Page 87 of Beautiful Secrets
Maddie hurries over to a nearby cupboard and I happen to glance back at Sarah. She’s watching me with a small frown, but it clears the moment we lock eyes.
I cannot fault her for being skeptical of my motives—she has known Cole for years, and I have only just met him. Truly, I do not even know how I feel about him. After everything he has done, everything we have been through…is it even feasible that he would be able to help me, or would want to?
Or am I just some easy money for him? A way for him to antagonize my father?
There is only one way for me to find out. And it will require me getting my hands dirty.
30
Cole
Mika Vasiliev. Twenty-six.
I stare at the passport, rubbing my thumb over the photograph. She’s so young in the shot—barely a teen—that it’s easy to think the person in the photo is someone else.
I’m assuming this photo was taken before the Vasilievs moved here, which means it corroborates her telling me she was unhappy at home.
She’s not smiling in the photo, and I guess you’re not supposed to, but she looks downright dour. Like someone just told her her pony, Princess Sparkles, is sick.
I honestly thought she’d be back home by now. That all this shit would be done and dusted.
I’m so fucking tempted to stay here until tomorrow. To not even see her again. Derek said he’d take her back to Vasiliev. That it would be better that way, even though he quit the business years ago.
When he first suggested it last night—after I told him who the fuck Mika was—I nearly punched him in the face.
Take my Mika?
And that was when I realized something was off. With me. With her. Us.
Could have been the five-year dry spell that was finally taking its toll, of course. That I was loathe to let go of something—someone—who made me feel like I did before I was committed.
High on life.
Untouchable.
Happy.
It could just be because I’m a free man again…but I didn’t have these emotions when I walked out of Blackmoore. If anything, I was almost fucking reluctant to get in the cab.
But then came little Mika.
Now I’m not sure of anything anymore.
Fuck it.
I kick off my shoes and sink onto the couch. Turn on the TV. Tuck her passport and her thin stack of bills into my pocket.
It’s barely enough for a plane ticket to London—how the fuck was she planning on getting to Russia? Hoping to find a spot on a cargo ship or something? Boat across to Denmark and walk the rest of the way?
Christ, here I am—thinking about her again.
I turn up the television’s volume.
More.
More.
Another Bruce Willis movie. Or is it the same one? Not like I was paying any attention when we watched the last one. I had Mika right by my side. Fucking impossible to concentrate on a movie when you have someone as—
