Page 129 of Dirty Grovel

But as I double-take in his direction, goosebumps pimpling my arms, I’m forced to face the fact that I’m not mistaken. Nor am I seeing things.

This is not paranoia.

This is straight-upstalking.

“Drew,” I whisper, heart crashing against my ribcage.

I grab Sydney and yank her in the direction of our SUV where it’s parked outside the building.

“Sut, what are you doing?!” Sydney cries as I shove her into the backseat while the realtor looks on in shock.

“Get in!” I say. “It’s Drew. He’s here.”

“Here?!” Ilya exclaims, twisting around from the driver’s seat. “Where?”

I point haphazardly towards where I saw him as I jump into the back beside Sydney. “Over there, by the tree.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

I glance over and, sure enough, the shadows are empty. “It was definitely him,” I mutter. “I know it was.”

Thankfully, Ilya takes my word for it. Within seconds, we’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving poor Louis in the dust.

As he makes a sharp left, Ilya places a call on speaker phone. Unfortunately, I understand exactly zero percent of what he says because it’s all in rapid Russian.

The only thing I know is who he’s talking to. That deep, sonorous voice is familiar and intensely comforting.

I hear my name more than once. Sydney’s name comes up, too. She flinches quietly when she’s mentioned but she doesn’t say a word.

I glance at her several times, but every single time, her face is turned sharply to the side, eyes focused out of her window.

Her silence leaves me with a dull ache in the pit of my stomach.

It’s the kind of silence that screams of secrets.

You’ve been hanging out with Oleg too long, Sutton,I tell myself.You’re starting to see skeletons where there are none.

Shaking myself out of it, I wait until Ilya’s call is done. “Where are we going?”

“The boss wants me to take you to the penthouse. He’ll meet you there.”

The SUV carves through Palm Beach’s pristine streets like a shark through water, taking random turns to shake off any unwelcome followers.

Sydney sits beside me, pale as a ghost, her manicured fingers twisted into claws digging in the fabric of the skirt she had borrowed from me.

Swallowing my doubts, I reach out and take Sydney’s hand. “It’s okay, Syd. Oleg will keep you safe. He’ll keep both of us safe.”

There’s something about her tight, distant smile that gnaws at me, edging its way into panic. Alarm bells are ringing in my head, dredging up all that doubt I had just managed to bury.

My instincts were right before.

I don’t know how and I don’t know about what.

But I know that Sydney is keeping secrets that have the potential to blow our world apart.

40

SUTTON

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