Page 30 of Brutal Secrets

“What’s happening? I don’t understand.”

Vadim leans on the bookshelf, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle as he lounges against the books and regards me with some amusement.

“I think you do.”

I shake my head at him, but he carries on.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find me, but fate always catches up with you, I suppose.” He shrugs as if he’s not talking about blowing up my life. Our daughter’s life.

“I’d stopped looking.” I’ve had enough pity for one evening, so I look down at my feet. I’m wearing boots. Just like the night that I met him.

“I know you did. I let my guard down. I used to make sure I was out of the picture if you were playing a gig in one of our clubs. Sasha used to think it was funny. He even booked a few to mess with me.” He smiles at me, like this is a joke I might enjoy. “Still, it can’t be helped. I’ve got the money and the logistics for you to go on the run. I’ll be in touch. You keep the burner phone on you. Give one to the kid too.”

“If you’re not planning on talking to her, that won’t be necessary,” I bite out.

He shrugs, strides toward the door, and looks back over his shoulder, folding his lips together in a rueful grimace.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “For your safety, the less you know, the better. I’m sorry, Kesera. I told you I wasn’t a good man when we met.”

The door opens and Stevie’s shouts echo from the corridor. I catch my name and Vadim’s and some expletives, and then Vadim steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him, blocking out the noise. I’m left with nothing but an old Nokia handset and a head full of questions.

Chapter Twenty

Ten missed calls. All Stevie. No doubt he’s up bright and early, ready to serve me a helping of humble pie with an ice-cold scoop of recrimination before I’ve even had my coffee.

He can wait.

I throw my phone down on the bedside table. I don’t need my bassistto tell me what I already know. I’m crazy to have believed I was in love with a man I knew for less than forty-eight hours.I feel dirty, and not just because I haven’t had a shower. My eyes are caked in mascara, and I’ve left streaks of last night’s makeup smeared across my pillow.

I stagger into the bathroom to wash off the thin film of humiliation that’s settled on top of my skin. Vadim doesn’t feel the same way. Stevie was right. I’m an idiot.

I haven’t found the hook yet, but doesn’t heartbreak make for the best albums? I’m sure I can crowbar some hits out of the wreckage of last night’s meeting once I’ve figured out what Vadim means by making me disappear. That’s if he’s planning on keeping me and Nadia alive.

I pick up my bag and scrabble through the notebooks, lipsticks, and pens for the singular Nokia handset I took from Vadim, but there are no messages. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. If he’s planning to kill us, at least he hasn’t scheduled it for early this morning. There’s still time for coffee.

It’s a grim thought, and I wish I could tell myself it’s entirely unrealistic, but the last few hours have really hammered home that I don’t know the man who fathered my child. Those hours in Moscow were etched so brightly into my memories, but they don’t mean what I thought they did.

I’m pouring coffee for myself when Nona enters the kitchen. She hip-checks me as she walks past and pushes me into a seat. Our nanny hums a Russian folksong as she pulls out the pastries she made last night.

“Eat.” She slides a plate of sticky honey-and-pistachio-laced baklava in front of me. “Too thin.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so.” I look up at her, sipping my coffee and licking a crumb of honey-laced pastry off my thumb. I don’t usually tuck into her sweet treats, but if there was ever a morning to comfort myself with sugar, it’s today.

Nona shakes her head at me. I hired Nona, but she’s more like a mother to me and Nadia than an employee. Less drama, more fabulous cooking.

“Yesterday. Good night? Stevie...he find his girl? I like him.” Nona’s English is broken, but she gets her point across. She’s been hinting that I should pair up with Stevie for years.

I look down at the flakes of pastry, wishing it were that easy, but if the chemistry’s not there, you can’t fake it. I love the guy, but there’s no part of me that wants to climb him like a tree. And men get frustrated when they know you don’t want them. Then they take it out on you. God knows I lived through it once with Jimmy producing my albums. I wanted to hold out for the kind of love I wrote about in my songs.

I laugh to myself, and Nona looks over at me with her eyebrows raised in question.

“Stevie’s girl is too young for him. I think that’s a wash. But I found the man I’ve been looking for.”

Nona watches me over the table. She’s got no idea what I’m talking about. Last night is still so vivid that I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to explain. There ought to be a neon sign flashing over my head.

“Nadia’s father was there,” I say.

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