Page 2 of Dancing With Delusion

“I did, a week or two ago, but maybe he’s been in touch since then and they just forgot to update me.”

She also stands, rubbing my arm. “Thanks, Tori. I know you didn’t see eye to eye, but he loves you, and if there’s a chance this note could be true, we owe it to him to find out the truth.”

Marshall opens the car door, and I slide in. He gets in the driver’s seat and turns back to look at me. “Did you get the note?”

I hand it over, and he reads it. “Right, we’ll have some tests run on it. Boss wants me to drop you back home.”

I roll my eyes. “I bet he does. Take me to wherever he is.”

“Come on, Tori, that never ends well. He’s busy.”

“It wasn’t a request,” I snap, pulling the seatbelt on. He reaches for his phone, and I slap his hand away. “Nuh-uh, you’re not warning him.”

He grumbles, starting the engine. “I think you want to get me sacked.”

He drives the five minutes it takes to get to the bar, and I jump out before he can round the vehicle and open my door.

I head for the main doors, which are always unlocked during the day to allow the cleaners to come in and out. I breeze through and head straight for Dmitry’s office. He looks up in surprise when I enter without knocking, his expression turning to confusion. “Didn’t it go well?” he asks, rising to his feet.

I throw myself at him, and he catches me, allowing me to wrap my legs around his waist. I bury my nose into his neck, and he holds me tightly, not stopping even when I hear Marshall enter the room. “Here’s the note,” he tells Dmitry.

“That’s it?” he asks, sounding disappointed. “Marcus is dead? What kind of fucking note is that?”

“Short and sweet,” Marshall jokes.

I squeeze my eyes closed, not wanting to think about the note or Marcus. Dmitry lowers to his seat, keeping me with him and placing my legs either side of his. “What did Phoebe say?” he asks, trying to prize my arms from his neck. I squeeze them tighter, and he gives up with a laugh.

“She’s not dropping it. She wants me to go to the police.”

“Can’t we just take the bitch out?” asks Marshall, and I spin my head in his direction, narrowing my eyes.

“No, we can’t just fucking kill my best friend, Marshall.”

Dmitry chuckles again. “Relax, my krasota, no one is killing Phoebe.”

I bring my eyes back to his. “I don’t want to go to prison, Dmitry.”

He smiles, running his thumbs over my cheeks. “That won’t happen, Victoria.”

“But if they agree with Phoebe and start looking into things . . .”

“They’ll see a child sex offender on the run.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” I mutter.

He pulls me closer, kissing me slowly and reminding me of last night, when he spent hours ravishing my body. Last night, before all this shit happened. I groan in annoyance. “Who would’ve sent a letter to Phoebe? Surely, if they really knew anything, they’d send it to me, seeing as I’m his foster sister.”

“Unless they know what you did,” Marshall says, and Dmitry gives him a look of despair as my eyes widen in panic.

“Oh my god, do you think someone knows the truth?”

“Marshall, go and run tests on this thing,” he snaps, sliding the note back across his desk. “Drop the lock on the way out.”

When he’s gone, Dmitry unfastens the buttons on my blouse. “We talked about staying calm, my krasota. No matter what.”

“That was before your henchman told me someone could know what I did.”

“How would they know? There’s only us who know.”

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