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“Is this the part where you tell us who ‘him’ is?” drawls Dima.
I straighten my shirtsleeves. “Zane Krono.”
Mila stiffens. “You hired a private detective?”
“I’m trying to find three different people who’ve scattered to fuck-knows-where,” I point out. “And since we’d had no luck locating them ourselves, I thought it was time to bring in some extra help.”
“Gee, how’s that gone for you so far?”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “So far, he’s come up blank. Just like you. Now, no further questions. Let’s go see what the bastard has for me today.”
I turn and march into the family room. The irony of the name isn’t lost on me as I enter, but I brush those nagging thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand.
The P.I. is standing in the middle of the thrown-wide French doors, hands tucked awkwardly in his pockets like an alien imitating human posture. He pivots robotically toward us as we enter.
“Don Zakharov,” he greets, his shrewd eyes passing over each of us in turn. “I’m sorry I’ve beenincommunicadofor the past ten months, but I didn’t want to resurface until I had something worthwhile for you.”
The air feels suddenly charged. Dima is wriggling with anticipation, but Mila stays mute and still. Optimism isn’t one of her strengths. It’s hard to blame her—Zane looks more likely to die of anemia than to uncover a trio of missing persons that not even the full might of the Zakharov Bratva can sniff out.
“Ten months?” she spits. “Ten monthsto find something?”
Zane cocks his head to the side. “If I may be so bold, it’s been five years and you still haven’t found anything, either, madam.”
That shuts Mila up.
I told her I would have others handle the search missions. But she insisted on taking it upon herself. She claimed that she wanted to do her part to help me. But really, I think she committed herself to the job for other reasons.
It wasn’t about helping me at all. For her, it was personal.
“You have a location?” I interject.
“Oh, yes,” Zane proudly confirms. “I’ve verified it myself. It’s definitely him.”
Dima’s eyes are glowing. “This is great! That slick rat is ours. All we need is a handful of men to gag Bellasio like a fucking turkey and bring him right to our—”
“Oh, no, sir,” interrupts the detective. “Unfortunately, where Benedict Bellasio is concerned, I will need to keep looking. The man really has done a thorough disappearing act.”
Dima stops short. “Then who have you…” He trails off when he realizes the only other possibility in play. “Archie. You found Archie.” His gaze teeters to me. “God help us all.”
Mila steps up to my side and grips my elbow. “Ilarion, you need to be prepared for the fact that Taylor might not be with him.”
I shake my head. “She’s with him,” I say firmly. “I know it. Where Archie is, so is Taylor. And where Taylor is…so is my child.”
4
TAYLOR
“…I’m telling ya, there’s nothing like getting your pussy eaten out after a ten-hour shift.That’slivin’, baby.”
“Mabel!” I groan, trying hard to drown her out while I refill the ketchup bottles. A diner throws us both an uncomfortable glance as he snatches up his receipt and heads out the door as fast as his legs will carry him.
My boss watches the man leave with her hands fisted on her hips. “That one hasdefinitelynever eaten pussy before,” she remarks dryly. “No wonder he was so sour-faced. And he didn’t finish the pecan pie I made this morning. Clearly has no taste whatsoever.”
I remove his half-finished plate from the counter and push it into the kitchen through the old-school box window that connects the front of the diner to the back. “This is a small town, Mabel,” I remind her in a hush so the other diners don’t overhear us. “People here are conservative. They don’t want to hear about your sexual exploits over a piece of pie.”
“My pie tastes so good, though!” She winks at me and giggles at her double entendre.
For a seventy-one-year-old woman, she talks like a sailor.
