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She walked up to the painting, leaning her head back to take it in. Turning the look at him, she cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re sure your father’s safe?”
“Yes,” he replied.
She let her gaze run down from the shot, turning again, this time trying to ascertain where the shooter had been standing. Smart. Her eyes landed on the large windows lining the opposite wall. Their curtains were closed. Her eyes narrowed. He followed her gaze, tilting his head in wonder. It couldn’t be that the shooter had lingered in the room. Could it?
He secured the grip he had on his gun, pulling the safety back with a soft click. Nodding to Misha, he got the bodyguard to follow his lead. Slowly they made their way up to either side of the row of windows. Misha’s eyes sought his and once he gave the nod, they began to move from window to window, pulling the curtains back as they went. Soft velvet against his palm, a rush of air with every yank.
His heart remained steady. This sort of thing had stopped elevating his pulse a few hundred years ago or so. He was difficult to kill and getting more difficult with each passing decade.
They reached the last window at the same time, grabbing a curtain each, pulling them back at the same time, revealing the same vacant space as had been behind the other curtains.
“Wait,” Alina said when they moved away from the window. She walked up to it, trying the handle. The window slid open without any further effort. “You always keep them open?”
“Never had any reason to lock them. Or the doors,” he said.
“They’re on the roof,” she said, half-leaning out of the window.
When she pulled back, leaving room for him to lean out as well, he noticed the wrought iron ladder climbing the wall three stories, indeed leading straight up to the roof. He chuckled, rather amazed.
“Nicely done,” he said.
She cocked her gun, but he put a hand over it, making her lower it.
“You stay here,” he said.
She glared at him.
“Who do you think is up there?” she asked.
He frowned at her. Then understanding hit. She couldn’t be serious.
“You think Gregor is doing this?” he exclaimed.
She shushed him, impatiently. Then nodded with a sober look in her eyes that was terribly convincing. It made annoying sense as well. Who else had had access to the house in the last few hours who would have a potential bone to pick with the family?
“But… he’s an idiot,” he said.
She nodded again.
“Yeah, well, idiot or not, he got himself an audience with you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did,” Dmitri conceded, the annoyance far from waning.
How idiotic.
“Did you do a background check?” she asked.
Dmitri looked to Misha, who gave a nod.
“It was clean,” Dmitri said. “He’s been coming to the casinos for years. Why the hell would he try something like this? A one-man attack? On this place, on me? Unless…”
He paused, eyes on Misha’s again. They’d had the same thought.
“He’s not alone,” Dmitri said. “Fuck. There are traitors here? Working in this house?”
He couldn’t keep from bellowing the last three words, mostly out of fury with himself. When the hell had he grown complacent?
