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“I’m not done with you yet.”
“Right. I’d say we’re done. I’m going back to my apartment and I don’t see you making a six-hour drive for a booty call.”
“You plan to go back to an apartment that’s been broken into twice now, alone?” His volume rose with each word until he was as loud as her dad watching the Super Bowl.
She made a show of shaking her finger in her ear. “Loud, much?”
“Tell me what is going on.” He bit each word out with a jaw like granite.
So, she told him.
He didn’t look any happier once she’d explained than when he’d been in the dark. In fact, there was a muscle ticcing in his jaw now and his breathing was even only by force of will. She could tell.
“Man, you really are worse than Roman.”
“Like hell you are going back there alone,” he said, instead of responding to her accusation.
“I have to go back. The police need to know if anything has been stolen and I don’t want them calling Rebekah and upsetting her.”
“Your roommate can stay just where she is.”
Since Danusia agreed, she didn’t say anything.
“I’ll go with you.”
“What? No. No way. I’m an adult, I can take care of this.”
“It’s either take me, or I call your parents and your sister and two brothers who are in country right now.
“You don’t have their numbers.”
He held up the phone. “I do now.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Which will it be?”
“You can’t just take off from work like that. You’ve probably got some super-soldier
mission to go out on.”
He flipped the phone open. “Make your choice.”
“Fine. Gosh. If I’d known all it would take to get you to go with me was to get my apartment broken into, I would have done it sooner,” she said sarcastically, hoping he couldn’t hear the strain of truth in her voice.
He heard something, because he shook his head and turned with a heartfelt “Shit,” as he went back into the guest bedroom.
“You don’t have to go with me,” she called after him. “I could call my sister.”
Because really? Two break-ins? Not normal. Danusia and Rebekah had chosen their apartment partly because of the building security and safe neighborhood.
“Don’t start with me, Danusia Lyudmyla Chernichenko,” he yelled from the other room.
“You know my middle name?” she asked on a squeak as she hurried into the bedroom, her hand clutched in her towel.
He spun around to face her, a pair of black cargo pants in his hand. “I know a lot about you. Your middle name’s the least of it.”
“It’s not my fault. My grandmother’s best friend back in the old country was named Lyudmyla.”
