Page 56 of Ten

Billie is going to sit with Savvy for a while.

Im going to the salon.

I’ll give you an update once I know more about the damage.

I set aside my phone and watched my new babysitter as he methodically checked the view from the cabin’s front-facing windows. He had been here for a little more than an hour, and already I could tell he was a very regimented person. Exacting. Reliant on routines.

Ilya was nothing like I had expected. He looked like a literature professor from a private liberal arts college. Scruffy golden blond beard. Grass-green eyes. Brown tortoiseshell glasses. Dark jeans with turned-up cuffs. A charcoal vest and matching tie layered over a smoky gray pinstripe shirt. Brown lace-up boots.

“What?” he asked with an amused smile as my gaze followed him around the living room of the cabin.

“You don’t strike me as a mafioso.”

“That’s the point, sweetheart.” His accent was strange, and I thought I heard a bit of British in it. As he shucked his navy blazer, he revealed a leather shoulder holster and two guns.

“Is that a SIG P365?” I asked, pretty sure I was correct.

He reacted with surprise and then grinned. “You know your guns.”

“Our salon has a monthly night at the shooting range,” I explained. “Holly rents out the whole place so we can practice. Not all of us go, but most of us do.”

“Does that pre-date Kostya?” Ilya wondered.

I laughed. “It does. Holly’s always been big on self-defense.”

“She’s not wrong. The world is a dangerous place for women.”

Something in his voice told me there was a story there. Maybe Ten would tell me later.

Wilford crept across the living room to investigate our visitor. Ilya’s eyes lit up at the sight of my surly cat. He crouched down and clicked his teeth before saying, “Ksksksks.”

I started to warn him about the murder mittens situation, but Wilford pranced right over to Ilya and let this literal stranger sweep him right up off the floor and into his arms. “I thought this cat was a demon?”

I snorted. “Is that how Ten described him?”

“Pretty much.” Ilya scratched between Wilford’s ears and praised him in Russian. Switching to English, he said, “You’re not a demon, are you?”

I could hear Wilford purring from across the room. I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Traitor.”

Ilya laughed and set Wilford back down on the floor. Wilford rubbed against Ilya’s legs, begging for more pets or treats. Ilya glanced at me, and I pointed to the bag on the counter. “Treats are in there.”

As Ilya fetched some crunch treats for Wilford, his phone chirped. He gave the treats to my cat and then glanced at his phone. He tapped at the screen, and his tense expression relaxed. “It’s Detective Santos.”

“Eric is here?” I clambered to my feet with the help of my crutches. My leg wound had been freshly bandaged by Ten after he repaired the broken stitch. It still hurt though, more than yesterday actually. I suspected that was the swelling and inflammation. Although with my luck lately, it was probably the start of a raging skin-eating infection.

“Wait, please,” Ilya instructed.

He asked so nicely I happily obliged. He waited at the door with a gun drawn, making sure it was actually Eric. When he confirmed the detective’s identity, he deactivated the alarm to let Eric enter and then tapped the touchpad to rearm.

“Nisha!” Eric rushed across the cabin and crushed me in a bear hug. “God, I was so worried! When I saw the footage from the shooting, I was down in Corpus on a case. I couldn’t get back to the city fast enough.”

“I’m fine, Eric.” I patted his back. “Really.”

“Your leg doesn’t look fine.” He pulled back enough to look me over thoroughly. “Why didn’t you take police protection?”

“Not to be a jerk, but law enforcement let Kiki escape so I’m not sure I would have been any safer with them.”

“There’s a big difference between DPS and the Rangers and the corrections officers who were in charge of Kiki when he escaped,” Eric argued. “Please, let me call my contact and get you some real protection.” He glanced back at Ilya. “No offense.”

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