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The words weren’t practiced, but not quite genuine. I was thrown by the moment, my breath skipping. “Who is it from?”
“I was paid twenty dollars but not given his name. I’m sorry. Should I take it away?”
Yes. Get it the hell away from me.
If this was a threat, then maybe the police could use it to track Sergei down. I had to take the risk. “No, I appreciate you bringing it to me.”
While there was only a slight flit of his eyes, it seemed his pupils dilated for a few seconds as he glanced at the tattoo. I was suddenly self-conscious, resisting my urge to either cover it with my hand or move in another direction. Very slowly he eased the file onto the edge of the table, patting its surface.
Then he bowed his head and turned away, immediately heading for the exit. He didn’t look back nor hesitate for even a split second.
I stared down at the file adorned with a big red bow, trying to determine if it was safe to open. There was no chance a bomb was inside. The worst it could be was a powder residue of some kind. I’d been through some training to know what I was looking for. I’d noticed the way the stranger held it in his hand, which was another indication there wasn’t any loose substance of any kind inside.
Besides, Sergei would never lower himself to something pedestrian as using a deadly chemical. I shuddered for the tenth time that day as I remembered his threats. Even the judge hadn’t been able to curtail his caustic mouth. The man had wanted to see me squirm.
After taking another deep breath, I opened the file, freezing instantly. Sergei was taunting me. The single photograph of Alexei and me in St. Martin had a note attached.
I enjoy watching you, coveting you.
You will never know when I’ll strike.
Maybe today.
Maybe tomorrow.
I will come for you…
But first, I’ll enjoy ruining your life.
Now, you’ve made it personal.
Personal.
What the hell did that mean, because of my unexpected relationship with Alexei? Someone had been taking pictures of us. It was obvious I was naked, the Russian’s arms around me.
Oh, God. The man Alexei had… killed had been the photographer. I’d been right about the man on the fucking beach, only he hadn’t been taking pictures of the tropical landscaping. He’d been fifty yards away from the patio. How many more photographs had been taken?
This was bad. Very bad.
The bastard had put me on notice that there wasn’t anywhere I could go where I wouldn’t be found.
Isn’t that exactly what Alexei had told me?
My stomach churned for a few seconds until solid rage took over. I jerked to my feet, grabbing my purse and the damn file, racing out of the small shop, and heading for the street. As I turned in a full circle, searching for the man who’d dropped it off, my hackles were raised as I thought about the stranger’s intense gaze, the golden flecks surrounding obsidian black eyes.
It was the same man I’d seen standing outside the church.
It was also the same man who’d described in detail what he would do to my body.
I’d just been within two feet of the butcher they called the Ghost.
CHAPTER12
Alexei
“Rad slyshat tebya brat.”
Good to hear from you, brother.
