Page 8 of Ten

“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re not the first lawyer he’s tried all this nonsense with, right?”

“I’m the first lawyer who has stepped back and looked at the entire case—including you.”

Her remark had the hint of a threat to it, but I just shrugged. “And?”

“And Kiki’s DNA was not the only DNA recovered from the evidence you conveniently discovered in the shed behind his house.”

“Our house.” I emphasized. “I was married to him. And, yes, obviously, I touched the box when I found it. I touched what was inside because I didn’t know what I was looking at and couldn’t make sense of it.” I crossed my arms. “This was all covered in the trial. The same trial that countless appeals have found was conducted correctly.”

“Yes, but I’m able to put forth a new motive. You were a jealous, abused, toxically co-dependent child bride who would have done anything to get revenge on your husband. You had a history of violence.”

“A history of violence? One time.” I held up a finger. “Once. When I was a teenager. I made a mistake.” I blinked as her insinuation registered. “Are you accusing me of—?“

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Nisha. I’m giving you a chance to tell the truth about what really happened to those prostitutes. I’m offering you an opportunity to get in front of the scandal that’s about to erupt.”

I stared at her. The haughty, smug expression on her face burned me right up. Was this bitch for real? Standing here in my office accusing me of—what? Being the real killer? An accomplice?

“Get out.” I wrenched open my office door. “Get out of my office. Get out of our salon. Now.”

She didn’t move. “Nisha, if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back with a better offer.”

“Good.” I pointed at the open doorway. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

She bristled at my rudeness and stormed out of my office. I stepped into the hallway and found Tiara and Mandee, looking on anxiously. Tiara rushed to my side and gave me a hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It felt good to be hugged by a friend. It centered me back in the moment, and I managed not to get dragged back into the emotional hell of my memories.

Savannah appeared at the end of the hallway. She took one look at me and asked, “Do you want to go home early?”

“No.” The last place I needed to be was alone with my thoughts. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Tiara protested. “Look at her. She’s shaking!”

“I’ll be fine.” I gently extricated myself from Tiara. “I have a client waiting.”

“Savannah.” Tiara shot her a look.

Savannah shook her head. “Nisha wants to go back to work. I think that’s the right decision.”

Tiara and Mandee trailed me to the lobby where my client was waiting patiently. As much as I appreciated their concern, I had a job to do. Kiki had already taken so much from me. I wasn’t going to let him interfere with my livelihood.

But even as I sat my client down in my chair and began to chat with her about amping up her highlights, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was just around the corner.

Chapter Two

AsTensteppedoutof his Tahoe, he scanned the parking lot for any signs of trouble. Even without Vivian and Lev in his care, he remained ever vigilant. Getting a haircut wasn’t usually dangerous, but this wasn’t any old hair salon. Holly Phillips was part-owner of Allure and also the girlfriend of Kostya, the Kalasnikov family’s semi-retired cleaner.

And, of course, there was Nisha Jackson.

The woman who had taken his breath away at that first meeting. Beautiful, sexy, curvy Nisha fucking owned his heart and soul—and she didn’t even know it.

In the early days of knowing her, when he shadowed Vivian to her salon appointments, he tried to hide his interest. He wasn’t stupid. There was no way a woman like that would ever want a man like him. A criminal. A felon. A tattooed killer in the Russian mafia. He was lower than shit on the bottom of her designer high heels.

She was unattainable. Strong. Sophisticated. Successful. Nisha’s ideal man was probably a lawyer or a doctor or a wealthy businessman. She deserved a man who could give her whatever she wanted—a house, luxury vacations, kids.

Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t shake his infatuation with her. Over time, that lustful interest deepened into gut-gnawing unrequited love. It was pathetic, but it was the truth. He was a ridiculous, love-sick asshole.

And, because he clearly hadn’t suffered enough, he had allowed Vivian to meddle and arrange this haircut. She had successfully manipulated and played matchmaker for most of her friends, and now she seemed to have set her sights on him. She couldn’t fathom that some people weren’t meant to be happy or that she couldn’t solve everyone’s problems.

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