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“He feared we’d find out about his involvement.” Cash’s eyebrows raise at this. “Wanted us to know that he didn’t kill her, but he was the reason she left work early.” Ivan’s voice grows cold and gritty. “He may not have held the knife, but he is to blame.”
I try to reconcile this new information with what we know. Though admittedly, what we know isn’t much. I still think this Alexander kid could be our killer. Perhaps he went to the Bratva to get ahead of it, spin a tale where he is the guilt-ridden childhood friend, not the murderer.
“Where is he?”
“St. James.” Ivan sits back, crossing his arms.
“The hospital?”
He nods and picks invisible lint off his tracksuit. “He is still family, so we didn’t kill him, but we roughed him up a bit. For hiscarelessness.” He sniffs.
Cash’s jaw ticks, and he turns to me and flicks his head toward the exit. Without another word, he’s barreling back to the car, me chasing at his heels.
He rips open my car door, and I slide inside. “Are we going to the hospital?”
“Yes.” Cash starts the engine, ignoring the people honking at his parking job.
“You think he killed her because she didn’t help him?”
“It would make sense.”
My heart aches thinking about Beth being harassed and killed by someone she once thought of as a friend. And I know if she could help him, she would have. Which makes it all the worse, knowing he killed her for something she couldn’t do anything about.
Ten minutes and a tense car ride later, we are pulling up to St. James hospital.
“Wait, Cash, what are you gonna do?” I tug on his hand to slow him down.
“I’m gonna find out if this is the son of a bitch who killed your friend.”
“And what if he is?” Tears well in my eyes, and I don’t know what for. Anticipation to finally have closure, justice. Fear for what might he do when he realizes he’s been caught. Fear of whatCashmight do. I can still hear the man’s scream torn from his throat when Cash ripped a hole through his shin because someone didn’t answer his question satisfactorily.
Cash cracks his neck side to side, then palms my face with both hands. “Then I’m gonna make him pay for ever daring to breathe the same air as you.” A shiver runs down my spine at the definitive promise in his words. And I don’t know how to feel about the swirling in my gut that is silently chanting,make him pay.
He grips my head and presses a heavy kiss to my forehead. “It’s almost over,a chuisle.”I lean into the comfort of his kiss. I ignore the little red flag waving in the back of my mind that one moment of tenderness like this makes me forget the way he fired into a laundromat with kids present.
But he was only aiming for the camera…
Before I have time to do the mental gymnastics required to untangle this mess of my feelings, Cash is sweeping up my hand and leading us over to reception. His eyes flick to a security guard on his phone behind the desk, and he swiftly untucks his shirt to cover his loaded holster.
Guns and hospitals. Those are two things that shouldn’t mix.
“Hey, how you doing?” Cash says to the woman behind the desk, turning on a dazzling smile and leaning on the raised reception counter. The way he beams down on her would make me jealous, if it wasn’t for his thumb continuing to rub soothing circles on my palm while he speaks.
“We’re here to visit my wife’s”—I flinch at the word at the same time my stomach does somersaults—“cousin, Alexander Koslov. You wouldn’t mind pointing us in the right direction, would you?”
“Sure, one sec.” I listen to her nails clack on the keyboard, and then she looks back up with an apologetic face. “You said cousin?”
“Did he?” I step up, quickly seeing where this is going. “Brother. Alexander is my brother.”
“Oh, okay. He’s in room A15.”
“Great, thank you.” I smile, hoping it’s not too cheery for someone whose brother is supposed to be injured and hospitalized.
We take her directions to his floor and wing. The hallway feels eerily quiet, except for the whir of the air conditioner and the faint beep of machines. My body hums with nervous energy as we approach his room.
The blinds are drawn and the lights are off. I half expect the door to be locked, but it opens when Cash presses on the handle. I hold my breath as the door creaks open and Cash’s hand goes to his gun.
Ice crawls through my veins when we step into the silent andemptyroom. The bed is unmade, nothing but a rubber-covered mattress and empty IV hooks.
