I couldn’t blame them. Sharing a cabin as well as being present when Misha shot off his gun made me a prime witness.

I got subjected to a barrage of questions. Who was Misha? What were we doing together? Where were we going? Who was the man he shot at? Where had the body gone? Had it fallen overboard?

At Cedric’s advice, and with the story he’d cobbled together with Misha, I played dumb. Like super dumb.

“I don’t know what man you’re talking about. My boyfriend didn’t shoot anyone. He was aiming at a bird, which was wrong I know, but he has an irrational fear of seagulls.”

I could tell those interrogating didn’t believe me. After all, there’d been a few witnesses who claimed I’d been talking to someone. Who saw Misha shoot that person. However, it was hard to prove someone killed or even attempted murder when there was no body. Not only no corpse, no blood either. I stuck to my story and the fact it was dark and that my boyfriend was an idiot.

Did they believe it? No idea.

When disembarkation time came, people had to shuffle off one by one that they might be checked off against the passenger list. Turned out everyone was accounted for. AKA no missing passenger.

Still, that didn’t mean Misha walked free. The idiot had not only brought a gun aboard he’d also fired it, which led to the authorities hauling him off to jail. As for me, I had problems of my own. While Misha had greased someone’s palm to overlook the fact I had no passport when boarding, leaving proved a different matter.

I sobbed and cried with the customs agent, offering a sad tale of a controlling boyfriend who’d hidden my passport. It was my best performance ever. Real tears, leaking snot, hiccupping sobs. A real ugly mess, as opposed to a seductress with her cleavage out. I doubted the stony-faced man with a picture of his husband on the desk would have gone easy on me if I’d tried my feminine wiles. It took a bit of blubbering and lots of wishing—Please don’t lock me up—before they set me loose with a stern warning to hit the embassy as soon as possible. Had my magic swayed the agent? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. I could only rejoice in the fact that, unlike a certain moron—who’d given me shit about drawing attention with the airplane—I didn’t rot in a jail cell.

I ran into my first problem trying to leave. Guess who had the car keys? Not me, which left me stranded in the port with no luggage and no money. I had nothing but a maxed-out credit card. I couldn’t even get home if I wanted to.

“Don’t you dare start wailing again,” Cedric warned. He’d disappeared during my fiasco with customs, probably a good thing since I’d probably have gotten in trouble for illegally transporting a cat too. Bad enough I’d been chastised on my poor choice of boyfriend.

“What am I supposed to do now?” My tiny query emerged on a quaver.

“Our destination hasn’t changed. We’ll continue the journey toward Russia.”

“Alone?”

“You have me,” he reminded.

I snorted. “Which helps me how? I have no idea where to go, not to mention not a penny to my name to pay for us to get there.”

“The latter is easy to solve. I’ll scrounge up the funds to buy a train ticket.”

“You’re going to steal.” I couldn’t help a disapproving note.

“Yes, or would you prefer to whore yourself out? You’re pretty enough. It would probably only take a few clients to earn you enough to get us started on the first leg of the trip.”

My jaw dropped. “You did not just seriously suggest I sell my body.”

“What other options do we have?” Cedric lowered his voice as someone came near. While we’d arrived fairly early in the morning, the events since had taken a few hours to resolve. Midday proved to be busy, and people likely thought it odd I seemingly spoke to myself.

I couldn’t stay here, but I also couldn’t go anywhere without cash, not to mention, I’d need food. Already I wasted away.

Despite it being distasteful to my morals—ironic given how few I had—I huffed, “Fine. Do what you must.”

“About time you showed some sense. Follow me. I’m going to park you somewhere public whilst I scavenge for cash. Do not move from there until I return.”

A command that led to me sitting on a bench in a park, hungry and self-conscious, with too many thoughts whirring. How did Misha fare? Would his people bail him out? Send a lawyer? Let him stew?