Page 59 of Deceitful Vows

He waits a beat before asking, “What happened to your phone?”

His question exposes he was born in at least the last five decades.

Even Gigi knows no one over the age of ten gets around without a phone these days.

“It was stolen?—”

“You got jumped?” He pulls me into his apartment before scanning the hallway like the perp is standing behind me, digging his gun into my ribs. “Where?”

I wiggle out of his hold before answering, “At the Myasnikov Private Hospital bus stop.”

“Why the fuck were you at a bus stop?”

I glare at him like he’s stupid. “To catch a bus.”

His expression matches the one I’m hitting him with. “You’d rather catch the bus than get around in that sweet-ass ride parked in your parking bay?”

I’m lost, and mercifully, I don’t need to announce that.

“There’s a brand-new Audi in your bay. It was delivered last week.” His tone gets more and more suspicious the longer he talks. “I thought it was yours?”

Assuming he’s one of those goody two shoes who bring in the police for a minor incident, I say, “I no longer need a parking spot, so I let another tenant use it.” He doesn’t believe my lie. I don’t blame him. It was a doozie. “Anyway, back to the reason for my early-morning visit. I need to borrow a phone so I can tell my friend that I arrived home safely.”

“Oh… yep… right. Checking in is good.” He coughs to clear the rattle in his throat before gesturing me to take a right at the end of the entryway hall. “You can use mine. It’ll be easier than trudging back down the stairs to the security office. The elevator is out.”

His mention of the defunct elevator exposes he hasn’t worked here for long. It’s been out of operation for over eighteen months.

When we arrive in the living area, I scan my eyes over the apartment that is meant to be the pick of the bunch. It isn’t. There are no good apartments in this part of Myasnikov. They’re all dumps.

No wonder he didn’t believe my lie. No one in this part of Myasnikov can afford a secondhand foreign car, much less a new one.

“You can use this while I get dressed.”

He hands me a phone that is as dated as the carpet in his living room before he heads for the sole bedroom.

Mercifully, I know Nikita’s number by heart, so it is the first number I call.

“Hello,” she answers, her tone ripe with suspicion.

“Hey—”

Her relieved breath cuts me off before a heap of words. “Z… You scared me half to death. I thought someone was calling to say you’d been hurt. I’m still your first point of contact, right? I was tracking the bus’s route, so I know you only got home ten minutes ago, but you weren’t answering your phone, so I panicked and?—”

“Breathe, Nikita,” I demand when the exhausted whistle of her lungs whizzes through my ears. When she does as asked, I say, “I was helping a fellow passenger. She…”—when I realize my reply will never see me walking the streets of Myasnikov alone again, I alter it—“was a little groggy after a long day, so I walked with her to make sure she got home safely.”

“Aww.” Since she can’t see me, she believes my lie. Her truth-seeking talents aren’t as capable over the phone. “That was really kind of you, but I hope you didn’t get too close. Multiple cases of gastroenteritis were reported today at Myasnikov Private. It is highly contagious.”

“Yippee. No diet for me this month.”

She groans before her smarts kick back on long enough to put me on the back foot. “Whose phone are you using? Your number didn’t come up.”

“Ah…” This lie takes me a little longer to summon than its predecessors. “My building sup’s.”

“Zoya! If I find out you’re paying your rent by?—”

A shocked scoff helms my interruption. “My phone went flat, so he let me use his so you wouldn’t worry.”

She swallows harshly before pushing out the quickest apology. “I’m sorry.”

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