Page 79 of Doctored Vows

Although she appears remorseful, Lara can’t continue playing the good cop when Ivan stacks evidence against Zoya and me. Except this time, it isn’t solely my best friend being thrown in the fire with me. Maksim is tossed into the flames as well.

“Dr. Abdulov was last seen entering an alleyway that borders Myasnikov Private on Thursday, September third at 2:58 p.m.” He places down a time-stamped image that shows Dr. Abdulov entering the alleyway mere seconds before a man who shelters his face from numerous surveillance cameras by tilting his chin. If only he could hide the tailored cut of his suit just as easily. “This image was collected at 3:08 p.m.”

The face of the man in an Armani suit is still concealed during his exit, but since he is holding a cell phone to his ear, parts of his hand is visible.

“Are they?—”

“The nail indents of a man fighting for his life?” Ivan interrupts. “Yes, that is what they are.”

My throat is already burning from the amount of bile sitting there, but the scald becomes unmanageable when a camera above the cockpit of the plane shows frame by frame footage of me dragging Maksim into the bathroom of our transportation.

This isn’t about Zoya accepting money she didn’t earn.

This is about Maksim and me.

Ivan angles his head to bring us eye to eye. “Need to clean up after bludgeoning a fellow passenger to death?”

“I spilled my drink.”

“That he served you?” He taps on the third man’s image. “Is that what got him killed? Did he not mix your cocktail how you like it?”

“I—”

“Am not speaking another word,” says a voice from behind my shoulder.

I can’t hide my shock when the woman Maksim chaperoned out of his room at two in the morning arrives out of nowhere. Raya looks dressed to impress in a fitted pantsuit and minimal makeup, but her angry scowl is what I pay the most attention to.

“All your so-called evidence is inadmissible. You have no bodies, no motive, and no witnesses?—”

“According to your client’s alibis, Dr. Fernandez was present at every murder. We can also convict in absentee of a body.”

I assume they have the wrong person until Raya corrects, “Dr. Ivanov attended an event with her friends and her husband”—she annunciates her last word to ensure its importance can’t be missed—“where some unfortunate fools had too much to drink and forgot to check in with their wives. That is a regular occurrence in the Trudny District. It does not warrant a murder investigation, much less three.”

Detective Lara rejoins our conversation. “Her husband is a known Bratva boss. The Fernandezes have been at the top of Russia’s most wanted list for years. And although there are no bodies, the slash mark in Dr. Azores’s seat is enough to rule foul play.” She turns her eyes to mine. They’re brimming with remorse; however, it is hardly visible through the distrust clouding them. “You have to understand our suspicions. Your husband isn’t who he says he is.”

Before I can demand proof, Raya shoves her hand in Lara’s face, silencing me. “If you’re concerned about some torn fabric in a passenger’s seat, perhaps investigate the airline who places dangerous weapons in the hands of their travelers simply because they can afford a first-class ticket.” I wonder who Raya is here to defend when she says, “Furthermore, my client spent most of the flight in the washroom, entertaining a fellow passenger, as per your evidence.”

I choke on my spit when she nudges her head to the frame-by-frame footage that is timestamped incorrectly. It appears as if Maksim and I went into the washroom earlier than we did. Almost thirty minutes sooner.

With my silence making Detective Lara believe I am supporting Raya’s alibi claims, she gathers up the images before saying, “We will be in contact.”

“If you wish to waste your resources on a dead end, go ahead.” Raya’s tone is neither mocking nor angry. It is more unrepentant than arrogant. “But if you have time to waste, I suggest taking a moment to familiarize yourself with marital privilege laws.” I listen as eagerly as Lara and Ivan when my stupidity is unearthed for the world to see. “They render a witness immunity from giving information that may criminate their spouse. So even if Mrs. Ivanov can’t corroborate the statement Mr. Ivanov issued your department this morning, she is under no obligation to announce that.”

“So you’re insinuating he did it? Maksim Fernandez killed three men for her.” Ivan shoots daggers at me during the “for her” part of his reply. “Possibly more.” His glare intensifies along with the volume of his voice. “There is taking down the competition, and then there is this.”

“Perhaps you should start on client–attorney confidentiality clauses before pleading for a judge to ignore a spousal privilege that has been upheld in this country for hundreds of years,” Raya bites back, smiling vindictively. “You have my number. Use it before ever approaching either of my clients again.”

I’m so stunned by the turn of events that I’m guided out of the donut shop and into the back seat of Maksim’s SUV before I can sort through a single fact.

My husband is a suspected Russian gangster, and I was allegedly used as his alibi for each murder he is accused of.

That’s pretty much what the detectives were insinuating, right? I’m not jumbling things up. I’ve slept six-plus hours every night for a week. My head is the clearest it’s ever been.

Well, it was.

Now it is a clusterfuck of confusion.

The turmoil grows when Raya locks her eyes with Ano’s in the rearview mirror and snarls, “You were supposed to keep them away from her both during commute to and from the hospital and her shifts. How did you fuck this up so badly?”

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