Page 56 of Hunt Me
The dead man had spoken Russian. I was clueless about the language of the two men I’d heard coming from another room.
My lack of knowledge and the fact I’d slept with a powerful Russian, who just happened to be the leader of a powerful crimesyndicate, scared the shit out of me. When I calmed down, I needed to discover what I was dealing with.
Think. Think this through.
Things weren’t always as they seemed. Right?
There was a huge Russian population in Las Vegas. Las Vegas was a melting pot of people from several countries who came here to retire or to seek additional wealth. Yet what were the odds I’d gone to a Russian wedding and then this happened in the space of two days? Since I lived my life in black and white, the term coincidence wasn’t a part of my vocabulary.
With my father’s warning added as a cherry on the poisonous cake, one thing was clear. I’d stepped into quicksand.
Sadly, running wasn’t possible. Where could I run to where I’d be safe?
I raced up the stairs toward my apartment, constantly throwing my head over my shoulder. There were no boogeymen in the shadows, no one following me. At least I prayed to God I’d managed to slip away. Maybe I’d been imagining whoever had been in the kitchen had bolted out the front door searching for whoever had destroyed their crime scene.
However, I’d taken no chance.
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
Oh. My. God.
I flew into the apartment, slamming and locking the doors. Close to hyperventilating, I backed away, tossing my purse to the floor and holding my arms as I stared at the doorway, half expecting to see some burly goons bursting in.
While I didn’t think I’d been followed, I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d taken a different route home, driving through downtown Las Vegas for thirty minutes before finally making my way back to my apartment. Exhaling, I briefly closed my eyes as I tried to determine what to do.
As an upstanding citizen, I’d called the police and let them know a crime… a murder had been committed. As soon as the operator had pressed me for my name and had attempted to get me to stay on the line, I’d hung up. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to do, but I knew how things worked within the law. I’d spent my entire college career studying various cases and case law.
My name would eventually get out to the public. Then I’d be screwed.
Especially since I was the mayor’s daughter. Talk about putting my father’s aspirations at risk. This would be the perfect way to begin his commission. Nervous laughter almost bubbled to the surface.
I turned around, fighting the panic and noticing the blinds were open. I rushed forward, shutting the ones in the living room before heading into both bedrooms and the kitchen, closing one after another. That didn’t mean I’d be safe.
I’d thought about going to my parents, but my father would make a big deal out of the situation, taking me to the police. No. That couldn’t happen. At least not until I’d thought this through. I had no idea who the guy who’d been murdered was, but my instincts told me he was someone of notoriety.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe I was crazy.
Could Mikhail help?
What was I thinking? I wasn’t. That was for certain. With what my father had told me about the family, even if only half was true, seeking his help could mean I’d be indebted to him for life.
I walked into the kitchen, my stomach in knots. Was it possible a drink would calm me down? Was there anything in this world other than a time machine capable of creating a warm, safe cocoon? I blew out hot air as I opened a cabinet door. Every inch of me was shaking like a leaf.
The glass slipped from my fingers, smashing into a dozen or more pieces in the sink. I slammed my hands on the edge, gasping for air until I choked. This couldn’t be real. I hadn’t just thrown my entire life down the toilet after doing something so utterly, insanely reckless.
Even with my eyes cinched closed, stars swarmed my peripheral vision.
Breathe and count. Breathe and count.
The mantra was repeated a dozen times before I was finally able to slow my thudding heart. I licked my dry lips, lifting my head. Steadying my hand, I grabbed another glass. Every move was perfunctory as I turned to the other bank of cabinets, finding the bottle of whiskey Callie had purchased for her boyfriend. She’d been humiliated when he’d told her it wasn’t his brand.
At least the expensive liquor wouldn’t go to waste.
After pouring a glass, I left the bottle on the counter and returned to the living room. No longer able to feel my legs, I sat down. My hold on the glass was a death grip. I still had no clue what I should do or if I could open the can of worms.
Breathing out, I reached for the television remote, flicking onto a local channel. Maybe there was something in the news about the crime that could guide me somehow.
