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“Or something,” he says tapping away at the keyboard. How can a guy this hot be so good with computers? I mean, I know it’s an ugly cliché to assume all computer people are unattractive nerds, but I guess the stereotype’s been shoved into my brain from years of television and movies.
“What do you want me to tell him?” I ask, hating myself for edging closer.
“Mostly the truth. You got the body out, you drove it to the outskirts of town, you disposed of it. Don’t use those words. Don’t mention me. You’ll be fine.”
“I hate this. I just want you to know.”
“You’ll be great.” He wiggles the phone at me. “Go ahead.”
I take it, open my recent calls, and find my boss’s number. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have it saved asDimitry Boss Cellwhich needs to be changed toBurian Killer Russian. After only a few seconds of questioning all my life choices, I tap the call button, put it on speaker, and let it ring.
Lanzo doesn’t even glance at me as the call connects. He’s too hyper-focused on his laptop.
“Hello? Renata, is that you?”
“Hello, Mr. Dimitry,” I say, nearly calling him Burian, which would be very bad. “I just got home and wanted to check in.”
His voice is low. There’s no Russian accent, not even a hint. He sounds like any Midwestern dad, except he talks quickly, like he’s speeding as fast as he can straight to the point.
There’s no hint of surprise.
Like he expected me to check in with him.
“And how did the night go, Ms. Renata?”
“I found the surprise you left me. I wish you would’ve warned me beforehand though.”
“I’m sure.” He sounds almost amused. “And what did you do with the surprise?”
“I cleaned it up, as requested.”
A short pause. “In what manner?”
“There’s a lot of open land here in Texas. Do you want details?”
“No, better not say,” he murmurs. “I’ll admit, Ms. Renata, you surprised me. I half expected you to see my little problem and run away screaming.”
“I kept thinking to myself a hundred grand, a hundred grand. And now here I am, dirt under my fingernails, exhausted from not sleeping, and very much interested in closing out this deal.”
“I’m sure you are,” he says, chuckling gently. “Very well. You did your part, and I will make good on my promise. I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait, Mr.—”
But he hangs up before I can say more.
I curse, lowering the phone. Lanzo’s face is screwed up, staring at the laptop with so much intensity I think he’s about to burrow his nose right through the screen.
“Did you get what you needed?” I ask, moving to peer over his shoulder.
It’s just a bunch of streaming data, numbers and strings of letters, stuff I don’t recognize.
“More or less,” he says, looking frustrated. “Burian routed that call through half a dozen cell towers. I got a general idea of where he is, but it doesn’t really help.”
“Well? Where?”
“Dallas.” He hesitates. “The Dallas area. Within a hundred miles, anyway.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “So that was useless.”
