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After that, more drinks, a stumble over Prague’s cobblestone streets. He had a vague memory of staring into the murky depths of the river, the faces of all the men he’d consigned to the bottom of Lake Michigan flashing through his mind like ghosts.
By the time the sun came up, he was almost sober, sober enough to get back to the hotel anyway.
“Lyon,” Kira said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Where were you?”
“Out. Drinking. Wandering.” He shook his head, took a drink of coffee. “I don’t know.”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He turned to meet her gaze. “Do you care?”
She turned away, looked back out over the water. “I do. I don’t want to. But of course I do.”
He didn’t want to believe her, but he did. Fuck him, he did.
He should have felt triumphant. He’d cracked her icy facade, had forced her to admit she gave a damn. It was information about his opponent, and information about an opponent was always a valuable commodity.
But it wasn’t triumph that filled his chest. It was relief.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just needed to clear my head.”
The weight of what had happened between them in the bathroom at the restaurant hung heavy between them. He’d been rude, a bully. And yet, if he could go back and do it again, the only thing he would change is that this time, he would fuck her until she screamed.
What could he say? He’d never claimed to be a good man.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Musa?” she asked.
“Let’s walk.” He turned away from the railing and she fell into step beside him. He didn’t speak again until they’d stepped off the bridge and onto a quiet stretch of path along the water. “It didn’t seem relevant.”
“Musa tried to kill you, Lyon. It’s relevant,” she said.
Everything I tell you is a weapon you can use against me, he thought.Every time I let you in, I’m exposing myself to injury.
But even that was too much information.
“He got away,” Lyon said. “Alek and I tried to follow, but we were too late.”
“Is that why we’re in Prague?” she asked.
He nodded, then hesitated, trying to decide how much to say. It wasn’t like him to be indecisive, but she had a way of making him behave in strange ways. “Something’s been bothering me.”
“What something?” she asked.
He looked down at her, saw that she’d moved on from the personal stuff — the perilous stuff — to business. Her gaze was attentive, and he could see that her formidable mind was revving, ready to problem-solve.
“Just a feeling,” he said. “A feeling that I’m missing something. When I was at Vas’s — ”
She reached for his face and he flinched. She touched his temple tentatively, avoiding the cut she’d noticed the night he’d surprised her after the bath. “Is that how you got this?”
He nodded. “Ring.”
Her gaze hardened. “I hope you made him pay.”
He thought about the pencil through Vas’s hand and nodded.
“Good.” She dropped her hand. “Go on.”
“When I was at Vas’s, one of his soldiers warned me about Moscow,” Lyon said.
