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“Check from noon to eight.”
“Got it. Just so you know, it’s going to take Anya a while to comb through the footage, so don’t expect anything until tomorrow. I’ll let you know what she finds.”
Ivan’s lips pressed together, but he only said, “Fine,” and hung up.
“Anya is probably not going to be too happy to have to comb through eight hours of video tonight.”
“More than likely Drago will be hearing from Callahan,” Ivan murmured.
I nodded thinking of the cool, blonde Russian enforcer and the big, Irish gangster that was her boyfriend. “I don’t understand how he got in our room. As forgetful as Laney can be, she’s diligent about locking our door.”
He grunted as if he didn’t agree with my assessment of Laney’s conscientiousness. “We might have to come clean with her about what’s going on now that we know Orlov has gotten into the room. Although she’s not his target, she can’t stay there. Who knows how Orlov would use her to get to you?”
I grimaced. “How much do we tell her? I hate the idea of her thinking I’ve been lying to her this whole time,” I mumbled, shooting him a look.
His shoulders tensed slightly. “We probably have to tell her everything. Telling her that she can’t stay in her own room, for no apparent reason, is not going to make any sense.”
“Do we have to tell her everything was a lie?” I asked, feeling ridiculously emotional at the idea of confessing to Delaney that my whole relationship with Ivan was a sham.
Ivan’s eyebrows pinched and he shot me a strange look. “Everything wasn’t a lie. We just have to tell her about Orlov.”
My jaw dropped. What was he saying? What was he admitting to? Was he saying our relationship was real? Or was I projecting? I wanted to question him further but was afraid to shatter the moment.
My mind was still silently racing when we pulled up to what must be Ivan’s apartment. As I looked at the building with avid curiosity, I realized I was practically starved for this glimpse into his personal life.
I stepped into his apartment, the door positioned between an open concept living room and kitchen. Though the building looked older, the apartment looked recently rehabbed, if the clean white walls and new appliances were any indication.
The second most notable thing was that it was devoid of any personal possessions of any kind. It was stark and cold. The living room had the bare minimum of furniture; a couch, a table, a chair and a tv on a small stand. The kitchen bordered on looking completely unused.
I noticed Ivan’s energy become significantly more unsettled as he stood there like a grim-faced statue.
“Uh, your place is nice,” I offered, after he did nothing but stare at me.
He shrugged. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “You want a drink?”
I looked at him speculatively. I guess we weren’t going to talk about his comment in the car. “Sure. What do you have?”
He pulled open his fridge and winced. “I only have beer or water,” he said, nodding toward the sink.
“I’ll take a beer,” I said, remembering vividly what happened between us the last time I drank with him. He paused for a moment, obviously also remembering, but grabbed two bottles, nonetheless.
“Here,” he said after opening my beer and handing it to me.
“Thanks.” I took a small sip, grimacing at the bitter taste.
He pressed his lips together, looking like he was holding back a smile. “You don’t like it?”
I stuck out my tongue. “Not really, I just seriously needed some alcohol right now. This has a stronger taste than the stuff at the party.”
He snorted. “It’s better beer.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll order some food. What do you like?”
I shrugged. “Anything is fine with me. Pizza?”
“Sure. Toppings?” he asked.
“Just cheese.”
“Just cheese?” he asked, his brow crinkling as he looked up from his phone.
