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Ivan hit some buttons on his phone and handed it to me. In the picture was a very youthful-looking man with short, dirty-blond hair staring at the camera with intense dark-brown eyes. His boyishness was only enhanced by his thin, wiry frame. He looked more like a teenager than a gangster. Even with the angry expression, he didn’t look particularly dangerous.
“This guy? That’s the guy who was driving the car? He doesn’t even look my age.”
Ivan nodded. “Yes. He looks younger than he is, though he isn’t very old—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three.”
“Him? He doesn’t look a day over thirteen,” I replied, finding it hard to believe that this was the guy who had us all on high alert. He looked like he should be on his way to a little league game.
“Emmy,” Ivan said in a low voice that had my gaze moving from the picture to his serious face. “Don’t underestimate him based on how old he looks. He is a remorseless, dangerous psychopath who does not hesitate to do what he needs to get what he wants. Besides, this picture was taken a few years ago, so he’s probably bigger now, more filled out. Do you recognize him at all? Have you seen anyone that looks like him?”
I stared at the picture again, urging my brain to make some kind of connection, but there was nothing. “No, I don’t recognize him.”
Ivan’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Okay, I’ll text you the picture, so you know what to look out for.”
“Yes, blond hair, dark eyes, cub scout, crazy.”
Ivan’s mouth twitched as though he wanted to laugh but would not allow himself. “I suppose that description could work. But remember, he might not seem crazy at first. He can be a real chameleon if he needs to be.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Ivan tucked his phone into his back pocket and looked around the room. “You need a hand unloading some of this stuff?”
“You want to help me unpack?” I asked in astonishment.
Ivan shrugged. “I need to be seen here for a while. I might as well help out.”
Even though I was a bit deflated by his explanation, I wasn’t going to reject an offer of help. “You can unpack the books in those boxes while I make the bed,” I said, gesturing to the boxes at his feet.
He nodded and got to work. The humor that had briefly softened his features completely vanished. In fact, if you went by his current expression, you’d think he was deactivating a bomb instead of unpacking books.
He ripped open the cardboard box and pulled out a stack of books, frowning down at the top one.
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
He reached down and held up the book to me and heat filled my cheeks. “English to Russian dictionary?”
“Oh, that…um, I think that was Hannah’s. I think she wanted to learn to say something to Nikolai. I don’t know how it ended up in my stuff,” I said, looking everywhere but at him as I lied, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He smirked and threw the book on my desk. He knew I was lying. “If you want to learn Russian, I can teach you,” he said casually as he unloaded books onto the small bookshelf next to my desk.
My jaw dropped and stared at him. “Really?”
He shrugged. “We have to spend a fair amount of time together. It might be fun to listen to you try to speak Russian,” he said with a small grin.
Such a small smile and I was transfixed. Had I ever seen Ivan fully smile before? The happier expression made his features look more youthful, almost approachable.
I was so taken aback at his uncharacteristic light-heartedness, his words didn’t immediately register. When they did, I frowned and threw my pillow at him. His smile widened as he grabbed the pillow and threw it back on the bed.
“Maybe I’ll try to teach you to play the harp, then we will both have something to laugh about,” I said tartly.
“No way. I know my limitations.” He held his large hands up, wiggling his fingers. “I have a hard time imagining these playing something as delicate as your harp.”
My face colored at the double entendre, but I couldn’t resist replying. “I don’t know, I think you’d be great at fingering my harp,” I said with an innocent expression as I walked toward him.
He sucked in a deep breath, his jaw tense and his eyes becoming heated and heavy-lidded. He took a step toward me, but before he could make a move, the door swung open. Ivan reached to the small of his back, only to retract it when a young woman burst through the door.
Was he carrying a gun? Of course, he was.
Delaney Keelan barreled into the room lugging suitcases and weighed down by an overly stuffed black backpack. Her blonde hair was in a disheveled bun, and she was wearing capri leggings and an oversized t-shirt that dwarfed her petite frame. She dumped her stuff on her bed and whirled around, a wide grin on her face.
