Page 492 of The Sinner: James

Regardless of what she said about her work, there were no incoming calls these past few days.

I’m having dinner in my suite at Belmond Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg when her phone goes off.

I snatch it from the table and answer the call.

“Yes.”

A few moments pass before whoever has called Abby’s number hangs up on me.

I set the cell down, waiting.

It rings again.

I pick it up and take the call but keep my mouth shut this time.

The voice of a man echoes at the other end of the line.

“Abby?”

The fucker even sounds like me.

I let him talk again.

“Abby? Can you hear me?”

“Abby is not here. She gave me her cell phone to talk to you.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Take a fucking guess.”

He ponders for a moment.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fucking peachy.”

“What do you want?”

“To drop your British accent.”

He goes quiet again.

“Who the fuck are you, man?” he blurts with an American accent this time, even more intrigued.

“The man who owns your life.”

He laughs.

“Are you one of the men who work for the brothers?”

“Am I? Use your fucking brain, kid.”

A few empty seconds go by.

“Listen... I don’t have time for this,” he says, about to hang up.

“Fine. Go the fuck away and rot in fucking hell, fighting for the Russian mob. And maybe next time you run away from them because you didn’t pay their cut, they’ll put a bullet in your head.”

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