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Because tonight, now, she wasn’t Felicity Graham.
She was Katerina Liminov.
She dug out the bottle hidden at the back of the kitchen cupboard and crossed to the full-length window. Sinking to the floor in the farthest corner, back to the wall, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow.
The vodka burned all the way down, leaving a slow, searing heat behind.
From her vantage point, the Christmas tree stood in full view — lights flickering, bright and cheerful and fucking wholesome.
And that star.
That fucking star…
“Za zdorovye, Katerina,” she muttered, tipping the bottle again. The burn was less intense this time.
And she let herself remember…
High above Central Park, a festooned tree dominated one corner of the penthouse her uncle owned. Flickering lights. A glowing star.
And Katerina.
A pawn, caught in the middle of an argument between father and son.
Passed around by Vasily like a party favor, taken over and over, she had kept her eyes fixed on the star and her mind empty. But fuck, she remembered the smell of vodka. And every once in a while, she opened a bottle, just to remind herself who she really was.
For a moment — just a moment — the image of Ronan earlier surfaced.
Laughing. At ease. Happy.
With Ruth by his side.
Something tightened low in her chest. She tipped the bottle back.
She had done the right thing, walking away from the possibility of … them.
She was a woman tainted.
Never meant for the likes of a man like Ronan Murphy.
14
Tackle
Settling in behind her desk, Felicity logged in to view the overnight incidents and started reading, sipping on her coffee. One caught her eye. The familiar address. Domestic disturbance. Again. Dammit. When was Elaine going to lay a formal charge against her abusive husband?
“Graham!”
At the sound of her name, she looked up to the right.
Sheriff Stirling stood on the edge of the bullpen, shrugging on his jacket. “With me,” he instructed, already moving down the hallway.
She caught up to him at the rear entrance. “What’s up?”
“Elaine Whittaker failed to turn up at work this morning.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
